Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(42)

Blythe feigned a gasp. “I’m ill? Heavens, I’m surprised you noticed. No one dares to speak of it before me.” She made a quiet, amused hum in the back of her throat before leaning her head upon the pillows. “About a month after my mother died.”

Whoever was behind it, they’d wasted no time. Signa peered at a small pile of chocolates on Blythe’s bedside table, next to a cup of tea. She crossed to that table and took one of the chocolates, trying to be discreet as she bit into it. Signa couldn’t say whether she was relieved or disappointed to discover that it wasn’t anything but normal chocolate, but she did take another bite. Her eyes fell to the tea next, and Signa reached for it before she could feign an excuse.

Blythe shot up, positively lethal. “Don’t you dare! That’s my medicine.”

When Blythe stretched her hand out to take the dainty porcelain cup, Signa backed out of her reach and took a tentative sip. That was when she tasted it—barely more than a hint of the bitter berry, not enough to be noticeable to anyone who didn’t have a tongue familiar with the taste.

This was it. This was how someone was keeping Blythe ill.

The cup was still nearly full, the liquid cold. “How long have you been taking this medicine?”

“Since the day I took ill,” Blythe answered, glaring. “It hurts my stomach if I drink it too quickly. Put it down.”

She didn’t. Instead, Signa walked to the window and dumped the tea out.

“Are you mad?” Percy ripped the porcelain cup from Signa’s hand. “For all we know, that could very well be what’s keeping my sister alive!”

“On the contrary, it could very well be what’s keeping her sick.” Signa didn’t want to let on that she knew what was happening, lest the killer find out and try other tactics. “Who gave this to you?”

Blythe’s lips curled down and deep lines furrowed in her forehead. “My maid brings it every morning.”

“And what’s her name?”

“Elaine. Though I don’t see why—”

Signa recognized the name at once as the servant who had been helping her dress. “Who prescribed this for you?”

“One of her doctors.” Percy folded his arms across his chest. “And dare I say one more competent than you.”

Even Signa knew that no doctor would prescribe belladonna in anything. Someone was sneaking it in—perhaps not in every cup but in many.

“I know this might sound strange,” she began tentatively, “but, Blythe, I don’t believe that you’re suffering from any disease.”

Percy took Signa’s wrist in his grasp, gripping so hard that she flinched, certain she would bruise. “Do not fill my sister’s head with nonsense. It’s the same illness that took our mother—”

Signa tore her arm away and looked him hard in the eye. “This isn’t medicine. I know because I’ve tasted it before. It’s belladonna, from the berries that grow in the woods near here. Someone is poisoning her.”

Blythe didn’t move for a long moment, her mouth half open. “Percy,” she began, and her brother only shook his head.

“One of the doctors would have realized it by now if it was poison.” He was adamant in this belief, each word stressed. “Signa is merely guessing.”

“I’m not guessing anything,” she said with every bit of conviction she could summon. “I recognize the taste. And if you don’t believe me, see for yourself. Blythe, the next time your medicine is brought to you, don’t drink it. But don’t refuse it, either, for you might alert someone of your suspicions. Wait until no one is around, and then find a safe place to dispose of it. Percy, you should be careful, too. Who’s to say you’re not next?”

His skepticism remained, evident in the creases between his brows.

“Shall I ask the doctor?” There was a fragility to Blythe’s voice, but otherwise she was handling this better than Signa expected. “What about Father? He deserves to know, doesn’t he? If there’s a chance that what happened to Mother was no accident?”

Signa remembered how Elijah had shoved cake into his son’s face, and the bags under his eyes, and how he was haunted and unable to sleep. His behavior was too erratic, too unpredictable. It wouldn’t be safe to trust him, nor did she think it wise for anyone else—including Blythe’s current doctor—to know that they’d caught on. Not to mention how suspicious it was that not a single one of Blythe’s doctors had realized what was happening.

“The best thing we can do to help your father is to protect the two of you,” Signa said. “Which means that, for now, this secret stays between us. Be careful with your meals. No jam. No berry reductions on your roasts. Drink your tea, but throw it out if there’s anything odd about the taste. You must eat, both of you, and you must not rouse suspicion. But take extra precautions.” She didn’t dare mention that Sylas knew their secret as well. It didn’t feel wise to mention him, and Signa still could use his help and his connection with Thorn Grove’s servants—especially now that there was a lead.

Elaine.

Blythe sighed and let her head fall deep into the pillows, curling into the sheets as though to make herself smaller.

“We’ll figure this out,” Signa promised her, putting as much gusto behind the words as possible, trying to convince herself as well. “We’re going to put a stop to this, and you’re going to be okay. I won’t let you die, Blythe.”