Authors: Alex Bledsoe
Iris Gladstone entered. The dead room suddenly jumped to life. Or maybe it was just me. She said, “Hello, Tom. I’m here to check on Mr. LaCrosse’s hand.”
“Hi,” I said.
She pulled off her coat, revealing a sleeveless tunic and skirt. To hide what those clothes revealed beneath a shapeless white coat seemed criminal.
Gillian relocked the door and assumed the exact same position. His eyes grew glassy, as if he were a million miles away. I knew better; he saw and heard everything. To Iris I said, “Working late?”
“Boy, nothing gets past you, does it?” She yawned and stretched, displaying far too many curves for a man in my weakened condition to endure. She ran her hands through her hair. “I had to examine several of the honored guests for various maladies brought on by the stress of their confinement. Alas, they’ll all live.”
“Survival is a courtier’s main skill,” I said. Watching her spread the contents of her bag on a side table was more enjoyable than it should’ve been.
She looked up and smiled. Having recently been dazzled by Queen Jennifer, I felt qualified to say that the royal grin paled next to this one, at least for me. She said, “I should probably offer to stitch your head back on since I bit it off before. Mary told me how you stuck up for her.”
“Don’t mention it.” I gestured dismissively with my injured hand. The movement made it throb anew, and despite my best efforts it showed. It also rattled the chain between the manacles.
Iris turned to Gillian. “Tom, can you undo these?”
Gillian shook his head. “Sir Robert was explicit.”
Iris’s eyes narrowed. “Tom, I’m a doctor, and I’m here to treat this man’s injury, which I can’t do if it’s halfway covered by these shackles. You can lock him up again as soon as I’m done, but for right now, I’m telling you, take them off.”
Her voice grew firmer and louder as she spoke, so that by the end she was almost yelling. Gillian showed no reaction, but after a moment he picked up a padded barstool and crossed the room. He gestured for me to sit. When I did, he unlocked the manacle around my right wrist, then relocked it to his own. He stood right beside me, again as still and quiet as a statue.
Iris shook her head, laughed, and held out her hand. “Okay, let me see that broken battering ram of yours.”
She turned my hand palm-up. “Wiggle your fingers for me.” I did, though the movement was minimal. “Okay, I don’t think you broke anything, but they’re jammed up awfully good. Did no one ever show you how to throw a punch?”
“I’m self-taught. And impulsive.”
“Be careful who you admit that to.” She met my eyes, and the playfulness left her. “I need to straighten them out, and it’s going to hurt. Do you want something for the pain?”
“No. I need to keep my wits about me.”
She grinned with one side of her mouth; it was adorable. “Well, at least they shouldn’t take up much room.”
She turned her back to me and put my free arm under hers. I could smell whatever lavender concoction she used on her black, silky hair. She held my wrist with her left hand, and my index finger with her right. “All right, here’s one.”
If someone had driven a metal rod from my fingertip straight up my arm, it would’ve hurt less. The crack sounded like a sledgehammer hitting a rotted board. “That wasn’t so bad,” I squeaked. Sweat stung my eyes.
“Now two,” she said without a pause. The pain was less intense, if only because I wasn’t over the first one yet.
“Can I ask you something?” I croaked.
She wasn’t one to be distracted. “Sure. Now three.”
I was basically on fire from my right shoulder on down and gasped, “Do you know anything about poisons?”
“They’re bad for you, as a rule. Last one. And this little piggy went … snap.”
And, boy, did it. “Oh, we’re done?” I said casually. I wasn’t sure it was audible outside my own head.
“Wipe your eyes,” she said as she released my arm.
After a couple of deep breaths, I realized my hand actually hurt a little less and I could move my fingers a lot more freely. I slumped on the stool and said, “What about specific ones?”
“Specific eyes?” She poured me a drink from the decanter Kay had opened earlier.
“Specific poisons.”
She test-moved my fingers and seemed satisfied with the results. “You’re a sword jockey, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Do you disapprove?”
“Everyone has to do something. Right, Tom?”
Gillian raised one eyebrow. For him it was the equivalent of a burst of laughter.
Iris asked me, “So what poisons were you interested in?”
“Just one. Shatternight.”
She didn’t pause to think. “Acts very rapidly. Boils you alive inside. No known antidote. Distinctive odor. And it doesn’t grow on this island.”
“And it’s what killed that knight at the banquet.”
She frowned, and a stray lock of black hair fell over her forehead. “How do you know?”
I used my shackled good hand and brought out the apple. Gillian did not resist the movement. I held it for Iris to sniff. She said, “That’s it, all right. You’re a man of many talents.”
“Especially when it comes to things that might kill me.” I’d encountered shatternight where it grew wild, deep in the forests of Oconomo, and once narrowly avoided getting dosed with it. “So where on Grand Bruan
would
someone get shatternight?”
“Beats me. It has no medicinal value. And it would have to be brought from the south, across the channel, because it won’t grow in this climate. Plus it loses its potency pretty rapidly once it’s been picked, I believe.”
“So whoever poisoned these apples would have been outside Grand Bruan in the recent past, correct?”
She cocked her head. “
You
came from outside Grand Bruan, I believe, didn’t you?”
“True. But I’m not the murderer.”
She glanced at my shackles and deadpanned, “That’s a relief.”
She took my injured hand and lightly massaged my fingers. Her touch was strong, sure, and yet delicate. Since I couldn’t really seduce her with Gillian standing right there, I continued to talk about work. “I met Queen Jennifer earlier. Are you on good terms with her?”
Iris answered the question as casually as I asked it. “As good as anyone, I suppose. As long as you do your job and don’t make any mistakes, she’s easy to get along with. If you screw up, though, she’ll eat you for lunch. Right, Tommy?”
As expected, Gillian did not comment, and I didn’t look up to see if he raised an eyebrow. I said to Iris, “That sounds kind of harsh.”
Her face, serious and so focused, was starry-night beautiful. “I’ve attended her during her miscarriages. That sort of thing brings out a woman’s true nature. Hers isn’t terribly pleasant.” Iris looked down suddenly. “Forget I said that, will you? That was confidential doctor-patient information.”
“It’ll go no further unless it absolutely has to.”
Iris smiled wryly. “You’re good, though, you know that? I’m not easy to draw out.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Do you think she’s capable of killing someone with poison?”
“Jennifer? If you mean does she have the resources, yes, of course. If you mean as a person … no. Not like this. Not watching them die. If she truly planned to murder someone, she’d arrange it to happen far away from her. But being bad-tempered isn’t the same as being amoral.”
“Lots of moral people have been murderers.”
Iris laughed. “You
are
cynical, aren’t you?”
“I’ve seen a lot of people’s true natures, too.”
“Well, if I were you—and I realize that’s saying I’d suddenly be stupid enough to punch one Knight of the Double Tarn in the face while I was under suspicion of murdering another one—I wouldn’t waste my time looking at the queen. I’d look
around
her, for someone who wants to make her look bad. And who doesn’t care if someone dies to do it.”
Her theory matched my own, a sure sign that she was brilliant as well as beautiful. “You think that was the main reason? Not to kill my bodyguard here?”
She snorted. “Tom could be killed anywhere. No offense,” she asided to him. “He’s a soldier. But to kill him here, under the queen’s nose, using the queen’s gift, clearly means they want to implicate…” Iris paused, then smiled. “Now come on, you can do it…”
I grinned at her teasing. “The queen?” I closed my fingers gently around hers.
She glanced up sharply, and for a moment I was afraid I’d crossed a line. Then she smiled. “Ah, Mr. LaCrosse,” she said almost wistfully. “I’m flattered.”
“And interested?”
She looked down almost guiltily. “Yes, and interested.”
“But?”
“No
but
. Except that you are, after all, a prisoner. And my patient.”
“I’m
very
patient.”
She chuckled. “And if you’re here tomorrow night, we might be able to pursue it.”
“Why tomorrow night?”
She looked up at Gillian. “Turn the other way for a second, Tom.” I felt him do as she asked. She released my hand and put her forearms on my shoulders, her wrists crossed behind my head. She stepped so her body was against mine and her face close. Since she was standing, I had to look up at her, which I certainly didn’t mind.
She said quietly, “Because right now it’s late, I’m exhausted, and my feet hurt. And even though I’ve worked on you, you’re going to be in some
real
pain soon.”
I started to protest, but she continued, “And since I
do
want to see you tomorrow to check on your hand, perhaps—and that’s not a promise—we can arrange something less professional. If you’ve managed to clear your name by then.”
“Are you this hard to get for all your patients?”
She laughed and tossed that bothersome lock of hair from her face. “Mr. LaCrosse, I work around eligible young men every day, and you’ve gotten farther than any of them ever has.”
“She’s right,” Gillian said calmly, and we both looked up in surprise. He still had his back to us.
“Besides,” Iris continued, “no one in Grand Bruan would have dared punch Dave Agravaine in the face, even though he’s needed it for a long time. I admire that, and I like you. You’re funny.”
She paused, and her voice took on a low, sultry quality I recognized, although it never failed to surprise me a little when it was directed at me. She leaned even closer and said too quietly for Gillian to hear, “Tomorrow, we’ll see what happens. For tonight—”
She touched her lips to mine. I followed her lead and kept it soft, gentle, respectful. No tongues. But she did nip my bottom lip a little as she drew back.
“—I prescribe bed rest and sweet dreams.”
My own voice was a little ragged, and not from pain. “I always do what the doctor orders.”
“Then do one more thing for me. Even with Tom here on your side, watch your back. There are a lot of secrets in Grand Bruan, and you may trip over others without meaning to. Some people might go to extremes to keep things hidden that have nothing to do with Patrice’s murder, on the off chance you might expose them by accident.”
I would’ve agreed to anything after that kiss, so I had no problem saying, “Thanks. I’ll be careful.”
chapter
SEVEN
But I wasn’t. When she left, I sighed with almost teenage happiness, which lasted precisely as long as it took Gillian to uncuff himself and remanacle me. “You,” I said, “are a mood-killer.”
“Duty before pleasure.”
“That’s why I’m my own boss,” I muttered. I poured myself another drink. My arm had begun to ache almost up to the elbow.
To my surprise, Gillian poured himself a drink as well. He raised it in salute, then tossed it back in one gulp. “Have you got any questions for me?”
“I will. I assume if you thought you knew anything, you’d have volunteered it by now.”
“True. Like you, I’m still collecting information and considering how it fits together. It’s a bit disconcerting to be plotted against.”
“Even for a Knight of the Double Tarn?”
He smiled for real. “Don’t believe everything you hear in those ballads. Remember how the queen said I was knighted on her wedding day?”
I nodded.
“What she didn’t mention was that I was barely fifteen. I’d lived a sheltered life on a windy piece of rock out in the northern sea. I knew the skills of arms because we had nothing else to do. But I’d never faced a real opponent determined to kill me until Marcus came recruiting.”
“How did he convince you? Appeal to your patriotism?”
For the first time, Gillian presented a genuine, full-face smile. “Remember, he wasn’t much older than me. He convinced me that girls would like my scars.”
I laughed and gestured at the tapestries decorating the room. “You seem to have risen to the challenge. Was he right about the girls?”
Gillian’s smile turned wistful. “Let’s just say he was, and leave it at that.”
Since he was being so open all of a sudden, I pressed forward. “So tell me, straight up:
Do
you think the queen tried to kill you? Or have you killed?”
“I don’t know.” He pondered for a long moment. “Do you know why we’re called the Knights of the Double Tarn?”
I shook my head.
“The next-to-last battle of the wars of unification took place on a narrow isthmus between two tarns. Do you know what a tarn is?”
Again I shook my head.
“It’s a lake that’s deceptively deeper than it should be. Some are claimed to be bottomless. And they have currents at different depths that often go in opposite directions. At any rate, when we’d won, Cameron Kern declared that our brotherhood of arms needed a name and chose that.”
I waited. Gillian wasn’t a man to be rushed, and if I prodded him, he might drop the whole thing.
“The tarn is a good representation of Grand Bruan society as well. It looks placid from the outside, but it’s made up of levels and currents that often run in opposing directions and at cross-purposes. I have tried to stay above these considerations and simply do my duty, but even that can generate unseen conflicts.”
I risked a comment. “It’s hard to imagine you and Dave Agravaine in the same organization.”
“I agree with you,” he said with another little smile.