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I pull my necklace out from its place against my chest and rub the bird between my fingers. In a strange twist of fate, being a bartender might give me an advantage here. A humorless laugh catches in my throat. Gran always worried I wasn’t making much of myself with my career. How ironic.
Even so, tasting them all straight away is risky, and guessing at random will take too long. Besides, I studied far too darn hard to rely on luck alone. The color of the liquid may be a clue. I lift the first glass and take a sniff.
Wine. It was probably a deep maroon to begin with. There’s no telling how much poison is in there either. Enough to discolor it? Though some poisons have no color at all.
I swirl it around in the glass and lean in close. Beyond the fruity notes of the wine, another scent tickles my senses. Cinnamon? It could be Elscarion, if it tastes of citrus. I shake my head and expel a deep breath. One way to find out.
A sip of rich beverage washes over my tongue. Bitter notes speak out immediately, but there beyond them is something else. As I roll the liquid around in my mouth, I can just make out a hint of something like grapefruit, which certainly doesn’t belong in a red wine. A white, maybe, but not a red.
I pull at my memories of the pages I studied. Elscarion induces severe itching that can last days.
I spit the wine onto the ground.
It’s cured by… I worry my lip as I scan the possible antidotes. The cure snags my attention almost immediately. The little purple leaves present on the table are almost identical to the bunch on the scrolls. I grab said leaf and chew, despite its rough surface. I take another, place it behind the cup with a silent prayer, and move on.
Two more cups are easily discernable.
I’m almost halfway. I give myself a little shake and bounce on my toes.
The liquid in the fourth glass is clear with little smell. I dip a finger into the substance and swish it around. Water? But what could water disguise?
A memory floats to the surface of my mind.
“Silent maiden,” Moria had said where she lay upon the sofa, tossing her knife up in the air. “It’s one of my personal favorites. Colorless, odorless, but most importantly, lethal.” She caught the knife and examined the tip. “It causes the blood to seize and thicken quickly. I usually keep the antidote on me at all times, just in case.”
The best way to test it is with my blood. What a day to not have a knife on me. Moria would be disappointed.
I scan the table, looking for anything I can use. One branch of berries still has its thorns. It’ll have to do.
“Let’s hope they’re sharp.” Before I can second guess it, I rake my thumb across a thorn. Pain blooms. “Son of a—”
I bite off my words with gritted teeth. Blood trickles down my hand, dripping on the table as I draw it over the cup. The drops of blood find one another, cling together, and sink down into the cup without disbursing. A cold sweat breaks out across my skin. If I’d tasted that one, I might be done for, healer present or not.
I grab the silvery powder—one of the first antidotes I memorized—and place it beside the cup.
I’m on the sixth when the blast of the horn rattles my senses and nearly has me spilling the chalice in my hand.
The cheers are deafening. Someone has advanced.
I rub at my chest. There’s no time to check the identity of the victor. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve gotta move.
This glass contains whiskey, or the fae equivalent. Something I know well. But though I’ve sniffed, sipped, and glared at the way the light hits the liquid, I’m not sure exactly what it contains.
With no time to lose, I bring the cup to my lips. I barely let the liquid linger on my tongue before I spit it into the grass. Unfortunately, the small taste told me nothing. It might be something that needs to develop and bloom like the whiskey itself.
I block out my fear, worry, and the nearby noises trying to distract me. Instead, I pretend I’m back at Jolene’s testing out a new vintage to see if we’ll add it to the shelf. I take another dainty sip. The liquid rolls around my tongue and coats my mouth. How would I describe it to a customer?
Leather and cedar. I dare another slight swallow.A hint of nuttiness, with a finish of…My tongue tingles.Mint?
One of these things is not like the other, and I know what poison this is. I grab the bulbous roots from the table—ones of the same plant whose leaves are used to make the poison—and slam them next to the cup, ignoring the smear of blood from my hand.
Adrenaline tingles through my veins. Last one.
The horn blares once more.
The cheers rise in a swelling wave, not letting up long after the blast of the horn has faded. Others must be close.
The last vintage looks like a white wine. I give the cup a little swirl, watching bubbles form and rise. A sparkling wine. I tilt it this way and that, watching the light, the bubbles.
