by Aaron Kite
Tearing her gaze away from him, Gwen surveyed the room, looking for anything that might help her. She spied a dresser with a half-length mirror that looked like polished silver, and a nearby table loaded with plates of cheese and meats, and various wines sitting next to brilliant crystal glasses.
In the middle of the table, acting as a centerpiece, was her bouquet.
Gwen practically ran the half-dozen paces it took to get over to the table, grabbing the collection of flowers and digging through it, finding the paper fan in practically no time at all. She could write to Gavin!
Or could she? What if the newest geis prevented that, too?
Desperately, she opened the fan and pulled out the sketching charcoal she’d left in there, tearing a large swath of paper from the fan itself and smoothing it against the table, preparing to write. Then, with a trembling hand, she touched charcoal to paper and wrote You are in danger! in bold, clear letters.
She could write it! The geis wouldn’t stop her!
Quickly, almost giddy with relief, she sat down in the nearby chair, leaned over the table and began scrawling a longer message.
“What are you doing?” Gavin asked softly from somewhere over her shoulder, his voice sounding alarmingly close.
A tremendous surge of excitement filled her chest. The charcoal Gwen was holding snapped in half, though she hardly noticed. Her eyes were closed, and she felt warm and tingly all over, practically in a swoon from the knowledge that he was standing near her.
He asked something else in a soft, gentle tone, but Gwen didn’t really hear a word he’d said. She was too busy fighting off the impulse to whirl around in her chair and grab his shirt, to pull him down to her and—
Gwen bit her bottom lip savagely in an effort to maintain control, realizing that both her hands were clenched tightly, one of them gripping the tablecloth as though she feared falling out of her chair. Being this near him was excruciating!
Relaxing her fingers, she picked up one of the broken pieces of charcoal and continued writing with a shaky hand.
I am poisonous! You must leave right away!
She put the charcoal down, feeling exhausted, yet thrilled by what she’d just accomplished. She’d done it; she’d beaten the geis again! It wasn’t exactly her best work, what with her unsteady hands and all, but it would do.
Exultant, she stood up from her chair, half-turned towards him and held up the paper in both hands for him to see.
Gavin’s brow furrowed as he studied what she held in her trembling hands, and after a moment he looked a question at her. Then he looked back to the paper, seeming a bit distressed.
“Uhm,” he began apologetically, “I’m very sorry, but I was never taught to read.”
Gwen felt her jaw drop, and she stared at him open-mouthed.
No!
She sat down heavily in her chair, the paper falling from fingers that suddenly felt numb. Her thoughts raced, and she tried to focus on what she could do, her mind drawing a blank because of how close he was standing, not more than a few feet away.
“But that’s what I mean, right there! You’re so much better, so much smarter than I am. You deserve a husband who can make you happy. If you don’t wish to see me again, you can say so. Just let it out! I mean, look at me. I’m just some guy who isn’t even literate, and who hates being a prince. I don’t know anything about ruling people, or anything, really. I don’t have anybody I’d call a friend. I hate sitting at court. I hate pomp and pageantry. Most days I stink of horses. I spend too much time with them, probably because I enjoy their company better than most of the people I’m around.”
Gwen felt her lower lip begin to tremble.
Oh please stop talking, please, please, please....
“I’m not particularly clever, or even funny. I’m okay with people, but I’m just, I’m me,” Gavin said, crouching on his heels so he’d be eye-level with Gwen as he spoke. “And that’s okay. I’m happy enough with who I am. But what I’m saying is it’s not okay for someone like me to be forced upon someone as—”
She couldn’t stop it.
Before Gwen even realized what she was doing, she was upon him — her gloved fingers clutching the sides of his head, her own head tipped to one side, her lips desperately pressing against his.
Emotions of every colour exploded inside of her, and she discovered a tender yet fiery joy she’d never even known existed. In her stomach, entire fields of butterflies took flight in the brightest summer sunshine possible, fluttering through her and filling every part of her — every hair, every thought, every inch of her skin. It was a rapturous moment she prayed would never end, all dizzy, and wonderful, and warm.
And somewhere in there, mixed in with everything else, there was a feeling of pins and needles.
Her geis was lifted. The spell was broken.
Bliss transformed into horror as she realized what she was doing, and she violently threw herself away from him, half-collapsing back into her chair, aghast at what she’d just done.
Gavin reeled backward, looking stricken, his eyes wide. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but a quiet choking noise was all that came out, and he staggered away from her and fell heavily to the floor, looking as though he’d just been kicked by a mule.
She hadn’t been able to stop it!
Gwen sat there helpless as Gavin made another urgent-sounding croak, and attempted to rise, his hand pressed against his chest, just above his heart.
The room became a tear-filled blur of colour and light as she lurched to her feet, her hands clasped over her mouth. Her foot snagged the hem of her dress as she stood, causing her to fall to the floor as well, at which point she simply lay there on the cold floor, sobbing, hand pressed against her stomach as though it pained her.
And it did hurt. It was beyond pain.
Gwen wanted to be sick — wanted to vomit up this terrible feeling that had taken up residence inside of her gut. The more she thought about what she’d just done, the more intensely she seemed to feel everything. Though the geis had been lifted, something seemed to rob her lungs of the air necessary to make any sort of sound at all.
And she simply lay there, sobbing noiselessly. She could do nothing else.
Damned. With a cold feeling of certainty, she knew she was damned — could sense it. This was what it felt like to be damned.
Slowly propping herself up from the floor, she looked over to where she’d last seen Gavin. He’d managed to stumble over to the bed before collapsing onto his side, facing away from her. His arms had wrapped reflexively around his chest, and she could see his shoulders shuddering convulsively.
Poisoned by her.
Gwen realized she had never watched someone die before, and just as that thought struck her, something seemed to click inside her head.
Murderess.
A killer.
She’d tried everything she could think of, tried so hard to avoid this outcome, but it happened anyway. And now she was damned. Unclean. A murderess.
It was utter despair, like little snakes squeezing the life out of her heart with every shuddering breath. Every horrible thing she’d ever experienced up to this point had been a picnic under a cloudless sky in comparison.
Bleakly, she wondered how she might go on like this, and very quickly she realized she no longer wanted to.
The torturous guilt, the unbearable burden of what she’d just done would quickly overwhelm and crush her, like grain under a millstone. She wouldn’t — couldn’t — go on like this.
Nothing at all mattered any more.
Brushing the tears from her eyes, Gwen scouted the room, and before long her gaze fell upon the nearby table containing the trays of meats and cheeses. Eventually, it rested upon the ornamental carving knife sitting next to a roasted lamb shank.
Gwen stared at the knife, her near-silent
sobs becoming less and less frequent, eventually stopping entirely.
Nobody would profit from this horrible thing, the detestable actions of her father. She wouldn’t be his puppet.
If she were dead along with Gavin, what happened to her father’s plan then? Or, specifically, what if Gwen were found beside him, perhaps looking as though she’d been murdered? A young couple, king and queen, both murdered the same hour they were married? Suspicion, doubt… and with no new couple to rule the kingdom, things would likely revert to what they were before.
A stomach wound. That would be convincing. She’d heard once that stomach wounds were painful, but considering the pain in her heart right now, the prospect of a knife in her guts didn’t seem all that bad. Maybe she even deserved to die in agony. Perhaps it was her punishment for not thinking of something in time.
It took hardly any time at all for her to reach a decision.
Steeling her resolve, Gwen pushed herself back up to her feet and slowly walked over to the table. She picked up the carving knife in one hand and inspected it.
Sharp. Not a stabbing weapon to be sure, but it did have a point, and the blade was almost the length of her forearm. It would do the job. She’d make certain of that.
Gwen turned her head and gave Gavin one last look. He was no longer convulsing, and didn’t appear to be moving at all.
The room was utterly silent.
For a long while she simply clutched her knife in her hand, staring at Gavin’s motionless form, thinking of everything that had led up to this point. If only she’d found the courage to allow herself to be killed by the dire wolf, or to leap from her window. If only she’d been more clever, or less afraid. He might still be alive.
Her fingers tensed around the handle of the knife, and as she raised it to chest height she stole one last look at the man she’d killed.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.
In one fluid motion, Gavin whirled around and sat bolt upright on the bed, his tear-streaked face slack with disbelief, and he stared directly at her with red-rimmed eyes that were wide with confusion.
The ornamental blade tumbled out of Gwen’s nerveless fingers and clattered to the stone floor, and she stared back at him in open-mouthed astonishment.
Chapter 22
“Are you okay?” Gavin asked urgently, standing up from the bed. “Do you feel unwell?”
“I’m...this...why were you—” Gwen couldn’t seem to finish any of her thoughts, and her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper from disuse.
The two of them simply stared at one another, neither moving.
He looked fine! Blistering happened in an instant, she knew, but his lips, his complexion, everything looked fine! Aside from a bit of red around his eyes, he looked just as he had a few minutes ago.
What was going on?
She’d had some coloured balm applied to her lips earlier while preparing for the wedding — Gwen could still feel some traces of soft wax. But something like that wouldn’t be enough to protect him from her, would it? Surely not.
Gavin’s eyes focused on Gwen’s mouth, as though his thoughts somehow mirrored her own, and his look of confusion intensified. Then he looked to the knife that lay at her feet.
“Why were you—” he began.
“What happened?” she blurted. “You fell, and I thought—”
Gwen looked away from him to the spot where he’d been laying a second ago. Her own look of confusion was probably the match of his.
Gavin looked to the bed, then back to her.
“I was... I’m sorry. I just—” He glanced at the bed again, wiping a tear with the back of his hand. “I was upset. I thought something terrible had happened. But you’re not...I mean, I didn’t....”
He looked momentarily distressed and his voice trailed off.
Silence once more dominated the room as they stared at one another, and Gwen, not trusting herself to stand upright, carefully lowered herself into the nearby chair and tried to think.
Was he hurt? He didn’t look it. He did seem disoriented though. Was it from the poison?
“I don’t understand,” Gwen said, her voice sounding slightly raspy. She frowned, and attempted to clear her throat a few times, an activity that drew a renewed look of concern from Gavin.
“No! I’m...you need to—” he stammered. Then, closing his eyes, he gave a growl of frustration and looked to the ceiling.
What the heck was going on!? He was far less articulate all of a sudden. He hadn’t sounded like this when speaking to her earlier, not at all! Was the toxin affecting his ability to talk?
“I’m...it’s th—that I—” He sat down heavily on the bed and ran his fingers through his hair, like he was trying to think.
There was something familiar about the hesitation in his voice as he spoke, Gwen realized. It was almost like it was....
A compulsion?
Looking lost in thought, Gavin appeared to realize something, turning to Gwen a moment later.
“You wish me to tell you something about myself?” Gavin asked, his words sounding as though carefully spoken. “What I’ve been wanting to say to you?”
“Yes,” she agreed, instantly.
“No!” he half-shouted, burying his head in his palms. Then he calmed himself, sat up, took a quick breath, and gave her an earnest look. “You wish me to tell you,” he repeated, not making it a question.
Gwen’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“I do,” she said, nodding slowly.
Giving her a desperate look, Gavin waved his hands as though encouraging her to continue speaking.
“I...wish for you to tell me...what you’ve been wanting to tell me?” she managed to say, haltingly. She had a feeling she looked about as confused as she sounded just then.
Gavin closed his eyes and fell backward into the bed, groaning as though exhausted, his hands covering his face. At first Gwen thought it was because he was even more frustrated than before, but when he finally removed his hands from his face, the expression she saw on it was one of profound relief.
“Oh, thank the Goddess!” He sat back up on the bed, turned to her, his expression serious and alert. “Okay, this is hard to explain, but you’re in danger. You can’t do that again. Ever!” He gave her a slightly forlorn look. “Despite how much I really, really want you to. Are you feeling unwell? Dizzy? We need a towel, or something to wipe your lips, just in case.”
His voice trailed off as his gaze darted around the room, eventually falling upon the tablecloth. In the blink of an eye he’d jumped up from the bed and dashed over to the table next to her, yanking away the cloth that had been draped over it. Food and silverware fell to the floor, and all the while Gwen sat immobile, trying to piece together what was happening.
“Here, quickly!” he said, holding the cloth out for her to take. “Look, I know this seems strange, but I need you to wipe your lips. And try not to touch them with your tongue when you do. Or swallow. Try not to do that either!”
She stared at what he offered. The white of the tablecloth was almost indistinguishable from the white officer’s gloves he’d worn during the ceremony, the same gloves he still wore for some reason, which—
It hit her, very suddenly, and everything coalesced.
He was behaving exactly as she might if she’d poisoned someone!
And then Gwen was light-headed and dizzy, her thoughts becoming a whirlwind of revelations. She felt her muscles suddenly relax, and she practically melted into the cushions of her chair. At that moment, though it seemed impossible, she knew why he was acting this way. She knew why he hadn’t died.
Unable to help herself, Gwen began to giggle.
Gavin somehow managed to look even more distressed than before, and the look on his face caused Gwen to laugh even harder.
“Euphoria! Quickly, rub this on your face!” he said. “And...spit! You need to spit into the towel! I’ll get some water, or wine — something to rinse with! We’ve got—”
She was now laughing so hard tears blurred her vision. She could barely make out the form of Gavin as he grabbed decanter and goblet, made a botch of pouring and turned to her in exasperation.
“You’ve been poisoned! This is one of the effects,” he cried. “Look, this is going to sound very strange, but my father sent me here to kill you! He has designs on your kingdom, and wishes to merge it with ours and rule over both. That’s been his plan all along, this whole time! For years he’s been planning this! You see, ever since I was a boy, I was forced to eat—”
“—a horrible blue-green herb,” she managed to say through her laughter. “You’ve been fed it every day.”
Speechless, Gavin simply stared down at her, his eyes wide. His newest expression just made Gwen want to start laughing all over again, but she eventually managed to control herself.
“I—” Gavin began, fixing her with a stupefied look. “My father said knowledge of it had been kept secret! You...your people know of the herb? You have an antidote? Immunity?”
“The herb is called chi’darro, which I suspect is some sort of foreign word meaning tastes like chalk fried in rancid butter, but I can’t be certain,” she said, grinning. Her relief was probably making her the tiniest bit silly, she realized, but she didn’t really care. She’d been so serious, so miserable, for so very long. A little silliness seemed a bit like medicine all of a sudden.
Gavin blinked at her.
“You’re...you...how could you know what it tastes like?” he asked, looking even more uncertain and amazed. Then his expression changed to one of dawning realization. “You’ve been...but you can’t have, can you? It’s just—”
“I’ve been given it my whole life. My father’s plans sound almost identical to your father’s. He sent me into this marriage to poison and kill you. I didn’t want to. I foiled him once before, and managed to warn off one other prince, but my father made extra certain I couldn’t do anything this time around,” she said, feeling herself growing hoarse. She fanned a gesture in front of her neck apologetically, swallowing and clearing her throat once again. “I haven’t been able to talk for weeks, thanks to something called a geis sphere, or I would have tried to warn you.”