Poison Study (8 page)

  While I finished the pastry, Rand continued. “Don’t tell Medic Mommy I gave you that. She doesn’t like her patients eating anything but a thin gruel. She says the gruel promotes healing. Well, of course it has an effect!” He threw his arms up, exposing several burn scars around his wrists. “It tastes so terrible that anyone would get better just to get a decent meal!”

  The wild gesture caused the other patients to glance our way. Rand leaned in closer to me and asked in a quiet voice, “So, Yelena, how are you feeling?” He looked at me as though he was appraising a selection of meat, determining which one would make the best roast.

  I was wary. Why would he care? “Gambling again?” I asked.

  He leaned back. “We’re always gambling. Gambling and gossiping is all we servants do. What else is there? You should’ve seen the commotion and betting that went on when you were spotted being chased by Brazell’s goons.”

  Appalled, I said, “Nobody came to help me. The hallways were deserted.”

  “That would be involvement in a situation that doesn’t affect us directly. Servants don’t ever do that. We’re like cockroaches scurrying around in the dark.” Rand’s slender fingers waggled. “Shine a light…poof!” He flicked his long fingers for emphasis. “We disappear.”

  I felt like the unlucky cockroach that got caught by the light. Always scrambling to stay one step ahead while the shadow of a boot crept closer.

  “Anyway, the odds were against you. Most lost big, while only a few-” Rand paused dramatically “-won big.”

  “Since you’re here, I suppose you won big.”

  He smiled. “Yelena, I’m always going to bet on you. You’re like one of the Commander’s terriers. A tiny, yappy dog you wouldn’t look at twice, but once it grabs your pant leg, it won’t let go.”

  “Poison the dog’s meat and it won’t bother you anymore.”

  My sour tone deflated Rand’s grin. “Trouble?”

  Surprised that the castle’s gossip network hadn’t already started laying odds about Valek’s test, I hesitated. Rand liked to talk, and he could get me in trouble. “No. It’s just being the food taster and all…” I hoped that would satisfy him.

  Rand nodded. He spent the rest of the afternoon alternating between reminiscing about Oscove and digressing about potential new recipes. When Valek appeared, Rand stopped talking, his face paled and he mumbled something about having to check on dinner. Lurching from his chair, he almost toppled in his haste to flee the room. Valek watched as Rand staggered out of the infirmary.

  “What was he doing here?”

  Valek’s expression remained neutral, but the stillness of his body made me wonder if he was angry. Carefully choosing my words, I explained to him that Rand had come to visit.

  “When did you meet him?”

  A casual question, but again there was an undercurrent to his words. “After I recovered from My Love, I went in search of food and met Rand in the kitchen.”

  “Watch what you say around him. He’s not to be trusted. I would have reassigned him, but the Commander insisted he stay. He is a genius in the kitchen. Some kind of protйgй. He started cooking for the King at a very young age.”

  Valek stared at me with his cold blue eyes, warning me away from Rand. Maybe that’s why Valek hadn’t liked Oscove. Being allied with someone who had been loyal to the King could cast more suspicion on me. But letting Valek scare me off rankled. I stared back at him with, I hoped, an indifferent look.

  Valek looked away. I was jubilant. In my mind, I had finally won a round.

  “You leave the infirmary tomorrow morning.” Valek was curt. “Get yourself cleaned up and report to my office to take the test. I won’t think you’re ready even if you pass, but the Commander ordered me to have you available by lunch.” He shook his head in annoyance. “It’s a shortcut. I hate shortcuts.”

  “Why? You won’t have to risk yourself anymore.” I regretted the words as soon as they had left my mouth.

  Valek’s gaze was lethal. “In my experience, shortcuts usually lead to death.”

  “Is that what happened to my predecessor?” I asked, unable to stifle my curiosity. Would Valek confirm or deny Rand’s theories?

  “Oscove?” Valek paused. “He didn’t have the stomach for it.”

Chapter Eight

  W hen I awoke the next morning, Valek’s list of poisons was still clutched in my hand. I reviewed the poison inventory until the medic discharged me.

  Bruised muscles protested every movement as I headed for the door. I should have been happy to leave the infirmary, but my nerves preoccupied me. My stomach felt as if it contained a live mouse, trying to chew its way out.

  The guards stationed outside the infirmary door startled me. But they weren’t wearing Brazell’s colors, and I belatedly remembered that Valek had assigned them as protection until I reported to his office.

  I glanced around to get my bearings, but had no idea which direction led to my room. I had been living in the castle for eighteen days, but I was still uncertain of its inner layout. The basic shape of the castle itself eluded me, having never seen it from the outside.

  The prison carriage that had brought me to the castle had been a square box with airholes. I had refused to peer out like some caged animal. When I reached the castle, I squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to block out the anguish of being chained, groped and dragged to the dungeon. I guess I could have focused on potential ways to escape, but I had accepted my punishment when I had killed Reyad.

  As much as I hated to ask the guards for directions to my room, I had no choice. Wordlessly they guided me through the castle. One walked in front, the other followed. Only after the lead man inspected my room was I allowed inside.

  My uniforms hung undisturbed in the armoire. But instead of being hidden inside a drawer, my journal lay open on the top of the desk. Someone had read my impressions of poisons and other information. The queasy feeling in my gut was replaced by a cold, hard sensation. The mouse had died, reflecting my sour mood perfectly.

  I suspected Valek. He was bold enough to have gone through my personal papers. He had probably even reasoned that it was his duty to make sure I wasn’t plotting something. After all, I was just the food taster, and not entitled to any privacy.

  Grabbing the journal and uniforms, I left my room and headed for the baths. The guards waited outside while I soaked in the water. I took my sweet time. Valek and his test could wait; I wasn’t going to carry out his orders like some idiotic drone.

  Chased by Brazell’s guards, finding poison in almost all of my meals, and being wagered on like some damn racehorse didn’t cause me to be as angry as I was about Valek reading my journal.

  Arriving at Valek’s office, I cut off any smart remark he could make by demanding, “Where’s your test?”

  Amusement touched Valek’s face. He rose from behind his desk. Sweeping his arm with a dramatic flourish, he indicated two rows of food and drinks on the conference table. “Only one item isn’t poisoned. Find it. Then eat or drink your selection.”

  I tasted each item. I sniffed. I gargled. I held my nose. I took small bites. I spat. Some of the food had grown cold. Most of the meals were bland, making the poison easy to spot, while the fruit drinks masked the poison.

  Finishing the last item, I turned to Valek. “You bastard. They’re all poisoned.” What a nasty trick; I should have suspected he would pull a stunt like that.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t touch anything on that table.”

  Valek’s gaze was stony as he walked toward me. “I’m sorry, Yelena. You’ve failed.”

  My heart plunged into my stomach. The dead mouse resuscitated and began to gnaw holes in my gut. I searched the table. What had I missed?

  Nothing. I was right. I challenged Valek to prove me wrong.

  Without hesitation he raised a cup. “This one is clean.”

  “Drink it.” I remembered that cup. It was laced with a bitter poison.

  Valek’s hand wavered a bit. He sipped. I bit my lip. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was the cup next to it. Valek held my gaze as he rolled the liquid around his tongue. He spat.

  I wanted to jump, to cheer, to dance little circles around him. Instead I said, “Blackberry poison.”

  “Yes,” Valek said. He alternated between examining the cup in his hand and absentmindedly staring at the rows of cold food.

  “I passed?”

  He nodded, still distracted. Then he walked to his desk, and he gently placed the cup down. Shaking his head, he picked some papers up only to put them back unread.

  “I should have known you would try to trick me.”

  My heated tone drew his eyes. I wished then that I’d remained silent.

  “You’re all fired up. And it isn’t because of the test. Explain yourself.”

  “Explain? Why do I have to explain? Maybe you should explain why you read my journal.” There, I’d said it.

  “Journal?” Valek looked at me in amazement. “I didn’t read anything of yours. But if I had, it would have been within my rights.”

  “Why?” I demanded.

  An incredulous look settled on Valek’s face. His mouth opened and closed several times before he was able to voice his thoughts. “Yelena, you confessed to murder. You were caught straddling Reyad’s body with a bloody knife in your hand. I searched your file for a motive. There was none. Only a report that you refused to answer all questions.”

  Valek stepped closer. He lowered his voice. “Since I don’t know what motivates you to kill, I can’t predict if you’ll do it again or what might set you off. I’m bound by the Code of Behavior, so I had to offer you the choice of becoming the new taster.” He drew a deep breath and continued. “You’ll be very close to the Commander on a daily basis. Until I can trust you, I’ll be watching you.”

  My anger leaked away. Why should I expect Valek to trust me when I didn’t trust him?

  My composure returned. “How do I win your trust?”

  “Tell me why you killed Reyad.”

  “You’re not ready to believe me.”

  Valek averted his gaze to the conference table. I covered my mouth with my hand. Why had I used the word ready? Ready implied that he would believe me at some point. Pure wishful thinking on my part.

  “You’re right,” he said.

  We seemed to be at an impasse.

  “I passed your test. I want my antidote.”

  Roused into action, Valek drew a dose, handing it to me.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “Lunch! We’re late.” He hustled me out the door. I gulped the white liquid as we moved.

  As we neared the throne room, the noise of many voices speaking at once echoed through the halls. Two of the Commander’s advisers were arguing. Officers and soldiers clumped behind the two advisers. The Commander leaned against a nearby desk, listening intently.

  The group debated the best way to locate and recapture a fugitive. The right side insisted upon using an oversupply of soldiers and tracking dogs, while the left claimed that a few clever soldiers would work. Brute force versus intelligence.

  The exchange, while loud, lacked anger. The guards stationed around the room stood relaxed. Surmising that this type of debate was common, I wondered if the fugitive was a real person or just part of a hypothetical exercise.

  Valek moved next to the Commander. I stood behind them. The debate made me squirm because I couldn’t help imagining myself as the poor soul being hunted.

  I pictured myself running through the woods, out of breath, and straining to hear the sounds of pursuit. Unable to blend into a town because a new face would alert the soldiers on patrol. Bored soldiers whose only job was to watch, who were familiar with the town’s inhabitants.

  Every citizen of the Territory of Ixia had a specific job. After the takeover, everyone had been appointed an occupation. A citizen was allowed to move to a different town or Military District, but proper forms were required. A completed transfer request needed approval from the supervisor, and proof that a position was being held at the new address. Without the proper documents, a civilian found in the wrong neighborhood was arrested. Visiting other districts was acceptable, but again only as long as the proper papers were obtained and shown to the soldiers on arrival.

  While working in isolation with Brazell and Reyad, I had obsessively thought about escape. Thinking of freedom had been better than dwelling on my life as a laboratory rat. With no family or friends outside the manor to hide me, though, the southern lands were my best option, assuming I could penetrate the well guarded border.

  I had created elaborate fantasies of stealing away to Sitia, finding an adoptive family and falling in love. Corny, sentimental rubbish, but it was my only elixir. Every day when the experiments began, my mind would focus on Sitia, finding bright colors, loving gestures and warmth. Holding those images in my mind, I endured Reyad’s tests.

  But even if I had been given the opportunity to escape, I don’t know if I would have seized it. Although I remembered nothing of my birth family, I did have a family living within the manor house. The other lost children who had been taken in. My sisters. My brothers. My children. I learned with them, I played with them and I took care of them. How could I abandon them? To think of May or Carra taking my place was too much to bear.