“I almost didn’t come,” she replied. “I’m not at all hungry.”
He saw the telltale red rings around her pretty eyes. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” he said. “I’m not that hungry myself.” Smiling encouragingly at her, he extended his arm. “May I escort you to your seat?”
After a moment’s hesitation, she returned his smile and nodded. As he led her to the table, he had a sudden memory of the one time they had danced together—at her wedding feast. She had seemed so brimming with life and light then. Was it possible that that was only one year ago? Was it possible it had ever happened at all?
Aware of the sea of faces watching him and Silva, he had a renewed sense of unreality about all of this. I’m in the depths of a dream, he told himself—a nightmare. But soon, I’ll wake up. I will, won’t I?
“You look shocked,” Axel said, breaking the silence between himself and the Cook.
“Of course, I’m shocked,” Vera said. Her usually sonorous voice was reduced to the softness of the rustle of the autumn leaves, stirring in the breeze.
“Shocked that Prince Anders was poisoned?” he inquired. “Or shocked that one of your staff is culpable?”
Vera flushed red from her chest to her forehead and glared at him. “Now, wait just a minute before you start throwing around accusations of guilt…”
Axel leaned closer, his breath on her face. “I can’t wait,” he asserted calmly. “You said yourself that time is of the essence. Only I’m not talking about lunch—I’m talking about the security of the Princedom.”
“All right,” she said, raising a hand as if in surrender. “All right. I understand. Just tell me what you intend to do about this.”
He was pleasantly surprised at how swiftly she had become subservient to him.
“My first thought was to shut down the kitchens altogether, and have each and every one of your staff questioned,” he told her, enjoying the impact of his words on her stricken face.
“You can’t shut down the kitchens! People need to eat, especially at a time like this. It’s impossible.”
“No,” he corrected her. “By no means impossible. But perhaps, I see now, unnecessary.”
Her shrewd eyes were fixed on his. She was hanging on his every word. It was time.
“Look, I was thinking this through before,” he continued, in a more measured tone. “We know that Prince Anders was poisoned at supper last night. But we also know that he was the only fatality. That tells us that the poison was not added to his food in the kitchen, but between the kitchen and the dining hall. I need you to think—and think fast—who had access to the Prince’s plate at that point.”
Vera did not hesitate. “That’s simple,” she said. “It’s the stewards who take the trays of food from the kitchen up to the dining hall.”
Axel nodded, assimilating the information. “Is one steward specifically charged with serving the Prince?”
“I don’t think so,” Vera said.
“Or the head table in general?” Axel inquired.
Vera hesitated.
“You don’t seem at all sure,” Axel continued. “And yet the stewards fall under your authority, do they not?”
When Vera resumed speaking, her voice was once more confident. “I leave the running of the stewards to the head steward, William Maddox. He does report in to me, but I’m not up there in the dining hall when the food is served. You, of course, are. Perhaps you yourself might just have noticed who was serving you your breakfast, lunch and dinner?”
Axel shook his head, dismissively. “I can assure you, Vera, I have rather more important matters to contemplate than who puts my plate of grub before me.”
He regretted the words as soon as he had spoken them as Vera was swift to seize upon his slipup.
“But it seems that the question of who serves you is perhaps the most important matter of all.” Vera smiled at her little victory. Let her, thought Axel—it would only be a fleeting one.
“This Maddox,” Axel continued, “the head steward—you say he reports to you?”
She nodded. “He certainly does.”
“I need you to summon him to my office, to discuss this matter further. But be discreet. I don’t want any of the other stewards getting wind of this. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you what a deadly threat one of them may now pose to us.”
Vera looked freshly troubled. “I can’t get to William now without alerting the other stewards,” she said. “Didn’t you hear me, on the way out here? I gave the orders for them to take up the first course.”
“What?” Axel was incredulous.
“I told them to go ahead and serve the soup. We were already running late. I didn’t know how long you were going to detain me…”
“You stupid, stupid woman,” Axel said, his voice all the more menacing for being so quiet. Already, he was moving away from her, striding, then running toward the kitchens. “Do you know what you’ve done?” he called back to her.
Vera Webb stood in the Palace Gardens, trembling at the thought. How had it come to this? How could it be one of the stewards, one of her stewards, who had committed such a terrible act? As long as she lived, she would never forget this day. Axel might as well have arrested her herself. Standing there, on the fringes of the kitchen garden, she felt suddenly weightless—as if the autumn wind might scoop her up with the rest of the falling leaves and carry her away.
Axel, meanwhile, charged through the kitchens. “Get out of my way! Move aside! Put that down. MOVE!” He left a trail of chaos and confusion in his wake as he shoved his way through to the stairwell on the other side of the room.
Leaping up the first few steps, he turned around to address his stunned audience.
“Listen up! No more food leaves this kitchen until further notice. Do you understand me?”
“But, sir, what about luncheon?” This from the lad Vera had verbally bludgeoned before.
“There will be no luncheon today.” The sea of blank faces looked questioningly at him. He had no more time. “Vera will explain further,” he said, turning away.
Axel propelled himself up the rest of the stone stairwell to the long corridor above. Looking down it, he saw that the last steward was at the other end of the corridor, striding toward the dining chamber, tray held aloft. Axel took a quick breath. He might, after all, still be in time.
He ran onward, grateful for a level of fitness unrivaled within the court—even by Hal Harness and his team of bodyguards. But fast didn’t necessarily mean dexterous and, at the threshold of the dining hall, he only narrowly missed a collision with the steward and the tureen of soup he held balanced on his tray. Pausing to glance inside, Axel took a quick reading of the scene before him.
The stewards had almost completed serving the soup. Across the serried ranks of tables, brimming bowls sat waiting to be drunk, curls of steam rising into the air.
Mercifully, there was a strict etiquette to the way food was served and eaten at court—so that the Prince’s food would always be the freshest from the kitchens, the ruler was served last but ate first.
Axel watched as the steward he had almost collided with moments before proceeded to ladle out soup to those at the main table who had not already been provided for.
He had no time to think this through further; he had to act before any new tragedy afflicted the court. With a nasty vision of the assembled falling from their chairs as one flashing before his eyes, he marched into the center of the room.
“Prince Jared, Queen Elin and members of the royal household, fellow members of the Twelve and all those of you who serve at court… I must insist that you do not let a drop of the soup you have been served reach your tongue.”
There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by a delayed reaction of whispers, swiftly rising in volume and intensity.
“Axel, what is the meaning of this?” Elin asked him.
“I cannot vouch for the safety of the food,” he called across the length of the table to her. “So I must
urge you not to drink.”
“But why?” Kai Jagger asked, looking up from his bowl. “What exactly are you saying, Axel?”
Axel frowned—he didn’t have time for a lengthy explanation. Why couldn’t they just do as they were instructed? He needed to find William Maddox and get him to round up his stewards.
“Axel.” It was Nova Chastain who addressed him now. “Are you saying that Prince Anders was poisoned?”
He nodded—thank goodness someone else on the Twelve had a keen intelligence. His eyes ranged across the room, frantically trying to locate the head steward.
“Is this true?” Emelie Sands, close by his side, inquired. “Prince Anders was killed with poison?”
“Ask Elias! It was all in his report.”
“Well, yes,” he heard the Physician, now the object of everyone’s attention, say. “There is little question that Prince Anders was killed by means of poison. But it is not absolutely certain that the poison was delivered via his food…”
“Most likely,” Axel shouted over the increasing babble, noticing his own sister watching him with something akin to amusement. He glared at Elias. “You said it was most likely that the poison was in his food. Whoever put it there had easy access to the Prince’s plate. Just as he, or she, may now have had to each and every one of your soup bowls.”
Elin spoke once more. “You think we are all now in danger?”
“Yes,” Axel replied. “I do.” Why couldn’t they just do as he told them and stop detaining him with this unhelpful volley of questions? “I need to speak with William Maddox, the head steward.” He turned and called above the rising hubbub. “Maddox! William Maddox, where are you?”
He felt a huge sense of relief as a vaguely familiar white-haired man raised his hand aloft, then began weaving his way through the tables toward him. Seeing Maddox’s receding hair and beard, he nodded, recognizing him after all.
As soon as the man was in his immediate vicinity, he turned from the others, who were still firing inane questions at him, to address Maddox directly.
“I need you to come with me,” he said. “It’s a matter of grave importance.”
Maddox did not object. Was this an indication of guilt or simply someone demonstrating some rare understanding of the severity and urgency of the situation? “Follow me,” Axel said, turning to make his way back out of the hall. He could hear the rising tide of panic behind him and was grateful to make it out into the relative quiet of the corridor.
Back at the main table, Kai Jagger lifted his spoon. “Prince Jared, I apologize for breaking protocol but, under the circumstances, I find I have no choice but to begin my meal before you.” They all watched, with horror, as Kai dipped his spoon into the soup bowl and brought the spoon of chestnut broth to his mouth.
“Is that wise?” Elin asked.
Wise or not, the Chief Huntsman had now supped and swallowed and was already filling his spoon again. Before any of them could object further, he took another mouthful. Having done so, he set down his spoon momentarily.
“It is our duty, wouldn’t you all agree, to encourage calm throughout the court, rather than to instill panic as the Captain of the Guard appears to have done?”
There were some hesitant nods around the table.
Kai lifted his spoon once more. “It is delicious soup, my friends. I would heartily encourage you to try some.”
As his spoon plunged into the soup again, Nova Chastain raised her own spoon and filled it. Now Logan Wilde did the same. They each drank a spoonful. Logan smiled and nodded. Nova dipped her spoon again.
Around the central table, the rest of the room had fallen quiet as the members of the court watched them.
Elias watched helplessly. “This doesn’t prove anything. These poisons do not have an immediate effect.”
If the others heard his words, they chose not to register them. Now Hal Harness too brought a spoonful of soup to his lips.
The royals themselves had yet to be served. Elin beckoned over the steward, who still held the tray bearing the final tureen. “My family and I are hungry,” she declared loudly. “We would very much like to partake of this delicious soup.”
Jared leaned toward her as the steward came over to serve them.
“Is this really wise?” he asked her quietly. “What if Axel and Elias are right?”
Elin addressed him sharply. “Your impetuous cousin Axel is closing the stable door after the horse has bolted,” she said decisively. “And Elias has made a career out of being overly cautious. Of course, you can make your own decision, but I for one came here for luncheon and I am not leaving again without some food.” Seeing Silva staring at her, she smiled. “You should try to eat something too, dear. You look fit to drop.”
Silva opened her mouth as if about to speak, then evidently changed her mind. She pushed back her chair and, stifling a sob, stumbled out of the dining hall.
Jared turned to his mother once more. “Should I… should one of us go after her?”
Elin shook her head, turning to nod her gracious thanks at the steward who had just finished ladling soup into her bowl and was now turning his attention to that of Prince Jared.
“No, my dear son. I’m sure that Silva simply needs to rest. You stay here and have your lunch. We can have a tray delivered to her chamber later.”
Jared turned and looked down at his brimming bowl of now tepid and potentially fatal bowl of chestnut soup. He had rarely felt less hungry but he could feel all eyes upon him once more. The soup didn’t seem to have done the rest of them any harm—yet. But, as the new Prince, he was the most logical next target.
“You need to show strength of character,” Elin told him. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m not asking you to don your armor and ride off into battle. Just put a spoonful of broth in your mouth and a smile on your handsome, if troubled, face. Make each and every one of them believe it’s quite the most delicious thing you have ever tasted. Even if, in truth, it is as bland as Vera’s standard fare.”
Prince Jared lifted his spoon and, moving swiftly so that no one would see how his hand trembled, dipped it into his bowl.
TWELVE
The Cook’s Office, the Palace
“I JUST CAN’T BELIEVE THAT ONE OF MY TEAM would be responsible,” william maddox told Axel.
“I understand that. None of us would wish to believe that we harbored the assassin on our team.” The Captain of the Guard’s words were not devoid of warmth. “What matters now is swiftly identifying the guilty party so that we can lift the threat of further attack and claim the Blood Price.”
Maddox paled at the mention of this. He managed a faltering nod.
“The Cook told me that you have a team of ten stewards?” Axel said. “Is that correct?”
Maddox nodded again. “Yes, twenty-four of them. I’ve known most since they were young lads and lasses.”
“Most,” Axel echoed. “But not all?”
“It’s not unusual for staff to move into different teams within the court, as you know, sir. I’ve always thought it’s rather a credit to the system in Archenfield that you aren’t born into one role and stay with it until your death.”
Axel grimaced. Perhaps things would be a sight easier, if that were the case. He glanced out of the small casement into the kitchen garden, where Elliot Nash and his support team had assembled the stewards for questioning.
“I’d like you to join me for this,” Axel told Maddox, gesturing toward the door.
Sunlight streamed into the kitchen gardens, the scent of sage and rosemary carried on the breeze. It made Axel momentarily hungry but he dismissed the sensation. He had work to do before he could allow himself the luxury of food.
The stewards stood in a confused gaggle, surrounded by Elliot Nash and his team. As Axel and William Maddox strode toward them, the group fell silent. Nash broke off and came to meet his commander.
“I take it you’d like to handle this yourself, sir?”
Axel nodded.
“Yes, but first ask your men and women to stand aside.” As Nash gave the order, Axel began casting his eyes over the group of suspects. Like those he had observed in the kitchen before, there was little to suggest that one rather than another was guilty. Perhaps the answer would lie in what Maddox had told him before—by separating out those who had served as stewards since childhood from the others who had transferred from other positions.
As Nash’s guards peeled away to the side, Axel immediately saw that something was wrong. He turned to Maddox. “You said you had twenty-four stewards,” he said.
“I do,” Maddox said, squinting in the sunlight.
All previous kindness filleted from his voice, Axel pointed. “Try counting them.”
Maddox began doing so.
“Let me fast track this for you,” Axel interrupted, feeling the familiar acid tang of impatience rising from his chest to his throat. “There’s only twenty-three of them. Someone is missing.”
Maddox frowned. “Yes, you’re right.” He stepped forward to address his team. “Where’s Michael?”
“He said he wasn’t feeling well this morning,” a young woman answered. “Don’t you remember…”
“Michael, eh?” Axel cut through the woman’s unnecessary blather, addressing Maddox again.
“Michael Reeves,” Maddox said. “But it couldn’t be Michael. It just couldn’t…”
“Take me to his quarters,” Axel commanded, glancing over his shoulder at Elliot Nash. “Not that I hold out the least hope of finding him there.”
Maddox knocked on a small door. Axel had had to bow his head in the low corridor that lead to it. He wondered whether Archenfield had always had short stewards or if the size of the stewards’ quarters had latterly dictated their hiring policy.
“No need to knock!” Axel said, kicking open the door with his boot. “He’s hardly likely to be in here.”
Leaving a dazed Maddox at the door, Axel crossed the threshold, beckoning Nash to join him. The attic room, bisected by a thick beam, was as lacking in decoration as it was in proportion. Pathetic really. Still, on the plus side, it wouldn’t take long to search.
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