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Amity stares at him, too, her entire body shaking, though in fear or anger I can’t tell.
The stranger clicks the overgrown nails of her forefinger and thumb together. “Poison.”
My stomach clenches, worry washing over me. I find myself scanning Amity from head to toe, searching for any sign that she too might be poisoned.
“I wouldn’t have hurt the child,” says the female, “though I’m sure you don’t understand the sentiment, given your occupation.”
I clench my teeth, but I don’t bother explaining myself to this female. Not when Marcus is poisoned and I need to act quickly if I want to draw information about the antidote out of this stranger.
“Who are you?” I ask.
She purses her lips, as if deciding whether revealing her identity will end up causing her trouble. “Queen Abra of Mystral,” she finally says. Which I suppose means she’s not concerned after all.
My mind whirs with a million questions, a multitude of facts I know about the queen coalescing in my mind, fighting for preeminence.
Queen. Cold. Widow. Suspected of poisoning her husband.
My stomach flips.
“What do you want in exchange for the antidote?” I ask.
The female raises a perfectly arched brow. “You aren’t going to ask how I managed it?”
“How you managed what?”
“To poison some of you while leaving the others unharmed?”
I don’t figure there’s a way around the question; best to plow through it. “How?”
The female looks disappointed, but she answers anyway. “I am particularly skilled at potion-making. It’s always been a talent of mine, but I possess a Gift, not unlike yours.”
My Gift stirs inside me, as if waking and stretching its limbs at the sound of its name.
“I once possessed a different form of Old Magic. The kind I possess now is not like her brother, yet she offers skills I could never have dreamed of. She’s done it before, you see, offered this gift to another. She taught me how to do it.”
Marcus is still shaking. I’m running out of patience. “Do what?”
“Concoct potions that only affect who they’re meant for. It’s a hassle, you know, to try to ensure a poisoned glass gets to the right individual, especially when your goal is to poison three out of five of them. Especially when they have a princess among them who likes to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong.
“So my Gift helped me. Helped me concoct a draft that would take out your guardians, at least momentarily, but the true target of the potion was your husband.”
My heart pounds, rage barreling through me. That anyone would ever dare to hurt Marcus, with no reason except to get to me.
Amity is crying now, wet tears staining her cheeks as she sobs.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“I would like your assistance in a task I will reveal when it becomes relevant to you.”
“In exchange for you healing Marcus now?”
The female tsks. “Don’t fret. Your husband has weeks to live. As long as the task is completed before then, he’ll not suffer death or permanent damage, at least not by the potion’s hands.”
Weeks. My heart pounds. “What do you want me to do?”
The female reaches out her hand. “I would like you to make a bargain with me. One where you’ll do as I ask, whenever I ask it. Until the task is done and your husband is free.”
I glance back and forth between Amity and Marcus, my heart cracking.
