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And he was dead.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Silence settled over the hall like dust motes.
‘Bar the doors,’ someone shouted. ‘The assassin may still be in our midst!’
Several guards and attendants spurred into action, with the royal guards of each kingdom surrounding their monarchs protectively.
But Thea remained rooted to the spot, her eyes falling to King Artos, whose mouth was slack as he gazed upon his dead cupbearer.
After what felt like a lifetime, he looked to his men restraining her. ‘Release her,’ he ordered, his voice raw.
As soon as their hold loosened, Thea jerked out of their grip, rubbing her bruised arms with a wince.
‘How did you know?’ King Artos asked.
‘You said the wine smelt of lilac, Your Grace. And then I smelt something similar to ash… The combination of aromas put me on edge, for there is a particular mixture that can have adverse effects. Then I saw the blue powder near your decanter… I have seen it before, Sire.’
‘What is it?’
‘Crushed Naarvian Nightshade, Majesty. With the added deadly blend of lilac and Widow’s Ash.’
‘And how do you know of such a poison?’
Thea swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Alchemy is a vast and varied arena, Sire.’ Thea left out the fact that it was poisons that had always interested her the most when it came to the bubbling potions and strange herbs of the workshop.
The king nodded, clearly still unnerved.
The hall was tense, guards blocking every entrance and stationed all along the tables, while Hawthorne watched on from his position on the far wall, his expression unreadable.
Thea’s mind whirred and she dared to take a step – two steps, towards King Artos, scanning the mess the cupbearer had caused when he fell.
A guard made to stop her, but the king raised his hand and Thea understood the opportunity she was being given.
Now, she stalked freely down the length of the table, studying not the array of food and drink, but the guests themselves. Some stared back at her, oblivious of her intentions, others looked defiant, offended, and some twitched in their seats, not guilty of poisoning, but other misdeeds at the forefront of their minds.
Thea slowed towards the end of the table, revelling in the power she felt. ‘One thing I learned about Naarvian Nightshade, Your Majesty,’ she said. ‘Is that it stains…’
‘Oh?’
She stopped before an immaculately dressed man, his hair slicked back with oil, his tunic embellished with gold thread. And at the tips of his fingers, were the faintest hints of blue.
‘Him,’ she stated.
Several people gasped aloud.
The noble in question paled but forced a laugh. ‘These are but ink stains, girl.’
‘I find it unusual that a man of your status, status high enough to be seated on the king’s own table, would carry out his own correspondence. A man of your position would have a scribe, surely?’
Quiet followed.
‘And surely were they ink stains, you’d have scrubbed your hands before dining with the king?’ Thea pressed.
The man leapt out of his seat, his chair falling back with a crash. He surged from the table, ducking through the guards’ attempts to grab him, darting for an exit Thea couldn’t see.
She threw herself after him, determined not to let a royal assassin escape in her presence.
