She shook her head no, fished out a piece of leek, and ate it slowly, her eyes downcast. If she was going to die, so be it. She could hardly run away from the man. She’d seen what he could do with a sword.
She took another bite. At last it seemed to be good enough to satisfy him. The knight lifted his own spoon, braced his arms on the table, and began to eat, rapidly. Like a starved man who’d been lost in the wild. Or a man who’d missed a few meals. The spoon was halfway lifted to his mouth for the fourth time when he picked up one of the rolls and held it out to her. Ayla reached forward and took it from his hand. Lord Niel kept eating the soup, one eye still on her.
She tore a piece off, spread it with the salted butter he nudged towards her, and took a bite. Satisfied, he picked up a roll and did the same.
If he were poisoning her, Ayla decided, he wouldn’t care if she ate first. Or he’d just make her eat while he watched without taking a bite. She relaxed a little. It seemed unlikely that hemeant to kill her. Not by way of dinner, at least. She finished her cup of wine in a large, relieved gulp.
“You must have some idea where your husband kept the keys,” he said.
“I don’t. Perhaps he wore them.”
“Wouldn't you, his wife, know if he did?”
She didn’t answer. The knight reached for the pitcher and poured Ayla more wine. She took a sip.
“Back to your silent act, then,” he suggested.
She drew in a sharp breath and fiddled with her spoon, eating more slowly than the knight was. She supposed there was no denying it to him now; it had been an act. But what was she supposed to say, a full confession? He wasn’t her friend, or even her ally.
Mercy, twenty-four hours past she’d slipped a deadly poison into his food. Nothing had changed since then. He was the enemy. She could not forget that.
“No matter,” he muttered, and took a slug of wine, leaning back in his chair and glaring at her with narrowed eyes. “It’s not your company that I require.”
“Then may I leave?” She didn’t mean the words to come out as a challenge. She hadn't meant to say them at all. That was the trouble with wine.
“I’m not forcing you to stay,” he agreed. “But think carefully, Lady Blackfell, before you go.”
It was a threat, but she didn’t have a clue what he meant.
“It would help to know what I am supposed to be thinkingof.”
“Have you had enough to eat?” he leaned forward across the table to her, the bright flame flickering between them. Half his face bled red from the hearthfire; the other was ominously shadowed. It highlighted his carved features, the sharp cut of his cheeks, the heavy brow. “Because I have forbidden the kitchens to feed you.”
She stared at him in disbelief.
“Youcan’tmean to starve me.”
“Of course not,” he agreed. “You’ll eat quite well. By my side.”
“My lord… I don’t knowwhatgame you are playing, but…”
“I don’t play games,” he said, his voice quiet, still leaning towards her. “Your servants adore you. They would have left when I offered an escape, and instead, they stayed. Foryou. I doubt they’ll try to poison me again, if it means killing their dear lady in the bargain.”
Her spoon slipped from her hand, hit the edge of the bowl, and clattered onto the floor.
“Poison?” Ayla said, her voice too high. She scraped her chair back and bent. The knight was faster. He was kneeling beside her in an instant, so close she could have fallen into his arms like a lover. Only there was a dirty spoon in one of his hands. He offered it to her solemnly, like it were the world’s ugliest rose. Her heart thumped, and for a moment she was trapped in his dark gaze.
“Poison,” he agreed. “Do you trust them? Would they kill you to kill me?”
“They won’t,” Ayla whispered breathily. She took the spoon from him, the edge of her little finger scraping for a second against his skin. He stood slowly, looming over her, then returned to his seat and his meal. She forced her heart to calm.
Had he hurt anyone in the kitchen? No, surely Megh would have told Ayla when she’d come to fetch her, if he had.
She couldn’t admit she knew anything about the poisoning. And she wasn’t going to come clean, not unless she had to in order to save the others.
“What do you mean by ‘again?’” she asked as she wiped the spoon on her napkin, frowned at it, and set it down. She wasn’t sure she wanted to put anything in her mouth that had been on Ditmar’s floor.
“Stilder berries. I’d like to say I recognized the seeds instantly, but instead I can be grateful to skilled healers and fast-working tonics.”
