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“What do you make out of this, Zarina? Aruna? Sora?” I turned to the wise women.
“The spice is meant to hide something, Your Majesty,” Sora said. Her lashes lowered to cover her eyes.
“What is it?”
“Your Majesty, it is well-known that you like your food spicy,” Femina reminded me. “After the cook gave us another meal, with a tamer taste, we realized that we have gotten yours first.”
“Then, why are you two not dead, then?” I asked, unapologetic in my harshness.
“They only ate a little, Your Majesty. A bite,” Zarina said somberly. “I had to treat them for stomach pain and bleeding afterward. Femina is still ill.”
Femina looked pale, but she was standing straight enough.
“The spell is also meant to call on to your blood, Your Majesty. The only one who ate your food and shared your blood was your father.”
That night, it rained. I did not know if it was an omen. My life was still in danger, and someone’s hatred of me had caused my father’s death.
It should have been a beautiful night, this rare rain. My father would have asked me to drink mead with him in his study, finding a reason to warm his hot-blooded self, he would have said.
I thought of Luella. Somehow, I hoped that I had taken enough of her fire so that if I died without seeing her again, she would still have a child with somebody else. A future. The droplets of rain fogging my windows seemed to illustrate what my future was like.
