Chapter 24

‘… going to kill them all ,’ the prettiest, loveliest, angriest voice in the world was saying.

‘You know I’m the last to get in the way of lofty ambitions,’ another voice – lilting, silvery – said, and only then did she hear footsteps pacing back and forth around wherever they were. ‘I’m just saying we should possibly wait until she wakes up before we decide to massacre the entirety of her court, you know?’

She

Wakes up.

Thysandra became abruptly aware of her own body and immediately regretted that decision.

While she had never been run over by a herd of horses in her life, she was dreadfully certain that she knew now what the experience must feel like – every fibre in her body sore and bruised and aching, her head pounding as if someone had used it as an anvil. Her thoughts were clear, or at least close enough to clear compared to the utter wreck that was the rest of her … but it took an arduous burst of concentration to figure out just how she’d ended up here, on someone’s couch, while people were threatening bloody murder beside her.

Naxi.

That was Naxi talking.

‘Then I’m going to torture everyone who touched that glass!’ she was announcing, mere feet away. Her timbre was too high. Panic, even from the prettiest, loveliest, angriest demon in the world. ‘Orthea will know who served the wine, won’t she? And if she didn’t put the poison in there herself, then—’

Poison.

And at once everything became horribly, perfectly clear. Wine. Warmth. Her thoughts turning into sluggish mud while fear should have kept her more awake than ever – and fuck, fuck, fuck , Orthea’s speech before that …

‘No,’ she croaked.

The voices went quiet.

And then Naxi again – ‘Sashka?’

‘Don’t … don’t torture her.’ Hell. She sounded like a wood saw had been blessed with the sudden gift of speech. ‘Need her cooperation. To … to rectify things.’

Nicanor cursed. ‘Welcome back, Your Majesty. And maybe try a cup of tea first before jumping back into politics?’

‘I can make tea!’ Naxi squealed.

It seemed a little nonsensical to make a point of Nicanor not poisoning his tea when he had, by the look of it, just narrowly saved her life from whatever had been in her wine. So Thysandra merely opened her eyes, blinked at the ceiling stained with poison fumes, and tried to sit up straight on what did indeed turn out to be a couch.

Thank the gods they hadn’t put her in his bed. She wasn’t quite ready for those memories yet.

It took agonisingly long to get her body into a more or less vertical position. At least Nicanor’s curtains were closed – no one to witness the humiliation but him and Naxi, which was presumably the best she could have hoped for. Soft faelights twinkled in corners of the room. A thousand bottles and jars reflected the light – the same menacing collection as always, and yet with the memory of that pink antidote against her lips, it seemed a lot less threatening than it had before.

She should have remembered from the start that her Lord Protector was not the only one with a knowledge of poisons in this castle.

It was hard not to curse over the stupidity of it.

Nicanor was sitting at his worktable when she had finally seated herself steadily enough to risk looking up – the red ribbon still braided into his hair but the ruby-covered coat gone, his slim frame strangely fragile in only the silvery shirt he’d worn beneath. In the kitchen corner, Naxi was bustling around, lively hands somehow in seven places at once as she prepared the world’s least efficient cup of tea.

Night peered in between the curtains, quiet and black as ink.

‘How long have I been out?’ Thysandra asked hoarsely.

‘ Forever! ’ Naxi wailed without turning around.

‘About two hours,’ Nicanor amended, a wry smile flitting over his lips. ‘We considered moving you to your own rooms, but it seemed better not to have you out in public with— Well …’

‘Yes.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Fuck.’

Naxi huffed. ‘I could still kill them all?’

‘Need to know what happened, first.’ The hazy, strangely contorted images of her memories played before her mind’s eye. The hound probably hadn’t actually moved. The rest, though … ‘Are we certain it was in my wine?’

‘No waiting for the cup of tea, then?’ Nicanor said, interlacing his fingers as he rested his elbows on the table surface. ‘As you wish. The poison is usually called phyriga – Fire’s Kiss – and when ingested, its effects kick in quite swiftly. Near-instant sensation of increasing warmth. Ten to fifteen minutes before the tiredness and confusion become noticeable. Half an hour or so until death.’

Naxi gave a small whimper by the stove, stuffing fresh herbs into Nicanor’s blackened teapot.

‘Wine or venison, then,’ Thysandra said numbly. Half an hour . Gods have mercy. ‘And I probably ate the venison too late for it to be the cause – not to mention—’

‘Yes. There would have been no way for anyone to control what piece you took.’ Nicanor’s lips pressed together into a thin line. ‘Hence, the wine.’

‘Fuck,’ she said again.

‘It’s a pretty common poison, unfortunately.’ He grimaced. ‘Of course, if whoever did this had truly known anything about the subject, they would have picked a slower option to make sure I would be well out of the way by the time the symptoms showed up. Then again, we were only just in time as it was, and if Anaxia hadn’t noticed you feeling odd …’

‘ Miserable ,’ Naxi shrilly corrected as she poured boiling water over the herbs, then hauled the teapot off the counter and turned around. Her eyes were redder than the petals on her dress. ‘As if you were dying!’

‘Which, it turns out, was quite correct,’ Nicanor added with a sour grin.

Naxi gave a choked sound.

The urge to pull her onto the couch and curl up against that soft, delicate body was almost overwhelming – but Nicanor was still sitting in the same room, and even if he’d just saved her life, snuggling up with demons might be a bridge too far even for the male who loved his bold decisions.

Instead, Thysandra rubbed her eyes and numbly said, ‘So what do we do?’

They were clever enough, the two of them. They could hear what she wasn’t saying, the space between the words – how in hell am I going to survive this?

How do I still win this game?

‘I spent most of dinner trying to calm down the army commanders next to me,’ Nicanor said, taking the teapot from Naxi and pouring three cups of tea. ‘Lots of “no decisions made yet” and “not punishing anyone who did not do anything wrong”. So they should be spreading that as we speak. Then again, all the soothing words in the world aren’t going to help if … well …’

‘If information keeps leaking,’ Thysandra mumbled.

Nicanor grimaced. ‘ Yes.’

Naxi scowled at him. ‘Why are you feeling so smug about that?’

‘Oh, gods.’ He gave a joyless laugh, slumping back on his stool. ‘Bloody demon eyes.’

Naxi scowled harder.

‘Alright, alright. Cards on the table.’ His bitter smile slid off his face as he wrapped his hands around his teacup and turned back to Thysandra. ‘I’m sorry. I should have talked about this with you sooner. It’s just … frankly, it always sounded unlikely to me, the idea that someone in the archives just happened to hear our conversation at the worst possible moment. Wouldn’t the other archivists have noticed if one of them stood pressing their ear to the door for minutes, for one thing?’

Yes.

Yes, they would have.

But it had been such a blissfully convenient explanation, no guilty parties, no betrayal from any of the people whose cooperation she needed the most …

‘No apology needed,’ she said blankly, falling back in the couch cushions to stare at the stained ceiling. ‘I should have realised the same thing.’

‘If I were a better person, I would also not feel so damnably satisfied about being right,’ he countered, a sour note of amusement in his voice, ‘so you’re getting the apology anyway. I suppose the best we can do now is introduce some very specific bargains around confidential information as long as we don’t know who—’

Fists banged against the living room door.

Thysandra’s fingers already lay on her dagger when a familiar voice followed. ‘Nicanor? Are you here?’

Silas.

Who had not been at the feast.

She swallowed and nodded, not releasing her blade. Only after that swift confirmation did Nicanor jump off his stool and yell, ‘We’re all here!’

Silas’s muffled words were not entirely intelligible through the wood, but sounded suspiciously like thank the fucking gods .

He wasn’t alone, it turned out when Nicanor unlocked his door and swung it open. Inga slipped in before him, in her servant’s uniform again, a folded letter trembling in her hand.

‘We only just heard,’ she erupted before anyone else could get a word in, and for once there was no anger in her voice – just pure, breathless fear. ‘News didn’t make it to the human quarters until some guards told us. If we’d known – if we’d heard sooner …’

She collapsed onto the couch’s armrest, her breath coming in little panicked gasps, and for a long moment of silence, Thysandra had not the faintest idea what to respond. Was the girl afraid to be accused again? It seemed unlikely the mere news of Thysandra’s near-death had her in such a frenzy, and behind her, Silas seemed grave rather than terrified.

‘Tea?’ Nicanor suggested cautiously.

‘Fuck off with your tea!’ Inga’s voice fractured as she jerked up her head. ‘Thysandra, listen . We made a detour past the archives on our way here. Wanted to make sure no one was attacking the place again, which wasn’t the case, but then … then …’

Silas quietly shut the door behind him, then leaned against it, jaw set in a tight line. ‘Looks like Gadyon is gone, Thys.’

Even Nicanor stiffened at that.

Naxi’s eyes had widened, shooting back and forth between Silas and Inga.

‘Gone?’ Thysandra repeated warily, not sure what to make of the tears in Inga’s eyes or the small muscle twitching at her uncle’s temple. ‘Do you mean you … you couldn’t find him, or …’

‘No,’ Inga said, holding out the letter as if it was her own death warrant. ‘No, we actually mean he’s gone . Read it.’

The seal was already broken.

Thysandra took the letter from the girl’s hands as if it might grow teeth and bite.

Your Majesty, it started, in that small, tidy hand she’d learned to recognise by now .

I sincerely hope you survive to read this letter. The news of your poisoning just reached me, and I knew then that I would not be able to stay at your court any longer.

The leak of your housing plans was – unintentionally – my fault. Since I know I can be scatter-brained, I took extensive notes of our meeting for later reference. Only after the uproar at the archives did I realise they were missing from my office. Someone must have stolen them and spread the news on my behalf. I should have told you then and did not dare to, resolving to keep a better eye on my notes instead.

To my dismay, however, it seems I have somehow mislaid my summary of your agreement with the Alliance, too. I cannot find it in my office or my living quarters, the only safe places to keep such information. I can only conclude it was seen by unfriendly eyes in whatever place it ended up and is therefore responsible for this second attempt on your life as well.

I would rather go into voluntary banishment than wait for your retribution. I’m sorry. If you decide to send your army after me, I understand; I can only plead for mercy and ask that you consider my departure enough of a penance in itself.

With gratitude,

Gadyon

She had to read the letter twice.

The second time was worse.

So she had her culprit after all – the head of her archives, who may have bargained to obey her orders but had still been able to forget despite his earnest intention not to. He had lied to her. He could have killed her twice over. He’d fled rather than face the consequences.

She ought to be furious.

And instead all she felt was … shame? Regret ?

She’d liked her kind, earnest, occasionally harebrained head of the archives – a sentiment that had no business intervening with her sensible politics but did so all the same. Who cared if he’d been an obstacle? Who cared if he could have been the death of her? He’d smuggled food into the humans’ hands when they were starving – surely she could have found a way to keep him alive without losing face to the rest of the court?

And he hadn’t dared to believe that.

He’d expected her to maim, torture, kill. Like the Mother would have done.

Was that what she seemed to be even to her closest allies – just another ruthless, unforgiving tyrant?

‘Thysandra?’ Nicanor was saying, and only then did she realise she hadn’t lifted her eyes from those damning scribbled lines for minutes on end. ‘Mind if I take a look at that?’

She handed him the letter, numbly.

He cursed as he scanned it. Silas was still looking at her with that same, stone-hewn expression on his face – attempting, it seemed, to see straight through the shield of her confusion.

‘I …’ She wasn’t sure why she felt she had to justify herself, and yet the shame wouldn’t go – the knowledge that others had read that earnest plea, that others knew exactly in what light Gadyon had seen her. It should have been a triumph, knowing she at least had managed to be frightening to someone at this entire bloody court, and instead, it was the greatest humiliation of all. ‘I wouldn’t have killed him.’

No one moved around her.

No one responded.

Fuck. What was she thinking? This wasn’t how the game was played. Assets and obstacles. Favours and payments. Simple, clear-cut calculations in which mercy shouldn’t play any role at all … and the others should know that, shouldn’t they?

Except that there had been fear in Nicanor’s voice as he hurried her to his rooms and pressed the antidote to her lips. Except that Inga’s hands were still trembling. Except that Silas had almost knocked through the door a few minutes ago, and even now, the small muscle at his temple hadn’t stopped twitching.

And Naxi …

No love. No loyalty.

Yet there was no denying the redness of her eyes .

Nothing in the world made sense anymore. The quicksand of court intrigue was easy. Deadly but easy. Whereas this … this felt like she was learning to walk all over again, so used to watching her steps and pulling her feet from the mud that solid ground sent her stumbling.

‘Send out people to look for Gadyon,’ she said, closing her eyes. It was easier that way. If the rest of the world did not exist, at least it couldn’t hurt her. ‘If they find him, tell him he can safely return to the court. We’ll figure things out.’

Still no one spoke.

‘I … I’m not sure yet what to do about the Alliance,’ she added, looking up, voice little more than a whisper now.

Weakness, to admit that.

She was so very tired of strength.

‘From what I’ve seen outside,’ Silas said grimly, ‘your main problem is that the army itself is exactly the group most enraged by the plan. They are the ones who went out there and attacked the other magical peoples. They are the ones whose heads are on the line here. Which means you’re not just gaining new opponents – you’re also losing the exact group of people you need to deal with opponents in the first place.’

Nicanor made a soft sound of agreement.

Right. No more army, no more authority. The lingering threat of Bereas and friends they had handled, because that mob had consisted mostly of lickspittles and good-for-nothings who just did not want to lose the houses they had done absolutely nothing to deserve. This , on the other hand …

Fuck.

She was much, much too sore to be dealing with violent insubordination.

‘I’ll see if the Alliance is open to negotiation,’ she heard herself say, and even Inga did not scoff at the notion. ‘Please send a messenger to the Golden Court. Surely Agenor has an alf or two around to let Thorgedson know I’d like a word with him.’

Nicanor sighed. ‘Will do.’

She gave a nod as she dragged herself to the edge of her seat, allowing her wings to fold open behind her back. None of the others moved to assist her. Most days she would have been glad for it – glad to know they didn’t think she needed it.

Tonight, she wasn’t so sure.

She had things to do, of course. Things to kill. The Mother would have told her it was weakness to hide away and mope, that she needed to be stronger the more fragile she felt … but then, the Mother had been a liar all this time, and the alternative …

Her gaze met Naxi’s.

Who couldn’t love her, just like the Mother had never loved her. Who would leave her, just like her friends had done once she’d lost her use and standing. Simple facts, and yet in this mindless moment, she didn’t want to accept them – because her head was pounding, her limbs ached like she’d been kicked around the court all day, and gods, how easy would it be now to pretend that softer, kinder world of sweet kisses and honey pastries was real?

She’d pay for it, of course.

She might just be able to afford it, though.

‘Tell the court the leaked news is premature and incomplete,’ she said, unable to take her gaze away from Naxi’s red-rimmed eyes. The demon’s watery smile was strangely encouraging. ‘They can riot once the negotiations are finished, if they’re still unhappy. Silas, if your bargains can do anything to calm them down, that would be appreciated.’

Her uncle and Nicanor nodded as if by some unspoken agreement.

‘Thank you. Oh, and Inga …’ She couldn’t keep down a groan as she hauled herself to her feet, more or less. The faelights seemed to split into different colours on the edges of her sight. ‘You’re hereby appointed as interim head of the archives. Let’s talk more about that tomorrow. I’m going to need a few hours of sleep, first.’

Inga gaped at her, jaw sagging open in the most dumbstruck bewilderment Thysandra had ever seen from her.

‘Thysandra,’ Nicanor said, and for a moment she was sure he’d object to the nomination – that he’d remind her they were already close enough to war without half humans being granted such obvious favours. But all that came from his mouth instead was a weary, ‘Are you sure it wouldn’t be wiser to stay here for the night?’

Shaking her head was a mistake. The entire world seemed to shake with it.

‘I’ll be perfectly safe in my own room,’ she ground out, struggling her first steps towards the door. It became easier once she was in motion. After all, walking was little more than continuously falling in the right direction; as long as she did not slow down, gravity kept her moving. ‘Demons are helpful for that sort of thing.’

He hesitated behind her. ‘Thys …’

‘ Very helpful,’ Naxi grumbled, the tap of her light footsteps suggesting she’d hopped off her stool. ‘You can stop talking. I’ll protect her. Might just kill anyone who tries to come between her and her own damn bed, actually.’

Not the moment to laugh.

Thysandra found herself choking on a chuckle all the same.

Wisely, no one else objected – not even Silas, for all his sensible warnings on demons and their games. She turned at the door, just as Naxi caught up with her. Three pairs of eyes were following the two of them, looking …

No, not wary.

Worried .

‘If nothing urgent happens,’ Thysandra said, fighting to form coherent words, ‘I’ll be sleeping in tomorrow. See you around noon.’

And out she stumbled, Naxi like a shadow by her side – into the ominously quiet, ominously deserted corridors of the Crimson Court.