Poison (15 page)

"Are you in love with your sweetheart, Noire?"

"Yes," Noire said. "I could not live without him. I would not want to."

"What's his name?"

Noire looked away. "I cannot say. He would be upset to know that I have admitted I have a lover. That is my heavy secret:  that I am the secret."

"So am I," Verenne said softly, and Noire turned to face her, but she stared out over the garden. The night jasmine was shredded bits scattered across her lap. "She has been my entire world since I met her, but she refuses to acknowledge my feelings. To acknowledge she returns them. She constantly pushes me away and goes into the arms of someone she does not love. She loves me, and one night she broke down and showed it. The best night of my life, and now she will not speak to me unless she must and says that I must not speak of that night. I obeyed because I thought it must be the right thing to do, it's so out of character for her. But now I wonder, and I find I no longer want to be a secret, and I don't know what to do."

How he knew, Noire could not exactly say—but no, that wasn't true. The entire scenario sounded too familiar for it to be anyone else. It fit with the few other things she'd said. "You're in love with Freddie."

Verenne jerked and looked at him. "How—"

"Gael," Noire said with a wobbly smile, terrified and relieved all at once that he could finally admit it. "My lover's name is Gael."

Giving a soft cry of dismay and sympathy, Verenne hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry, Noire. They're both—oh, stupid, infuriating, inconsiderate—"

"Terrified," Noire cut in. "I do not know what Freddie has told you, but Gael has nightmares of me dying, and he believes it is related to the ceremony. He would murder me right now for telling you, because I should not trust anyone with the knowledge until the ceremony is successful and over."

Verenne stared at him, then let him go with a long sigh. "That makes a bit more sense. Freddie is only 'for your own good' and 'please trust me' and oh, I really do want to smack her some days. And then take her to bed and never leave it because everything is so much simpler when it's just the two of us." She started crying again, dabbing at her eyes with her crumpled handkerchief.

Noire pulled out his own and handed it over. "If you and Freddie are anything like Gael and me, then I firmly believe she loves you and wants only to protect you. I know it is not much, but ... "

"It's enough to have one last conversation," Verenne said. "Thank you for trusting me with your secret. I am sorry you bear it." She took his hand and kissed his cheek again, and Noire returned the gesture by kissing hers. "But I feel better knowing I am not alone."

"Yes," Noire said softly. "It's nice not to feel so alone."

Verenne laughed and hugged him. Sitting back, she gave him an appraising look and then smirked. "So, our sweet little Voice has hooked the Unicorn. Well no wonder the flirtations and wiles of the court fall on very deaf ears. I know plenty of people who would love to tear your eyes out, tear your throat out, and leave you in the river. He must be very good in bed for you to keep your secret as long and as well as you have."

"Y-your grace!" Noire sputtered, face burning.

She collapsed into giggles, leaning against him for balance, arms clinging to his. "Your face! My, my, he must be very good. I shall have to invite you over for a bottle or six of wine some night and coax all the dirty details from you."

"That will not happen," Noire said hotly and pushed her away, which only made her giggle more.

"Well, you will at least have a bottle with me tonight, Voice," Verenne said, standing and sweeping her skirts out imperiously. "I have not bothered to eat dinner; I will have something prepared for us."

Noire nodded and rose, offering his arm. "How is your sister?"

"I have no idea," Verenne said cheerfully. "She and her husband are with my parents up in the mountains this time of year. I just wanted to get away from the palace before I punched Freddie right in the nose. So how did you and Gael ..."

"We met at a ball. A week later ..." Noire shrugged, unable to say more because it simply hurt too much.

Verenne sighed. "Freddie and I met before I was even a Beast. She was the Pegasus, but only for about five or six years, then. I was still very much a girl, but I saw her and was utterly smitten. My parents thought I was such a devout daughter, wanting to go to the palace to learn courtly life while my sisters wanted to play and flirt. I don't think they ever did realize the thoughts flitting through my mind whenever I looked at Freddie. She really is magnificent."

"She's terrifying," Noire said, "but I suppose it's a matter of perspective."

"Indeed, most would say your man is cold," Verenne replied with a wink. They slipped into the house, where the stony butler waited. Noire waited patiently while Verenne arranged supper, then dutifully walked with her to the study for drinks.

She poured him a glass of brandy, motioning to the chairs before the fireplace. After studying him for a moment, Verenne clucked in disapproval. "You do look tired. Would you prefer just to go to bed?"

Noire shook his head. "No, food would be nice. I did not get much chance to eat. I'm still too keyed up from travelling hard to sleep well. Your hospitality is most appreciated, your grace."

"Fah," Verenne said dismissively. "Leave off with the 'your grace'. We are friends now. I understand formality must be maintained in certain places, but here we are not a duchess and a voice. We are friends. Renne will do just fine."

"Renne," Noire said, and he smiled because it really did feel as if they were friends, though they had been mere acquaintances just moments ago. "So you will return?"

"Yes, but do not be surprised if I flounce off again," Verenne said dryly. "Freddie is infuriating."

Noire smiled. "Luckily, I'm busy and often gone, so there is little time for fighting."

Verenne smiled back. "So you said both Ciel and Justin fell? How did this poisoner manage to get two ..." She trailed off with a grimace. "I suppose I do not have any right to judge, given that I am the trollop attempting to lure away Freddie when she is with her siblings—but I knew those two were flirting a bit too much. I thought they at least had sense enough not to give in. Lady Ciel's wife will be crushed when she finds out."

"She already knows," Noire said, not seeing that he had to hold that bit of information back. "She was the one who found them."

"I see," Verenne said. "Dinner should be ready soon, and we will leave at dawn.  How did you journey here?"

Noire shrugged. "On foot. It's the fastest way."

"Well, I cannot hope to keep up with you, Voice," Verenne said with a smile. "However, time is of the essence, so perhaps you might permit a tiny little bat to travel on your back?"

Laughing, Noire swept her a half bow from his seat. "It would an honor, your grace."

"Marvelous, and thank you," Verenne said. "Now come, dinner will be a few minutes more. We can play a couple hands of cards and gossip shamelessly about our paramours. No word of protest out of you; it will make me feel better and keep me cooperative."

Noire rolled his eyes before he could catch and stop the movement, but obediently stood with her and moved to the card table nearby. "You are not playing fair."

"Only country folk and foreigners play cards fairly," Verenne said cheerfully and began to shuffle the deck.

Ailill looked around the bedroom, wrinkling his nose at the smell of sex and too-sweet flowers. It was strong enough it triggered a mild headache. Ignoring it, Ailill examined the room.

He hoped Ciel and Justin had enjoyed their final moments, because he did not envy them the misery to which they would awake.

If they did awake. Ailill wondered how much longer he had before he became a victim. It was a thought he preferred to avoid, but that was becoming increasingly impossible. He was a Beast, and the Beasts were all being steadily poisoned. It was only a matter of time.

He scoured the room, but came up with nothing. It made no sense. Poisoning an old woman in her temple, alone save for a manservant? Not hard. Poisoning a man alone in a room right across from a crowded ballroom? Trickier, but by no means impossible—and probably still easy for someone of such ominous skill.

But poisoning a couple while they were in the throes of passion? Ailill would be the first to admit that he noticed very little of his surroundings when he was with Ivan, but he would have noticed somebody entering his bedroom uninvited. He would have fought back. So they hadn't noticed, or they hadn't had a chance to fight back. Or, he supposed, they hadn't realized there was any need to fight at all.

The sound of familiar footsteps drew his attention, and Ailill looked up with a brief smile as Ivan joined him—carrying a familiar jewel case. "You brought the jewels?"

"You keep forgetting them, and I know you were meant to meet with her majesty about them days ago," Ivan said. "I thought it was worth seeing if you could finally hand them over. It'll be one last thing to worry about, especially if Beasts keep falling." His mouth tightened.

Ailill quirked one brow. "Are you worried about me, Vanya?"

"Should I not be?" Ivan asked. "You are being asked to investigate this matter. In my experience, that makes you a greater target. There is also the fact that you have been badly hurt by poison before—"

"That was magic," Ailill countered.

Ivan shook his head once, sharply. "You were poisoned all the same, badly enough we had to send you home. Poisoned by shadow magic, and if this poison is the same thing that killed the Tsar then it's shadow work as well. Poison, illness—when people suffer these things, they remain permanently affected. Some people come out of it stronger, less vulnerable, and even immune. I once knew a man who was felled by bitterbright poison. Most people die from it, but he survived and ever after was immune to it. But some people wind up weaker—"

"I'm not weak," Ailill bristled. "So I was struck down by shadow magic. That does not mean I am now some delicate greenhouse flower that must be fussed over."

"I didn't say you were weak," Ivan said, voice still even, though Ailill knew the temper was there just beneath the surface. "I said the poisoning in Pozhar might have made your body weaker in terms—"

Ailill wanted to hit him. He was a lot of things, but weak wasn't one of them—not in any way. "So I was laid up by the attack for a while. Prince Gael purified me and I've recovered just fine. I'm not weak—"

Ivan's patience finally broke, and there was a hint of growl in his voice as he said, "What is with you? You are not usually this quick to anger. I'm not trying to accuse you of being weak; I'm saying you might be more susceptible to the poison because it once almost killed you!"

"I'm fine," Ailill snapped. "I don't need you fussing over me. Since when do you fuss over anyone?"

Hurt cut the anger on Ivan's face for a moment, and then his face shuttered. He thrust the jewel case into Ailill's arms. "You should not have to ask that question, Ailill. If you do have to ask it, then perhaps we are not what I thought." He stormed out before Ailill could reply.

"Fine," Ailill said bitterly. He'd just carry on investigating alone. It wasn't as though he'd needed Ivan's help to begin with—and he certainly didn't need the help of someone who thought him weak.

Turning away from the door, Ailill started toward the dressing table in the corner to set the jewels on while he worked—and wound up on his knees from a wash of dizziness. He tried to stand, but the dizziness struck again, worse than ever, his vision blurring and going dark in patches. Ailill scrabbled at the wall and tried to get to his feet, to go for help because it was clear something was wrong.

It took everything he had to make it to his feet again, but as he turned to the door it struck again, and he went crashing to the ground. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't move. "Van—"

Ailill woke up to a pounding head, as though he had overindulged in wine and would be regretting it for at least the whole day. It felt as if someone had removed his stomach, turned it inside out, and then tried to put it back in place.

He stared uncomprehendingly at the bed canopy, not recognizing it. His bed was definitely not maroon trimmed in gold. Where was he? Why was he in bed? Had he really been drinking so much?

Groaning, pressing the heel of his hand to his aching head, Ailill slowly sat up. Ah, the palace. Of course, he was in the palace. Then it all came rushing back. The White Hawk and the White Owl. Fighting with Ivan. Passing out. But why had he passed out? He'd been fine. Had someone tried to poison him? That made no sense, and he certainly had not interacted with anyone except Noire, Gael, and Ivan since entering the palace.

So if he'd been poisoned, it had already been in the room. Ailill balled his hand into a fist and struck the mattress with it. The poison had been in that room, and enough of it had still remained that it had almost gotten him.

And instead of realizing that and finally solving the mystery, he had collapsed like the weak fool Ivan believed him to be.

Ivan. Ailill's anger faded beneath a wash of guilt, an ache of longing. Where was Ivan? Had their stupid fight really driven him off so thoroughly that ...

Oh, whatever. He did not have time to simper and sulk; he needed to figure out how long he had been out and what had transpired in the meantime. Sliding out of the bed, he looked around for the rest of his clothes.

He finally saw them piled neatly on top of a dressing table—

Jewels. The crown jewels. He'd dropped them when he'd first gotten dizzy. Fear seized him, and Ailill quickly yanked on his clothes, then shoved his feet into his shoes and straightened his hair as he walked toward the door. Pulling it open, he stepped out—

And crashed into someone, sending him falling back on his ass, which caused his stomach and head to protest loudly. Ailill bowed his head and willed his stomach to stay in his body, feeling hot and dizzy and entirely fed up with the world.