Page 109 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
Heat is creeping into my face. I can’t stop it.
“Ruelle.” My thrall’s voice deepens, and he prowls nearer. “Did you poison me so you wouldn’t have to share me?”
I wince. “It sounds horrible when you say it like that.”
“How should I say it then?”
I shrug.
“So it’s true.” He sighs. Then he wraps both arms around me. “That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
My heart thrills, and I turn to him, looking into those soft dark eyes. I almost forget where I am, what I’m doing, what lies in the parlors of this wretched palace.
A golden glow catches my attention—Stefa, reaching out with her magic to heal Cowen. Without my permission.
My muscles tense, and I start to lunge forward with the knife—but Ducayne holds me still. “Wait,” he says. “Let them have this. Take a moment before you decide their fate.”
I wrench in his grasp, but when he bends toward me I can’t help but tip my face up to his, our lips brushing lightly.
A sound, half-sob and half incredulous laugh, breaks the moment. It’s Ward, bowed over, head in his hands, the empty wine bottle discarded on the floor beside him. “You faked your death, Cowen,” he says, as if the truth has finally registered in his brain. “Fuck, I thought you weregone. Why, why would you put me through that?”
“To give you the inheritance,” Cowen says. “Stefa was going to write a letter, confessing to the murders, and we were going to leave you as the sole survivor, locked in the dungeons so you would be cleared of culpability. Then she and I were planning to leave by ship from the Oleyra port. You see, if I ran away, you still wouldn’t inherit. I had to be dead.”
“And you were going to fund your new life with the stolen jewels,” I murmur, turning my gaze on Stefa. “As a Royal Healer, you had access to all the rooms. No one would suspect you of the thefts. And I’d guess you poisoned the healer who was assigned to be here at Summerglee, so you could take their place among us.”
“You’re very clever, your Highness,” Stefa says. “I’ve always thought so. Had a soft spot for you, even when you were a little girl and I was healing the scars from those whippings.”
Her eyes are clear and bright, no sign of guilt. No hint of compassion either, although now I know she carries a twisted kind of mercy, deep in her soul. A consummate liar she is, a monster my family made.
“I would have liked to spare the servants and guards,” Stefa says quietly. “But with the truth-blend being distributed to everyone, we knew there would likely be clues here and there, from people who saw or heard incriminating things without realizing what they’d witnessed. Especially since Cowen has a tendency to brag about the truth and clumsily cover it as a joke afterward.”
Stefa gives him a stern look and continues. “Your sister would have pieced it together, even if Cowen and I managed to avoid inhaling the truth-blend ourselves. Our last resort, our secret weapon, was that toxin, one of my own design which can be altered for absorption through the skin or the lungs. I’m relieved I had enough doses of the counteragent to spare you two.”
“So you poisoned everyone because you were afraid of my truth elixir?” Ward begins to wheeze. Perhaps it’s meant to be a laugh. “The truth elixir does not exist.”
Shock blazes along my nerves. “No, it’s real. You boasted about it to me when we spoke on the beach.”
“I was bragging,” Ward replies. “Trying to hold your interest. I’ve boasted about it to a few people. And yes, I crafted a substance once that had a mild truth-telling effect, but it wasn’t consistent, or reliable. And I didn’t have the right ingredients here to make it again. I mixed up a harmless concoction of oils to drip on the regularhannasblend and hopefully fool everyone.” He wheezes again and begins coughing.
“So—you lied to Vienne?” I gasp.
“You saw the state she was in.” Ward sucks in a grating breath. “I didn’t dare refuse her. I had to give her what she wanted, or she would have killed me. How should I know my throat-slitting brother and his toxic love would suddenly decide to poison everyone?” He lifts a shaking finger to point at Cowen, lying bound on the table. “You used to warn everyone about me, brother. Jokingly, of course—always a joke with you, no matter how much the words hurt. Yet all along, you were the dangerous one.”
“So—we didn’t have to kill everyone?” Cowen chokes out. “We panicked and poisoned all the surviving nobles and thralls—because Ward lied?”
At first I think he’s shocked, aggrieved, horrified—but then he begins to laugh heartily. “What a trick! I should be thanking you, brother—you and Princess Vienne. Between the two of you, you forced us to finish our great purpose more quickly. Ah, what a perfect story this will make!”
“A story you won’t be telling.” My fingers tighten on my knife—but it’s so small there’s not much of a hilt, and I miss the solidity of my favorite weapons. “Ducayne is right—I get to decide your fate, and right now that fate lies in the dungeon, until I have a chance to think on it more. I’ll take Ward, Ducayne, if you’ll take the healer. Separate cells, I think.”
“Stefa didn’t spare you so you could capture and torture us,” Cowen says, blinking back his laugh-tears.
“He’s right.” Stefa’s voice shakes a little as Ducayne unties her. “I thought you would understand our cause and be grateful. You hate thralldom, Princess, and you hated your sister. And you, Ducayne—you want to be free, yes? You and the Princess can be free together. I can tell you how we were going to escape this continent.”
“Hush,” snaps Cowen. “Leave something for us to bargain with, Stefa. Don’t tell them another word about it, unless they release us.”
I lean over him, smiling, tracing his nose with my knife. “Oh you idiot man. I can get anything out of anyone. Just give me a little time—” I probe his nostril delicately with the dagger, and he whimpers— “and a little knife, and you’ll spill everything. Everything.” I run the knife-tip along his septum, flicking it against his skin and leaving the tiniest scratch behind, a stinging reminder of my control and his helplessness. “We’ll be back for you, once we’ve stowed the other two safely in the dungeon.”
Ducayne holds his knife to Stefa’s neck and leads the way to the dungeon, while I follow with the weepy, smelly, sobbing wretch that is Ward.
