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Something was wrong.
Her head swam and her stomach cramped. Her insides felt as though boiling oil had been poured through her. Pain filled her, wrenching her insides, surging through her veins. She nearly crumpled forward, her hand knocking her bowl aside.
“Woman,” Tair said.
She could barely focus, unable to get beyond the fire twisting her insides into two. But his voice was strong, commanding.
Tally looked at Tair, stricken, bewildered. Something was very wrong. Something she’d eaten. Drunk.
“Tally?”
There were two of him. Now three. She blinked, eyes heavy, hot with pain, the same fire consuming her belly. “What have you done?” she choked, before slipping sideways to the floor.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TAIRdidn’t waste any time sending for a doctor. This wasn’t ordinary food poisoning. It was deliberate, and whatever had been slipped into Tally’s food—or drink—could be fatal, toxic.
Tair did what he could until the doctor arrived. He followed the simple universal antidote his mother had used with them: two parts wood charcoal, one part magnesia milk and one part of very strong tea. He gave her two tablespoons of the mixture in a little bit of water. He didn’t know what she’d ingested, but knew that if the poison was metallic or alkaline, the tannic acid in the tea would neutralize it. If the poison was acid, the magnesia would neutralize it. And the wood charcoal even in a very little dose can absorb strong quantities of toxin.
With his servant’s help, he got the antidote in her, before inducing vomiting. After she’d thrown up, he gave her another dose of the antidote and then pumped as many liquids as he could get down her throat—not an easy feat considering she was oblivious to everything except the nightmare of pain that had swallowed her whole.
Even as he fought to save her, he pieced together the situation, needing to know who, what, where, how as quickly as he could. This wasn’t an accident. Someone had deliberately doctored her food and drink. But which of his men would do it, and why?
The doctor arrived at dawn, less than seven hours after Tally had been poisoned, arriving precisely the same time Tair discovered it was Ashraf who committed the crime.
Tair had Ashraf isolated and monitored but Tair couldn’t deal personally with him until after the doctor had seen Tally.
“The Devil’s Herb,” the doctor said, naming the toxic herb he suspected she’d ingested after checking her pulse, her eyes, and her tongue, as he prepared an injection.
Tair lifted the glass vial, checking the medicine the doctor was about to administer.
“It’s the fastest, best antidote for the central toxic effects.”
Tair nodded, still studying the bottle. The Devil’s Herb—belladonna—was extremely toxic, often fatal, death usually resulting from asphyxiation but the universal antidote seemed to have helped Tally. Now he just wanted to know she’d be okay.
“She’ll be sick for quite a while,” the doctor concluded, finishing administering the injection. “You’ll find that she’s restless, agitated. She’ll experience varying degrees of hallucinations, delirium, tremors, but she should get through.”
Should, Tair silently repeated, leaving Tally in the doctor’s care while he went to deal with Ashraf.
Tair gave Ashraf an opportunity to explain what he’d done and why, and Ashraf was all too happy to talk and Tair listened to Ashraf without interrupting him.
This was aboutsehour, Ashraf said, witchcraft. Tair hid his disgust as Ashraf talked. He couldn’t believe it. Not just poison, but witchcraft. His people were superstitious. But Ashraf was not at all repentant.
“I did not give her poison,” Ashraf said. “It’s apotion, a potion to drive her and the evil eye away. She will bring destruction on all of us if we don’t. She must go.”
“What have you been smoking?” Tair demanded shortly, stunned that it was Ashraf who had done this. Ashraf had served him well for years.
“She’s not Aisha Qandisha,” Tair added, referring to the mythical figure many of the people in the countryside believed existed.
Aisha Qandisha was reportedly a beautiful, seductive woman with the legs of a goat and she lived in riverbeds, in flames, and sandstorms. She is said to appear to men in dreams, enchanting them, enslaving them and children always fear her but Tally wasn’t a mythical figure, and he’d seen her legs—and they were far from goatlike.
But Ashraf had his own ideas and shook his head. “The sehirra gave me something to put in the Western woman’s food and drink. The sehirra said the woman will curse us, and she was right. She has brought trouble here.”
