My fingers fumbled, stiff and tingling, to remove the cork with my injured hand. The effort of twisting it free made blood gush warm again beneath the bandage. I sniffed the bottle. “For pain? I could use some of this.” I took a hearty swig and shrugged. “There, now. I think I’m feeling better already.”
He smiled, his face a strained smear of anguish and fear. I put the elixir back and drew another bottle, this one filled with creamy white liquid. “And just how does this one help my father?”
“His stomach, Your Highness! It helps settle it.”
I held the bottle up, swishing it in the light, then took a drink. I smiled. “Yes, I remember this from my childhood.” I leveled a glare at the Royal Scholar. “I often suffered from stomachaches.”
I put it back and shuffled through the box, then drew out the small vial filled with golden powder. “And this one?”
He swallowed. His skin was pasty, and a bead of sweat trickled near his ear. A half smile rippled across his lips. “It is for agitation. Just to calm jittery nerves.”
“Jittery nerves,” I repeated. “Well, I guess you can all see, I certainly have those.” I pulled the cork, began to lift it to my mouth, and hesitated. “Does it matter how much I take?”
“No,” he said, a measure of relief finally reaching his eyes. “You may take as much as you like.”
I lifted it to my lips again. He watched me, his mouth hanging open, waiting for me to take a hefty dose, as I had with the others. I paused and returned his earnest attention. “It seems, Lord Fently, that you’re in need of this far more than I am. Here, take some.”
I moved it toward his lips, and he quickly turned his head away. “No, I don’t need any.”
“But I insist.”
“No!”
He jerked away, but I drew the knife from my boot and held it to his neck. “See how jittery you are, my lord?” I lowered my voice to a growl. “I insist you take some. Now.” My knife pressed harder against his throat, and lords gasped as a thin line of blood sprang up beneath the blade. I brought the golden vial slowly to his lips. “Remember,” I whispered, “you may take as much as you like.”
The glass brushed his lower lip. “No!” he cried, his eyes glazed with terror. “It’s him! He’s the one who gave it to me! It was by his order!”
He pointed at the Viceregent.
I lowered the knife, pushing the physician free. Silence crushed in as all eyes turned to the favored cabinet member. I smiled at the Viceregent. “Thannis,” I said. “Good for the soul. Good for the heart. A unique token found only in Venda. Something an ambassador such as yourself probably discovered years ago on one of your clandestine visits.” I walked toward him. “Perfectly deadly, but a few tiny grains? They might be just enough to keep a king out of the way while you finalized your plans—because if he died, there were so many of those troublesome princes in line for the throne who might appoint a new cabinet.”
The Viceregent stood. “The man’s a liar. I’ve never laid eyes on the substance before.”
A voice called from the back of the hall. “Then how do you explain this?” Footsteps echoed, boots on stone, a slow beat that demanded attention.
Heads turned. Breaths were held for only a moment, then hushed whispers erupted into the air like a startled flock of birds. There was something about him. Something familiar—but foreign too. Something that didn’t belong. They quieted again as Kaden walked down the center aisle toward us, another golden vial in his hand. “I found this in your apartment, tucked in a locked drawer.” He moved forward in a slow, deliberate line, soldiers stepping aside. “Probably the same vial you used to keep Andrés—your legitimate son—out of harm’s way.” I saw the strain in Kaden’s face, his effort at control. The impact of seeing his father shook him like a storm. His eyes glistened, the calm destroyed, a thousand cracks in his voice. The boy who wanted only to be loved. Kept. Watching him struggle to hold back made his agony even more evident, and the depth of his pain swelled in me.
The Viceregent stared as if seeing a ghost. “Kaden.”
“That’s right, Father,” he answered. “Your son, back from the grave. Seems the Komizar was playing both of us. I was his Assassin.” Kaden stopped, the cracks in his composure deepening, a quiver in his lip that tore through me as he spoke again. “He trained me up for years, and for every one of them, I waited for the day I would kill you. Seems now there are a few in line ahead of me to do the job.”
“This is madness! It is—” The Viceregent turned, seeing the eyes fixed on him, his lies closing in, inescapable. He lunged, pulling a knife from beneath the table, and held it to the Timekeeper’s throat, dragging him to his feet and using him as a shield. They both stumbled backward toward the wood panel on the rear wall of the chamber, and the Viceregent’s hand groped behind him. A little to the right, I thought as his fingers fumbled over the carved wood. There. He pressed, and a passage appeared, one known to every king—and the children who spied on him. He shoved the Timekeeper away and disappeared into the passage.
The Chancellor glanced nervously to the side as if to make a break to follow.
“I wouldn’t,” I told him, and only seconds later, the Viceregent reappeared, stepping backward, a sword at his chest. Andrés held it and emerged with more soldiers behind him. His expression was as shattered as Kaden’s.
“You killed my comrades,” Andrés said. “You should have let me die with them.” He lowered the sword and swung his fist, sending his father stumbling toward me.
A line of blood ran from the corner of the Viceregent’s mouth. I kicked the back of his legs, bringing him to his knees, and yanked on his hair so his eyes jerked up to meet mine.
“You killed my brother,” I said, my face drawing close to his. “He and every good man with him were massacred. They had no chance.” There was no mistaking the dangerous strain in my voice and I saw fear flash through his eyes. “
They were outnumbered five to one because you sent word ahead. I buried them all, Viceregent. I dug graves until my hands bled while you were here sipping wine and conspiring to kill more.”
I whipped back to face the lords. “This is the man who sent my brother and thirty-two soldiers to their deaths! He is the one who poisoned my father! He is the one who led his rat’s nest of conspirators to plot against us all!” I looked back at him, my knife pressing against his neck. “You’re going to die, Lord Viceregent, for your crimes against Morrighan, and if we don’t get to my brothers and their squads in time, you will die slowly. That is my promise to you.”
He looked at me, his eyes defiant again. He whispered low so no one else would hear, “I have an agreement with the Komizar. I may spare whichever lives I choose.”