A Little Taste of Poison

by R. J. Anderson

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am deadly serious. Delicia Ghataj isn’t just one of the brightest young noblewomen in the city, she cares deeply about making Tarreton a better place—in short, she would make an excellent Sagelady. And I will not stand by and watch you do to her what Father did to Mother.”

  “I haven’t the least idea what you mean,” said Eryx, but his tone was too bland, too indifferent. It was the same way Lilet talked when someone caught her misbehaving and she was trying to bluff it out.

  “Very well, let me put it this way.” Civilla’s voice dropped lower, but its coldness was no less intense. “If I catch you slithering around Delicia or any of my friends again, I will ruin you.”

  “Oh, come now, you can’t mean—”

  “Don’t test me, Eryx. You need me on your side.”

  Isaveth gripped the edge of the planter, trying desperately to ignore the cramp in her leg. If she moved even a little, they’d spot her.

  “Very well,” said the Lording at last. “But jealousy doesn’t become you, Cilla. Just because Delicia doesn’t despise me doesn’t make her any less your friend.”

  He really was a snake, thought Isaveth. How could she ever have admired him? Anyone who could twist words like that . . .

  “No, it doesn’t,” retorted Civilla. “But neither does it make me any less hers. Charm-swear it, Eryx. I won’t let you off until you do.”

  Eryx gave a long-suffering sigh. He drew a silver case from his pocket, opened it with a practiced flick of the thumb, and tweezed out a charm, holding it up before his lips as he spoke.

  “I, Eryx Lording, pledge to show no more attention to Delicia Ghataj after this night than I did before, until and unless my sister, Civilla Ladyship, approves. I also vow not to court any other friends of my sister, Civilla Ladyship, without her consent.” He arched one dark brow at her. “Does that suffice?”

  Isaveth wanted to shout a warning—there had to be a loophole in that promise, a cunning trick that would enable Eryx to get his way. But even if she’d dared to reveal herself, it was too late. Civilla nodded, and the charm flared green as Eryx murmured the invocation and snapped it in two.

  “For your keeping,” he said, handing Civilla one of the broken halves. “Now, if we’re quite done here, it’s time we were getting back to the ball.”

  Heart thumping, Isaveth forced herself to stay hidden until the door closed and the sound of their footsteps had faded. Then she rose stiffly and crept toward the exit.

  Chapter Fourteen

  WHEN ISAVETH RETURNED to the ballroom, she found more couples dancing than ever. Eulalie was skipping about with Mander Ghataj, whose reluctant manner made Isaveth suspect that she’d asked him to dance instead of the other way around. J. J. Wregget guided the Sagelady about the floor, holding her so lightly she might have been a soap bubble, while Eryx seemed to be waging a silent battle with Su Amaraq over which one of them should lead. And judging by the way Betinda Callender kept tossing her curls and giggling, Paskin had found a willing partner at last. . . .

  “There you are,” said Esmond in her ear, and Isaveth jumped. “Good. Now turn around and try to look surprised. I’m going to ask you to dance.”

  She didn’t need to try: Her startled reaction was genuine. “What?”

  Esmond made her a half bow and held out his hand. “We need to talk,” he muttered, “so will you please cooperate before people start staring?”

  He had a point. If she refused to dance with the Sagelord’s son, everyone would wonder. So as the musicians struck up a slower tune, Isaveth put her hand into Esmond’s and let him walk her out onto the floor.

  “Try to relax,” said Esmond as they turned to face each other. “I know this is awkward, but it was the only way I could think of to get a proper conversation. Is everything all right? I saw you go out a few minutes ago.”

  “It’s fine. I only wanted some fresh air.” She was silent a moment, wondering how to tell him about Eryx and Civilla’s conversation, then asked, “Esmond . . . what’s charm-swearing?”

  He made a face. “It’s a way of holding someone to a promise they don’t really want to make. Like when my father made me charm-swear to always wear my half glass in public, and never dress like a street-boy again.” His fingers tightened on Isaveth’s waist, swinging her away from the other dancers. “If you break your word, both halves of the charm start flashing and blaring the words you said when you made the promise. So everybody knows you’re a liar.”

  His gaze slid to Eryx, who stood listening gravely to a woman in a wolf mask and her matching escort, both of whom seemed upset for some reason. Betinda Callender hovered behind them, simpering and batting her eyelashes—hoping Eryx would dance with her, no doubt.

  “My brother loves charm-swearing,” said Esmond distractedly, “because it makes people think they can trust him. What nobody seems to realize is that Eryx never vows to do anything he didn’t mean to do in the first place . . . but anyway.” He drew Isaveth closer, lowering his tone. “I left the bottle of tracking potion behind the mantle clock in the dining room—go out the side door and you’ll find it. Just try not to bump into any of the servants.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Isaveth said breathlessly. His face was very near, and she felt a shy impulse to lean away. “Anything else?”

  “Father’s holding court in the gaming room, and people keep going in to talk to him. So you’d better stay clear of all that, too.” He glanced to his right, where Civilla was dancing with a fish-faced man who kept squinting as though he’d lost his spectacles. “Poor Cilla. Every time she gets a chance at the spotlight, Eryx finds a way to steal it.”

  Isaveth couldn’t argue with that. Yet she couldn’t help thinking that the Civilla she’d seen in the conservatory seemed sharp enough to take care of herself.

  “Esmond,” she said, and he looked at her quizzically. “What would happen if your sister turned against Eryx? Does she know something that could hurt his reputation, or spoil his plans in some way?”

  “I wish,” said Esmond. “But she’s too busy fussing over Mother and gadding about with her society friends to pay attention to politics these days. I don’t think she cares what Eryx gets up to as long as he leaves her out of it.” He steered her aside as another couple danced too close. “Anyway, what could she do? He’s Father’s heir, and the whole city adores him. Even if she knew something, she’d never dare say it without proof.”

  Isaveth nodded, her gaze wandering over the crowd. Lady Nessa had finished her dance with Wregget and was talking quietly to his wife, who kept patting the Sagelady’s hand as though to soothe her. But she didn’t look upset so much as weary, as though the effort of hosting such a grand party had drained her of what little strength she had.

  I won’t stand by and watch you do to her what Father did to Mother, Civilla had told Eryx in the garden. Surely she couldn’t mean that the Sagelady had once been as bright and full of life as Delicia?

  “Isaveth,” said Esmond, and she blinked to attention. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  He probably thought she’d lost her nerve. But after the things she’d seen and heard tonight, Isaveth felt more determined to stop Eryx than ever.

  “I’m fine,” she told him. “Just give me the signal, and I’ll go.”

  * * *

  “You danced a lot better with him than you did with Paskin,” whispered Eulalie as she passed by, and Isaveth nearly spilled her punch. Was it that obvious she was so familiar with the way Esmond moved, and so sure he wouldn’t mislead her, that she hadn’t needed to think about where her feet were going at all?

  If so, she could only hope nobody else had noticed. Isaveth hurried to the opposite side of the ballroom, putting as much distance between herself and the dance floor as possible, and attached herself to Su Amaraq’s circle of admirers instead.

  “. . . can’t imagine it’ll pass in council,” one man was saying. “Too heavy-handed. Sounds more like somethi
ng Lord Arvis would do than Eryx, if you ask me.”

  “Of course it sounds like Lord Arvis,” replied Su with a dismissive tilt of her glass. “My guess is that he refused to even discuss it until Eryx came up with an idea he liked better.”

  “Well, either way it’s radical. I know cutting relief to Moshites makes more sense than riling up half the commoners in the city, but even so . . .”

  Isaveth froze.

  “He didn’t say all Moshites,” objected a deer-masked girl. “Only the ones who refuse to pledge allegiance to the Sagelord and take an oath of nonviolence. After all, if they won’t do that they’re clearly up to no good, aren’t they?”

  Nausea rushed over Isaveth, and the room darkened around her. She clutched at an urn to steady herself.

  “Except, my dear, that Sage Moshiel forbade his followers to swear oaths or pledge loyalty to anyone but the All-One,” remarked a familiar voice from behind his boar mask. “So we’re not just asking them to be good citizens, we’re asking them to convert.”

  “Why, Mister Wregget,” exclaimed the girl. “I had no idea you were such a sympathizer.”

  “Not taking sides here, young lady, just stating a fact. . . .”

  Isaveth couldn’t bear to listen any longer. She plunged through the crowd, heading blindly for the stage and the half-open door beside it. Now she knew what Eryx meant to do to her people—not just the ones who’d been arrested or caught protesting anymore, but every Moshite in the city—there wasn’t a moment to waste.

  The dining room stood empty, with only a few glasses and abandoned plates to show that anyone had passed this way. Instrument cases lay all around the fireplace, and Isaveth stepped carefully past them, reaching up behind the clock to retrieve her tracking potion. Fingers trembling, she raised the vial—

  The door across the room banged open, and a young man in servants’ livery burst through. “Don’t you lecture me!” he shouted over his shoulder. “I know my duties as well as—oh, sorry, miss.” He bobbed her a bow. “May I help you?”

  “Oh,” gasped Isaveth. She’d thrust the vial behind her back just in time, but her mind was blank with panic. “No. Thank you. I was only . . .”

  The waiter raised his brows.

  “. . . looking for the toilet,” she finished lamely.

  “Ah. This way.” He crossed the tiled corridor, opened another door, and gestured to the brass-fixtured washroom inside.

  “Thank you,” said Isaveth, with a smile she hoped looked less ghastly than it felt. She backed in and shut the door, then whipped out her tracking potion.

  At first glance, it appeared to be working perfectly. The sparkling flecks of magewort pointed in a roughly northwest direction—away from the ballroom, toward the back of the house. She swirled it a second time to be certain, then opened the washroom door and peeked out.

  The hallway stood empty, and Isaveth was about to make a dash for it when a side door swung open and a maid with a tray of drinks backed through. That must be the entrance to the kitchen—how could she get past without anyone seeing her? Isaveth dug into the pocket Annagail had sewn inside her skirt, fingering her small assortment of charms and tablets, but none seemed to offer any solution.

  She’d have to be bold, then, and trust her berrybird mask to protect her. Isaveth took a deep breath, pelted to the end of the hall, and flung herself through the door, slamming it behind her.

  Cold air stung her face, and it was so dark that Isaveth thought she’d blundered into the meat larder. But no, this was the underground tunnel she’d come through on her first visit, the weather-passage between the mansion and the carriage house. Isaveth fumbled for a light-tablet and crushed it between her fingers, then pushed her mask to the back of her head and shook the bottle again. Was she on the right track? Or would the potion mislead her like it had Esmond?

  The answer came in a flash, as all the floating grains raced to the opposite side of the bottle. One hand glowing and the other clutching the vial, Isaveth ran for the end of the passage.

  The door moved easily, opening into further darkness. Isaveth climbed the stairs to the floor of the carriage house and paused, frowning at the Sagelord’s black sedan and the sleek gray sportster beside it. Had she reached the end of the trail already? Esmond had searched this place weeks ago, so it hardly made sense. . . .

  The grains pressed against the left side of the bottle, urging her onward. Shoes crunching on the salt-stained concrete, Isaveth followed it between the carriages—then stopped, bewildered, as the particles dropped to the bottom of the vial. Could Eryx’s documents be under the carriage house? It was hard to imagine: The floor looked solid, with no sign of a trapdoor anywhere. But perhaps he’d used an illusion-charm, or . . .

  Reflected in the carriage window, Isaveth’s eyes opened wide. Of course. What a fool she’d been! She thrust the vial into her pocket, reached for the door handle—

  And a deafening blare shattered the night.

  Isaveth leaped back, clapping both hands to her ears. Then with renewed horror she realized she’d still been holding the pieces of her light-tablet. Frantically she swatted at her hair and stamped the glowing crumbs to powder, then rushed around the dark carriage house, desperate to escape.

  But how? If she went back down the tunnel, she’d run straight into Eryx, or whoever else was coming to investigate. If she fled outside, she’d freeze—not to mention leave a clear trail of footprints in the snow.

  There was no way out. What was she going to do?

  Chapter Fifteen

  EEEEAAAAHHHH . . . EEEEAAAAHHHH . . .

  Like the bray of some maddened donkey, the magical alarm droned on. Isaveth crouched atop the rafter with a float-charm in one hand and a shade-charm in the other, stomach cramping with fear. She was safe for the moment, but if the manservant circling Eryx’s sportster looked up . . .

  “Who’s been fooling about in here?”

  Isaveth’s insides knotted tighter. The new arrival was Eryx Lording himself.

  “They must have bolted when the alarm went off, sir.” The footman gestured to the side door of the carriage house, which Isaveth had suggestively left open. “I came as soon as I heard it, but—” He raised his voice to be heard above the din. “There was nobody here.”

  Eryx’s mouth flattened. He tapped the sportster’s door handle and the alarm cut off, leaving Isaveth’s ears ringing. “Then look for them, man. They’ll have left footprints, surely, unless . . .” He rubbed a finger across his chin. “Unless they used magic to hide their trail.”

  “One of the guests, then, milord?” The servant craned outside, sweeping the night with his spell-torch. “No prints.”

  The Lording pivoted slowly, scanning the carriage house. Isaveth held her breath. Merciful All-One, don’t let him look up! True, all he’d see was shadow at first, but if that torch swung toward her . . .

  “Probably one of Esmond’s idiot schoolmates,” said Eryx at last. “Lock up and we’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

  “Yes, milord.” Ice rasped as the footman pulled the side door shut. He glanced about one last time, then snapped off the lights and followed his master out. The lower door slammed, and Isaveth was alone.

  Isaveth let out her breath, tension draining from her body. But she was freezing, filthy—and even more worrisome, stuck. She’d used the floater to get up to the rafter, but how to get down?

  She didn’t dare touch Eryx’s spell-carriage a second time, and its soft top likely wouldn’t hold her anyway. The Sagelord’s sedan looked more sturdy, but what if she set off another alarm? Isaveth shinned forward, peering at the darkened floor. Could she roll off the beam, dangle by her hands a bit, then drop?

  Maybe, but she’d also stand an excellent chance of breaking an ankle. Besides, the rafter was too wide to give her a proper grip. Isaveth sighed and backed up to where she’d started.

  Little by little the darkness lightened as her shade-charm lost its power. Her body grew heavy, and the rafter dug into he
r thighs. She was shivering uncontrollably, and she couldn’t hold on much longer. . . .

  “Isaveth?”

  Her muscles melted into butter. “Esmond!” she gasped as he climbed out of the stairwell, a light-charm glowing in his hand.

  One glance was all it took for him to grasp her predicament. Esmond dropped the charm into his pocket, scrambled onto the roof of his father’s sedan, and stretched out both hands to help Isaveth down. For an awful second the metal groaned beneath their combined weight—then he swung her off the far side of the carriage and hopped to the floor beside her.

  “You’re freezing!” he exclaimed, rubbing her cold-pebbled arms. “Here, take my jacket.” He draped it around her, and gratefully Isaveth wriggled into the sleeves.

  “H-how did you f-find me?” she asked, her teeth still chattering.

  “Well, the alarm was a bit of a giveaway. Not that most people heard it over the orchestra, but when Eryx rushed out, I knew something was up. I followed him far enough to guess what must have happened, but I didn’t dare come after you until the tunnel was clear. And he’d locked the door, so I had to hunt for a key. . . .” He looked her up and down. “What were you doing?”

  “Eryx’s car.” She clutched at him, grimy fingers digging into his sleeve. “The tracing potion said to look inside, but when I touched the handle—”

  Esmond stared at her. Then he pulled away and covered his eyes with his hand. “Stupid,” he groaned. “So stupid.”

  “Well, I like that! How was I supposed to know?”

  “Oh, great Sages, I didn’t mean you. I meant me.” He seized her cold hands and began chafing them. “No wonder I couldn’t get the tracking spell to work, because I kept waiting to try it until Eryx was out. Driving around the city. In his carriage.”

  Isaveth mouthed a silent oh.

  “I should have guessed ages ago. He’s always so fussy about letting anyone touch his car. . . . But you, Isaveth!” He twirled her around in a triumphant dance. “You’re not stupid, you’re brilliant. I could—”