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“I was actually looking for you,” she huffs. “I’m sorry to bother you, Your Majesty, but Lord Skarde is insisting one of the servants be his poison taster for the wine this afternoon. Surely, that isn’t necessary after everything they’ve been through.”
I seethe. “Indeed, it is not. You were right to come. The servants have been through just as much as the rest of you and are certainly not to be treated like cannon fodder.”
We speed toward the dining hall, my fingers already pulling my axe from its sheath at my back. When I walk in with the weapon in my hand, the room goes silent. My eyes land on Lord Skarde, or, more accurately, at his grasp on the wrist of Gunhild, one of the serving women.
“If you’d like to keep that hand, Skarde, I would suggest that you remove it from her person at once.”
He pales, pulling his hand back. The only reason I don’t take the appendage on the spot is that I know, deplorable as his actions are, he is coming from a place of fear. Fear that I caused by letting Ulla poison them all.
“I know we’ve all been through an ordeal,” I announce to the room. “But I have taken measures to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”
I walk over to Skarde and lift his tankard up, taking a healthy swig. Everyone in the room visibly relaxes, and I realize I should have addressed this right away. They had little to lose when they were still poisoned. Now, though, they will probably live the rest of their lives in fear of returning to those dark days.
“Skol.” A voice sounds from my left as Sten raises his tankard toward me.
“Skol.” A few more voices echo the cry for good health before doing the same thing.
I nod my head to them, staying in the room for a few more minutes for appearances, so they can see that I haven’t been poisoned. By that time, I have to head back to the council room.
I bite back a long, frustrated sigh. At least maybe today I’ll make it back to Zaina before dark.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Zaina
Sunlight streams in through the window, and I find myself alone in Einar’s massive bed. I’m tempted to fall back asleep when the scent of chai masala wafts from a small porcelain kettle on the breakfast tray.
I’m getting entirely too comfortable here if I slept through Leif delivering my breakfast. A glance around tells me he took Khijhana out as well, and recently, by the looks of it. The tea is still steaming.
Sitting up, I throw on Einar’s oversized shirt before stretching out my arm to the side table and pouring myself a cup of the steaming brew.
The rich spices and sweet taste of the tea are even better than I remembered, like he brewed it just a bit stronger this morning. I take another long sip, picking up my knife to butter a piece of toast when I begin to feel dizzy.
Maybe I sat up too fast, or I could just be dehydrated. I haven’t been drinking as much water as I did when I first arrived. My head feels fuzzy, and I almost giggle at the memory of Sigrid declaring the morning after my over-imbibement “mountain sickness.” Einar had found that endlessly amusing.
Still chuckling softly, I take another sip of the tea. A familiar taste registers on my tongue, but it takes me a moment to place it. It’s not chai.
My blood freezes in my veins, my heart pounding wildly in my ears. Staring down at the offending cup in my hands, I run my tongue over my teeth, and there it is. The taste is sweeter than honey, or even sugar. I hadn’t noticed it at first because the tea is so potent, but it is unmistakable now.
Belladonna.
I struggle to get to my feet and the cup falls to the floor, breaking apart into tiny pieces that reflect the shafts of light swaying in my vision.
No sooner do I stand than my legs give out beneath me, and I collapse to the ground.
The room spins, the sunlight suddenly blinding in its intensity.
No. No. No.
I force myself to crawl to my trunk. My fingers tingle with numbness, but I manage to heave the lid aside. Frantically, I dig around for the anthracite I keep in case of emergencies. Like being poisoned with my morning tea.
My hand is losing strength, my fingers are spasming, by the time I grasp the vial of black powder.
A ringing sounds in my ears, and my vision begins to blur. I don’t have much time left. Instead of fighting gravity and my own mounting weakness, I drop the vial on the ground, and it shatters.
The room is going darker and darker each second. I shake my head and try to focus on the anthracite on the floor. It glitters with glass fragments, but I don’t have time to worry about that. Better a bloody tongue than death.
I try to lick as much of the powder as I can, cursing as the sharp fragments cut my mouth and throat. My vision swims and my stomach clenches, and I can’t fight it off any longer.
