Page 97 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
“Poison!” Umari shrieks. “Someone tried to poison the Princess!”
“Get him out of here, and clean that up!” A familiar screech—Vienne.
My head is lifted, tucked into a lap. Cool fingers pass across my brow—Ruelle’s fingers. “Ducayne, can you hear me?”
“Get the healer!” someone else shouts.
But healers cannot reverse the effects of poison.
Chills wrack my body, and I still can’t see, but I manage to find Ruelle’s hand and grip it.
“Better me—than you,” I whisper.
And then I fall into the dark.
I wake to the sound of a door slamming, or banging open. I can’t tell which—my vision is cloudy. My stomach is still churning, but the pain has lessened, and the chills are gone.
Someone—Meldare, I think—is talking in low, anxious tones. Then a gasp from Ruelle, who seems to be sitting at my bedside. I rub both hands across my eyes.
“He’s really dead?”
“Found lying in the fireplace in his room,” Meldare says. “Face burnt right off. Some say he sniffed and drank too much last night—passed out and fell in the fire.”
“Who?” I drag myself half-upright against the pillows.
“Oh gods!” Ruelle whirls to me, pressing her hands against my cheeks. She inspects my eyes, frowning. “You’re awake! Can you see me?”
I blink. “Yes.”
“You pulled through, thank Arawn.”
“Someone tried to kill you.” My lips and tongue feel thick and slow. “Where did you get the tea?”
“Imrissa’s thrall Gem made it. They offered me some. But they drank from the same pot and suffered no ill effects.”
“Was it already poured when they offered it to you?”
“Yes.”
“They must have poisoned it after pouring and made sure you took the right cup.”
“But why—unless my sister—” Her face falls, sinking into an expression of gloomy understanding.
She has feared her sister for years, that much I know. But perhaps she didn’t truly believe Vienne would try to kill her until now.
“Maybe they did it without Vienne’s approval,” she says.
“Maybe.” I push myself further upright. “Princess, I need to tell you about a disturbing conversation I had last night with Cowen, before the poisoning incident. He said some odd things. I believe he knows something about the murders—either he is committing them, or he’s partial to the person who is, and understands their motives. We need to—” But I stop at the look on her face. “What is it?”
“Cowen is dead,” she says. “He was found partly burned in his bedroom fireplace this morning. They put the body in the ice-house until the storm abates. That’s where the wielders are, too, and Luthia and Sherad.”
Ruelle looks up at Meldare, who is hovering by the door of the suite. “You can go now.”
“Of course, my lady, but if it pleases your Highness—we’re a bit nervous, the guards and I.” Meldare’s fingers writhe anxiously. “Scared for you of course, Princess, but for all of us, you know. This place—it’s got the mark of death for sure. We can’t stay here while people keep dying one by one.”
“Has Vienne sent anyone else out to check the bridges and fords?” Ruelle asks.
“A few guards, my lady. They haven’t returned.”
