Page 11 of The Study of Poisons
Valek couldn’t resist fixing the knocked over books. “Yelena, your job is very important. That’s why I spend so much time training you. A shrewd assassin can watch a taster for several days to discover a pattern.” He moved onto the other fallen pile. “For example, the taster might always cut a piece of meat from the left side, or never stir the drink. Some poisons sink to the bottom of the cup. If the taster only sips off the top, then the assassin knows exactly where to place the poison to kill his intended victim.” There. Except now, his other piles looked sloppy, and he really should clear a bigger path through his office.
He continued his lecture as he straightened piles. “Once you drink the poison, Margg will help you to your room and take care of you. I’ll give her your daily dose of Butterfly’s Dust antidote.”
Margg entered the office and Valek turned toward Yelena. She stood holding the cup, staring blankly. Valek held his breath. If she refused to drink the poison, he’d have to find a new food taster. And right now, that was the last thing he wanted to do.
Yelena raised the cup in a mock-salute and downed the contents in one gulp. There was no need to perform the S-steps for this test. “Sour apples,” she said.
He nodded. She placed the cup on the table and swayed. Valek was next to her in a flash, grabbing her before she tipped over. He lifted her into his arms. She weighed almost nothing.
“Let me have her,” Margg said.
“I’ll carry her back to her room.” He held her closer.
“No, you won’t.” Margg stared at him. “Do you really want people to see you carrying an unconscious woman?” When he didn’t respond, she said, “They’re already scared of you. No need to add fuel to the fire.”
He really didn’t care that most of the castle’s citizens were terrified of him. In fact, he encouraged that reputation, but he didn’t want anyone to think he cared for the food taster. Because he didn’t—tasters never lasted long. Plus, one of his many enemies might think he did and try to use her against him, which would be very tiresome.
Sensing his agreement, Margg reached for Yelena. She moaned and muttered about sprouting flowers and eye sockets. When Margg settled her in her arms, Yelena tried to push her away, but Margg tightened her grip.
“Are you sure you can carry her all the way?” he asked.
“She weighs less than a full chamber pot. I’ll take care of her.”
Valek opened the door for Margg and watched as she headed to the west side of the castle with her quick, efficient stride. There was nothing Valek could do at this point but wait. Yelena would either survive the poison or not. Her fate was out of his hands. And oh, how he hated that.
* * *
He spentthe rest of the day preparing for the execution. The gallows needed to be erected. The prisoner needed to be allowed to wash, have a final meal, and sleep in a comfortable bed. Valek arranged for the carpenters to assemble the platform. All the necessary wood and equipment had been stacked in the southwest corner of the castle complex, where the execution would take place.
The Commander wouldn’t allow the gallows to remain in place between executions. He’d called it “bully tactics” that were used by weak rulers to instill fear in their people. “Besides, it ceases to be a threat when it becomes part of the background of everyday life,” the Commander had said.
Valek re-read the dossier on the man due to be hung. In his mid-thirties and with a history of violence, Horus escalated to murder when he killed his brother, his brother’s wife, and his own wife. The brother and wife had tried to stop Horus from killing his wife, but only managed to enrage him further. In this case, Valek agreed with the punishment. There was no redeeming this man and it was a waste of tax money to feed, clothe, and care for him until he died of natural causes. For other cases, he didn’t quite agree with the Commander.
Accidents happened. If there wasn’t any negligence or ill intent, it was just unfortunate. And a clear case of kill-or-be-killed self-defense was a legitimate reason for death. But the Commander didn’t view it that way. He believed accidents could be avoided with enough foresight and a person could defend themselves without resorting to murder.
Valek pulled the files for the next two prisoners on the execution list. Serra was scheduled to be hung during the cooling season. She’d poisoned her husband. Crimes of passion were common. Valek wondered if Yelena had been Reyad’s lover before she slit his throat. It would explain why she’d been in his bed. No. Not a lover. Perhaps he tried to rape her, and she defended herself? That would be justified. However, all this speculation was a waste of time. There had to be something else going on with Reyad and he fully intended to uncover the truth.
The prisoner listed for the cold season’s execution was named Tentil. He’d killed his three-year-old son with a plow. An accident. Well, that wouldn’t do. Good thing Valek had a few months to fix it.
* * *
Early morning sunlightlit the noose with a rose-colored glow. Random barks from the nearby kennel punctuated the silence and the earthy smell of horses scented the light northerly breeze. Valek stood at the base of the ramp that led up to the platform. Only a handful of people had assembled to witness the execution. The Commander insisted that the hangings not become a spectacle. The victim’s families had been invited along with the prisoner’s. Horus’s parents were in attendance. Living with the nightmare of one son killing the other, they hunched as if shouldering a great weight. Their haggard appearance and lined faces showed their devastation.
General Brazell and his adviser also attended. The general eyed the small group. His sour expression showed no hint of surprise. Short and stocky with graying hair, Brazell leaned closer to his adviser and whispered to him. Adviser Mogkan tipped his head and replied. His words were too low for Valek to discern. Instead, Valek studied Mogkan.
The tall man had pulled his long black hair into a single braid. He wore the standard adviser’s uniform, identical to Valek’s except the diamond shapes stitched on his collar were green. Mogkan’s skin tone was darker than Yelena’s, hinting at Sitian blood. But that could be said for most of the citizens living in Military Districts 5, 6, and 7, which were along the Sitian border. Before the takeover, people from both countries used to freely cross, and marriages between Sitians and Ixians had been a normal part of life.
What interested Valek was the fact Brazell hadn’t brought Adviser Mogkan to the castle before. New? Or newly promoted? Mogkan’s stiff posture also merited scrutiny. He stood with his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest as if trying to hold back his emotions. But which one was he suppressing? Anger? Disgust? Fear?
When Horus was led toward the gallows, Valek’s gaze switched to Brazell. The general pressed his lips together and nodded, confirming what Valek suspected. Brazell had found out that Yelena was training to be the new food taster. Now the question remained, would he take advantage of Valek’s absence from the castle and her unconscious state and send an assassin? Or would he wait until his business with the Commander was finished? Another possibility occurred to him. Brazell could wait until he returned home. Could wait for months. Revenge had no timeline.
CHAPTER4
Valek considered the risks to Yelena and decided she wasn’t in immediate danger. Yet the desire to abandon his post to check on her pulsed in his heart. And the fact he evenconsideredleaving worried him. She presented a puzzle and he had spent the last two weeks training her. They had worked well together. She’d asked him intelligent questions and been quick and eager to learn. A refreshing break from the sullen, grudging, and morose temperaments of the other tasters. However, he was smart enough not to get emotionally invested in a food taster.
When Horus reached the platform, the guards removed the manacles around his wrists. The prisoner wore a plain jumpsuit. His craggy face was clean shaven, and his dark brown hair had recently been cut. His feet were bare.
The man rubbed his raw wrists and glanced around.
