Poison (18 page)

He sat up with a groan and watched in silence as Noire knelt and tended his ankle. "You are far too good to me. Too good for me."

Noire looked up with a soft smile, then ducked his head again and finished with his ankle. "There, all wrapped, and that ointment should help, too. By morning you should be feeling much better, though I would not do more walking than you absolutely must."

"Come to bed, kitten," Gael said softly, caressing Noire's cheek with his fingers, breath hitching when Noire turned his head and gave them a quick kiss. He vanished briefly to put out the lights, then returned to the bedroom and got them both comfortable.

"I have clean clothes for you; I snitched them from the laundry maids after explaining your bad ankle and that you begged me to get them for you."

Gael laughed. "More or less the truth." He settled beneath the blankets, pulling Noire close and lying half on top of him. Soothed by the feel and scent of his lover, Gael finally fell asleep.

He was jerked awake by Freddie's sharp voice.
The White Lion has fallen
. Gael swore and threw back the blankets, climbed out of bed, and went to go find his clothes.

Noire came out of the bedroom as he finished dressing, sleepy and tousled and distracting. "What's wrong?"

"The poisoning has resumed," Gael said grimly. "Lord Rodrigue has fallen."

"I see," Noire said quietly, looking sad. "Should I summon Lord Ailill?"

Gael shook his head and slipped on his shoes, then stood up and kissed Noire softly. "No, there is no point. Let him rest, because the people will not take well to another Beast being felled. Go and inform the captain of the guard; he will need to rouse the men to be ready."

"Yes, highness," Noire said softly and slipped into his bedroom to dress.

Sighing, Gael tied back his hair and left Noire's room.
Where are you?

Rodrigue's bedroom
.

Gael winced inwardly to see the cluster of people gathered outside Rodrigue's door:  his sister, his long-time lover, and a couple of other friends of his whom Gael only vaguely recognized. Freddie's head poked out the bedroom door. She caught his eye and motioned him in, scowling everyone else out of the way as he reached them.

When Gael was inside, she closed the door and locked it. "We cannot contain the city if the poisonings are going to resume. Etain is still asleep in her bed because she is too exhausted even to wake up. What are we going to do?"

"Survive until the ceremony," Gael said bitterly. "What else can we do? Though we have tried to figure it out, I feel we are never going to—but I cannot figure out why. Whoever is responsible ... " His mouth tightened, thinking of the skills it would take to elude all twelve Beasts and the Triad.

Something clawed at the back of his mind, like a frenzied animal desperate to escape its cage, but the harder Gael tried to free it, the more difficult it became—the more his head throbbed.

It all slipped away again, leaving him in a foul mood. "I'll take him to the Sanctuary. You had best get everything ready for us to go back into the city." Freddie nodded and left, and Gael heard her speaking sharply with the people outside before the door closed and muted all sound. He stared at the chairs by the sitting room fireplace and crossed over to them, reaching out to comb his fingers through Rodrigue's hair.

They had been friends long before their forms had changed their lives, mates in school with plans very different from the lives they now led. Gael sighed softly and let his hand fall. He awkwardly pulled and lifted Rodrigue from his chair and stumbled, knocking into the little table set between the chairs, spilling a vase of flowers across the floor.

Heaving a sigh, he stepped over them, wrinkling his nose at their cloying scent. They were the flowers Etain gave out periodically, which certainly explained it. Etain always had preferred her flowers to smell strongly. Though he felt bad just leaving them on the floor, he had bigger concerns than spilled flowers. Settling Rodrigue over his shoulder, he headed for the Sanctuary, but was immediately waylaid right outside his room by the cluster of people who had been there earlier.

Clearly, Freddie's attempts to send them off had not been successful, or they had returned promptly after her departure. "If you will please excuse me, I must get Lord Rodrigue to the Sanctuary where he will be safe until he overcomes the effects of the poison."

"Begging your pardon, highness," said Rodrigue's sister, Belle, her stiff demeanor undermining her polite words. "But you are the Unicorn—why can you not simply purify them? Why cannot her majesty heal them?"

"Queen Etain cannot simply heal every affliction. She speeds healing and can fully heal small wounds. You know that very well and gain nothing by pretending otherwise," Gael said sharply. "As to purifying poisons, I cannot purify something that is no longer there. The poison is fast acting, nigh instantaneous, I would hazard. By the time we arrive, it's already done its job and is gone. The poison puts the Beasts into a sleep so deep they cannot wake on their own power. But I promise you—"

"They're all dead, aren't they!" she suddenly screamed and launched herself at him, swinging, clawing, shrieking, pale blue eyes hot and bright with fury, face red and mottled.

Gael reared back, horrified, tripped and sent him and Rodrigue falling to the ground. He found himself straddled and assaulted. Someone tried to grab her, but only wound up attacked. Gael grabbed for her himself, summoned his powers of calm and control—

And swore when she punched him hard enough to set his nose bleeding. Tears of pain stung his eyes, and he was left reeling for a moment—and a moment was all she need to start pummeling him in earnest.

He heard screams and shouts, felt someone kick him. He tried to move, get away, and draw upon his powers, but every blow shattered his concentration. His face hurt, his body hurt, and the hits and kicks and screams of rage just kept coming. Gael sent out a desperate cry for help, trying to reach Etain, Freddie, Noire, anyone—

And then something heavy struck his head and everything went black.

When he woke up, everything hurt. Gael shifted slightly and bit back a cry of pain. Tears stung his eyes as he lay there, all the recent events rushing back to him.

His own people had attacked him in a frenzied rage. Had they been trying to kill him? He could not bear to think of the consequences if they had succeeded. Did they not realize that in killing him they likely lost all hope of their loved ones being restored?

Did they really hate him, hate the Triad, so much? They were doing the best they could, just wanted peace ... and they had tried to beat him to death. The tears fell, hot as they struck his skin before rolling away down the sides of his face to be absorbed by the bedding.

"Gael."

That soft, welcome voice just made him want to cry more. Gael swallowed and turned his head ever so slightly, whimpering at the pain that caused though it was worth it, to stare at Noire.

Noire reached out and laid a hand gently over his stomach. Gael was relieved there seemed to be at least one place where he did not hurt. "We're in your room. Guards are stationed outside to protect you—all three of you. I said I would sit with you since there is little need for me as a Voice right now. Are you all right?"

"Hurts," Gael admitted, voice hoarse, barely audible. "What happened?"

"The palace is becoming as mad as the city," Noire said. "Now that we are down to four Beasts, it's becoming too difficult. Etain ordered everyone to their rooms. But even the guards are beginning to falter now. Freddie was pretty badly beaten in town when she went to stop what has proven to be the worst riot yet. She's resting in her room. "

"Beasts?"

Noire shook his head. "The remaining four are fine for now. Lady Verenne is sitting with Freddie; the others are in their rooms."

Gael tried to nod and instantly regretted it.

"There's your medicine here, for the pain," Noire said softly and moved out of Gael's line of sight. He returned a moment later with a small glass of water into which he mixed a powder that turned the water milky and ever so faintly yellow.

The powder was made from purity blossoms and was the only substance in the world that his body did not 'purify' as a poison. Gael whimpered as Noire lifted him up enough to drink, tears falling helplessly while he drank it.

He wished fervently for Etain's healing abilities right then, but he would not ask for the same reason she had not already helped him:  her powers were needed for the people. The Triad and four Beasts were all that remained to counter whatever madness had overtaken the faerie children.

Noire climbed on the bed to sit beside him, took Gael's hand, and held it.

"Kitten ... "

"I'm here. I won't leave you, not unless duty makes me," Noire said, and Gael could hear the tremble in his voice. "We'll figure out what's wrong, Gael. We won't let Verde fall to whatever is trying to destroy it."

But Gael feared very much that they would fail. Eight failed attempts to restore the gods worked against them, and he and the others were too worn out to hold back true destruction forever.

Whatever poison was rotting Verde was on the verge of killing them for good, and Gael felt helpless to stop it.

Noire hastily retreated back into the alleyway he had just left, hunching down on his belly and curling his tail around his body, making himself as small as possible to better blend into the shadows. Out on the street, a pack of wolves prowled past his hiding place. Their thick coats were matted with blood and soot, and gore hung from their jaws. He thought he recognized one of them as the owner of a tavern he'd always enjoyed. If anything remained of the pleasant man who often gave him free beer, it was buried deep beneath the violent, rage-hazed wolf prowling for something new to kill.

Noire waited until he could no longer hear them and then crept cautiously forward. He peeked out, then slipped into the street and went in the opposite direction, climbing and jumping over the debris and wreckage in the streets.

The entire city was dark and still save for sudden bursts of screaming and shouting. Buildings were broken, burned. Broken glass, garbage, refuse, and lost belongings were scattered everywhere. Smoke rose into the skies, obscuring large tracts of sky. The sun was hidden behind the clouds, as though too ashamed to look down on the city it usually bathed in gold.

Noire growled low and carefully padded over an overturned carriage that was blocking the street. He did not look at the horses, though he caught a glimpse of one who had died between forms. Shuddering, he pressed on.

The sound of raucous laughter made him dive beneath a vendor's table; two of its legs were broken so it left only a small triangle of space. Noire held still, barely daring to breathe as he watched a gang of various animals walk toward him. A bear, two pumas, a wolf, a boar, stallion, and a fox. He was amazed they were getting along. Since the fighting had begun to break out in earnest, everyone had divided among animal lines.

He watched and waited as they continued in his direction, but thankfully seemed not to notice him. With all the muck and filth that covered his fur, they were not likely to smell him. Hopefully he was dark enough, still enough, they would not see him either.

Thankfully, his luck appeared to hold, for the gang turned as they reached the street he was on and continued—

The fox barked suddenly, staring right at him, and then Noire's world was filled with puma. He burst from his hiding place, attacking the cat dead on, biting its face and throwing it aside. Something hit him from the side, and he fell to the street in a tussle of screaming, snarling, biting, and clawing as the other puma tried to kill him.

By the time he had broken free of it, the other animals were on him and Noire had one brief moment to think of Gael—

And then the fox fell, a knife its back. Noire used the moment of surprise that froze everyone to go for the bear, the biggest threat in every sense. He lunged, throwing all of his weight into it, slamming into its enormous head and shoulders and sending them both to the ground.

He barely skirted away from the bear's claws in time, feeling scrapes that would have been fatal gashes if he had moved a second slower. Darting around, he glanced briefly at his savior, then put all of his attention right back on the bear.

Tensing, he waited until the bear came at him and then pounced, jaws clamping around its arm, sinking in. The taste of blood was bitter on his tongue, and Noire spat it out as he let go and once more dashed away.

The bear roared and ran at him again, but enraged by pain and anger, he was much easier to fight. Another pounce, and Noire disabled the second arm as thoroughly as he had the first. He was bracing to make the kill when the deed was done by a sword. Noire relaxed, trembling with relief, as the bear fell to the road and quickly bled out.

Ivan walked toward him, looking as haggard as Noire felt and at least twice as filthy. Noire growled at him, and butted against his thigh, wondering what he was doing there when Noire had been on his way to their meet up point.

"I was overrun by a gang; barely got out with my skin," Ivan said and used his sleeve to dab at blood dripping down his face. "Was coming to find you if I could, figured we'd find each other at the palace if not. We should be getting back; there's nothing more we can do here."

Noire growled in agreement and rubbed against Ivan's legs in thanks and reassurance as he circled around him to head back the way he'd come. It was hard to believe that only a few weeks ago the city had been bright and beautiful and still a pleasant place to be despite the tensions.

Now it was reduced to nothing more than a living nightmare. Noire would have cried if he had any energy left to spare, but it was all he could do to stay on his feet and alert.

A shadow caught the corner of his vision, and Noire turned, pounced, and grabbed the wolf that lunged at them from the shadows. He threw the injured wolf aside and kept going. He was tired of the taste of blood in his mouth. Blood was life, blood connected. To taste blood was taboo, and it made him sick to think of the number of times he had been forced to taste it—forced to kill since the city had finally, irrevocably, descended into madness.