A Tale of Two Castles(61)

“Her Highness rarely leaves his side, and Sir Misyur comes often as well. Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Later. I never wake up hungry.”

“Children need nourishment.”

I wondered if he might be the poisoner, or if someone had instructed him to see me eat. “It tastes bad unless I’m hungry.”

The other guard said, “Let her starve if she likes.”

The kindly guard gave up, and they left. As soon as they’d gone, I climbed up to the window. A steady rain poured down. I tossed my breakfast—pottage again—out the window and consumed a skewer. I would need to husband food and water until IT came tonight.

King Grenville’s skin had been waxen. Martyr’s mint caused waxy skin, and so did false cinnamon. Both were grown in Lepai. False cinnamon tasted enough like the true to go unnoticed. Martyr’s mint, despite its name, had no flavor at all.

But false cinnamon acted quickly, and His Highness had been poisoned at the feast. He certainly had been well the next day—well and spiteful enough to paint my face with gravy.

In addition to waxy skin, martyr’s mint caused slow and light breathing, stomach bloating, listlessness, no pain. And death.

Enough thinking about poison and death. To distract myself, I passed the morning reciting tales and mansioning every role. When the knock came for the midday meal, I was bellowing, “Fee fie fo fum, I smell the blood of a Lepai man.” Not the most sensible line for one suspected of being a spy for Tair.

The door opened, and there was the princess herself, holding my tray. No guards, but I knew they were outside at the ready.

I curtsied while hoping the thick door had contained my words. “Your Highness . . . beg pardon, I was mansioning. Do you know—”

“Ehlodie.” The lowest note came last, sorrowfully.

I took the tray and set it on the table.

“I shouldn’t have struck you.” She smiled. “You’ve heard?”

I nodded. “His Majesty is better. Your Highness, I didn’t—”

“Let’s not speak of it. I’m still glad I gave you my cap. La! I do not miss it. And until . . .” She shook her head. “I’ve always been happy to see your head in it.”

“Thank you.” I wasn’t sure what to say. “I’ve never had such a fine cap.” I remembered my manners. “Please sit.” I pulled my chair away from the table for her.

“That’s your chair.” She sat on the bed. “I’ll keep you company while you eat your meal. Lamb stew. Won’t you try it? I had mine, lamb stew also, quite tasty.”

What excuse could I give her for not eating? I wondered if I could trust her with the truth.

Wait! Why did she want me to know her meal had been the same as mine?

“Your Highness, I finished my good breakfast just half an hour ago.”

“La! Breakfast? Hardly enough to feed a squirrel. Come, you must have more now.”

Could she be the poisoner?

She couldn’t be. She would expect me to share with her.

Oh. My tray had but one spoon.

Still, she couldn’t be.

Whatever she was, I had to prevent her from forcing food on me. Mansion! My eyes filled with tears. “You have always been kind to me. I promise to eat as soon as hunger returns.”

“I won’t leave until I see you swallow a morsel or two, for my own consolation. No one will say we starved a prisoner. La! I’ll entertain you while you eat. My father . . .”

She was the poisoner. I gripped the table, which seemed to spin. Princess Renn was the whited sepulcher.





Chapter Thirty-Five

Princess Renn had come to see me eat, because she knew I hadn’t touched my meal last night or this morning. If I had, I would be sick or dead by now. I rinsed my fingers in the water bowl, slowly, slowly. Her mouth moved. I restrained myself from screaming and heard not a word.

What poison would she give me? Something quick, that wouldn’t hurt, because she didn’t want to cause suffering.

How much would kill me?

I had an idea what it might be, and I couldn’t eat a bite. When she paused, I said, “Your Highness, alas, my hunger is banished for now.” I shivered. “Do you feel a chill?” I held my hands out to the fire, which was blazing, and leaned in as well to redden my cheeks.

She took my shoulders and turned me. “Are you ill, dear?”

I shook my head. “Only cold, and my throat is sore.”

“Food will warm you.”

I bit on my cheek, hard. “You are too good, but I cannot choke down any.” I coughed and wiped my mouth on my sleeve, taking care that she saw the blood.

Her face relaxed. “La, it is chilly.”

Oh, my cheek hurt.

She held my hands, which were still hot.

I saw her gold bracelets again, but none of twine. Perhaps she thought she didn’t need an eejis.

“Ehlodie, my father will be just, and I’ll see to it that you don’t suffer here. I’ll leave you now.” She twitched the bed-curtains aside. “I see you have enough blankets to make you warm.”

She’d made sure of that. I had guessed right about the poison.

She left.

I sniffed my bowl. The scent was faint but detectable: eastern wasp powder. Rare and expensive, but she was a princess. The poison acted in an hour or two, caused chills, fever, tremors, a tight throat, death. A single swallow would be enough to kill me. But I would feel no sharp pain, no agony. No suffering.