the witch was talking, she wouldn’t be
thinking of cutting her with that blade.
From the corners of her eyes, she
looked to the door. She knew that
guards stood outside, but her voice
was too weak to scream for them.
And if she attempted it, Lydia would
press the blade deeper.
“A child?” Lydia repeated as if the
thought had never crossed her mind.
“Dear Jaisyn, Calista is barren—an
unfortunate illness took her before she
was old enough to remember it—and
will never conceive for any man, even
one as powerful as a king. Varian will
be his heir, and when Calista poisons
Vulcan, my son will be the new king
and shall marry a woman suitable to
be a Morden queen.” A frown
touched her lips as she said the last
sentence and almost to herself, Lydia
added, “I suppose I will have to deal
with your sister as well.”
Isolde
!
“How can you be certain Calista is
truly barren?” Jaisyn continued on,
her eyes on Lydia even as she thought
of ways to get away from the woman.
Eyes narrowing, Lydia answered, as
if in deep thought, “The witch assured
me the illness affected her ability to
conceive. It does not matter. If by
some fluke, she does conceive, it will
be quite easy to be rid of the baby as
well. Now, have you made your
decision, or am I to decide for you?”
“I will drink it,” Jaisyn said wearily
and Lydia lowered the blade slightly
as she used the hand holding it to pull
off the stopper. She lifted the vial to
Jaisyn’s lips and Jaisyn opened them,
her eyes dropping down to the dirk
held tightly in Lydia’s hand. Slowly,
her hand began to move, inching
closer to Lydia’s, even as the vial
touched her closed lips.
“Open,” Lydia commanded and
Jaisyn slowly opened her lips. She felt
the cool liquid slide over her tongue
and blanched at the thought of the
poison inside of her. Turning to Lydia,
she saw the smile that broke over her
lips, saw her relax. Jaisyn reached out
and tugged hard, pulling the dagger
from Lydia’s loose fingers and cutting
open her own hand against the tip of
the dirk in the process. The pain made
her groan but it was nothing compared
to what she would face if she had to
swallow the poison.
“That was not very smart,” Lydia
chided as she looked down at the
blood that was dripping across the
covers. She shook her head and
reached for the dirk, carefully
attempting to pry the weapon from
Jaisyn’s hand without having the tip
break her own skin.
Jaisyn anticipated her move, and as
she leaned toward Lydia, she thrust
her hand up.
Lydia gasped in pain as tears stung
her eyes. The dirk sliced open the skin
at the side of the Dowager Queen’s
neck and she jumped from the bed,
clutching at that area as her widening
eyes went back to the bloodied tip of
the dirk.
“No—” She shook her head
frantically, staring around the room,
as she clutched at her neck. “No!”
Jaisyn took that moment to roll to
the side of the bed and spit out the vile
contents of her mouth. She noticed
the silver tray that usually housed her
tea and biscuits was an arm’s length
away. Dropping the bloodied weapon
against the covers, she pushed herself
further out, reached for the tray and
succeeded in toppling it over. A
relieved sigh escaped her lips as it
crashed loudly to the ground.
***
The thudding of hundreds of horse
hooves was all that was heard as
Vulcan rode back to Morden. He
noticed Varian was unusually quiet,
but couldn’t think of that at the
moment. Thoughts of his wife were
invading his mind. Of Jaisyn looking
lost as she told him that she could not
remember anything. Of her coming to
his chambers and pleading with him.
He thought of Bael’s words, and the
solemnity the Montak king had used.
He did not like Bael, had never trusted
him, but he had sworn on his
kingdom, the one thing Vulcan
believed he valued above all else. If
they were innocent, then someone
had purposely staged it so the two of
them appeared guilty. Fear and anger
pulsed through him at the thought of
such a person in his castle.
His worry had only intensified when
three of his warriors met his party en
route with the message that his queen
was urgently demanding his return. A
sliver of uncharacteristic fear slid up
his spine but he’d tried to repress it.
Perhaps Jaisyn was worried about
Bael’s life. That thought made him
angry, but it kept the fear at bay so he
willingly held onto it.
When they arrived at Morden
Castle, nothing seemed amiss. The
drawbridge had yet to be lowered and
the soldiers keeping guard quickly did
so as the king and his warriors rode
hard into the courtyard. Sliding from
Shadowfax, Vulcan raced for the
Great Hall. Pushing the door inward,
he ignored the gasps and the wide-
eyed stares of the people having their
supper. His eyes searched out his
wife. Her seat was empty.
Within moments, he was heading for
the staircase that would take him to
her chambers.
***
Varian was more perceptive, as he
noticed that both Jaisyn and his
mother were absent from the meal.
His cold gaze touched Calista, who
looked down to her food immediately,
and began fidgeting with her hair. Ice
gripped his heart as he made off after
his brother.
***
Vulcan stepped from the staircase
and came into view of the guards who
stood before his wife’s chambers. He
did not release a sigh of relief yet. He
had done that once, only to find
another in his wife’s bed. As he
approached the men, they looked to
each other, grabbed their sword hilts,
and in the next instant, were rushing
into Jaisyn’s chambers. His heart leapt
into his throat as Vulcan began to
sprint, moving as fast as he could in
body armor.
Nothing could have prepared him
for what he saw.
Half of Jaisyn’s body was off the
bed, at what looked like an impossibly
uncomfortable angle. Her torso and
head were off of the bed, and she
seemed to be trying to say something.
He watched in horror as she lifted a
bloodied hand in his direction.
Everything else ceased to exist as he
approached her, noticing the gash
along her hand, and the red liquid on
the floor. Was she vomiting blood? He
knew that such a thing was an
indication of imminent death.
“Jaisyn,” he said urgently, tugging
the gloves from his hands and moving
her back against the bed. Blood was
on the bedcovers as well, and on a
small ladies’ dirk that lay next to her.
For the first time since he entered the
chambers, he heard a slight rustling
sound. Lifting his eyes, he stared into
the horrified gaze of his stepmother.
Her eyebrow lifted but he had no time
to think more of it. Jaisyn was saying
something.
“What?” He caressed her cheek,
and cupped it gently. His eyes were
concerned and confused. “What is it?”
“Anhur.”
***
Jaisyn’s mouth was dry, her throat
was dry, and she was fighting her
reflex to swallow quite badly. The
fear of ingesting some of the poison
was still within her. She sent up a
prayer, hoping that she had not
consumed even a drop of the liquid.
The exertion with Lydia had made her
even more tired. Vulcan shook her
and her eyes flew open in confusion
and fright.
“Fetch the surgeon! And find
Anhur!” Vulcan was shouting again
and she winced as his voice carried
into her ear at such a close range.
“And someone tend to Lady Lydia!”
***
Varian knew he would not like what
he would see when he entered the
queen’s chambers so he braced
himself. He had always been good at
putting things together and the
conclusion he’d come to when Bael
had mentioned Calista had terrified
him. He hoped it wasn’t true, that
someone else had drugged Jaisyn, but
he couldn’t shake the feeling he was
right. That his mother and his cousin
were somehow involved in Jaisyn’s
plight.
As he entered Jaisyn’s chambers,
his crystal gaze took in the entire
scene. Either blood or a red liquid
marred the floor. Vulcan sat on
Jaisyn’s bed shaking her, and his
mother stood with a hand cupped to
her neck, looking pale and drawn.
When she noticed him, she attempted
a smile, and her eyes rolled in her
head and she wobbled on her feet.
Vulcan was shouting orders but
Varian didn’t hear them. His eyes
were on his mother. Varian moved
quickly over to her, and caught her
against him before she fell to the floor.
He noticed her neck was bleeding, but
thankfully, the wound was shallow. It
wasn’t deep and should heal in a few
weeks. His brows crinkled and he
wondered how she’d received it.
“Varian.”
His
name
sounded
strained on her lips and he slowly
lowered her to the ground, wondering
what it was that rendered her so
weak. Her head remained against his
chain mail and he tried to lift her but
she protested with a loud and painful
groan.
“What have you done?” he asked
carefully, preparing to hear anything
at that moment.
She smiled and lifted a badly
trembling hand to his face. A dry
chuckle, which turned into a painful
groan, escaped her lips. “How fitting
that I die this way.”
His brows crinkled and he shook his
head in confusion.
Die
? His mother
could not be dying. Lydia was known
for her exaggerations, but this was a
grave one.
“You are not dying, Mother. It is but
a small scratch.” He turned her head
to the side once more, examining the
shallow gash and wondering once
more how she’d received it. Had
Jaisyn cut her? Had Lydia cut herself?
Was there a struggle between the two
women? Varian removed one of his
gloves and pressed lightly around the
wound, watching as lines of blood
escaped and ran down her neck.
“No, Varian. Do not— Poison. Will
infect you. Couldn’t bear it—if you—
poisoned.”
His eyes widened as he stared down
at this woman who had raised him,
cared for him, loved him. When he’d
been young, too young to understand
why his father hardly paid him any
attention, it had always been his
mother who succeeded in cheering
him up, in making him smile. Before
he developed a close relationship with
Vulcan, Lydia had been the only
person who seemed to truly care
about him. His father had not.
“Poison? How—what—?”
Lydia nodded and lifted a hand, the
one that was not covered with her
blood, to his face. Her fingers traced
his features slowly, as if branding
them to her memory for the last time.
What in the name of Rika was going
on? Who had poisoned his mother?
How? Why?
The hand at his face fell limply onto
her chest and she hacked loudly. Dark
and toxic blood pitched from her lips
and trailed down her chin. Varian was
a warrior, a seasoned warrior who’d
seen many comrades fall in battle. He
knew when a soldier was past the
point of no return and coughing up
blood was one of the signs. Varian felt