I locked the door behind him and hurried across the yard. I ran up the stairs, crossed the hallway, and rushed into the room.
Everard had remained in his chair. I caught a glimpse of his expression as I came through the doorway. His face was harsh and cold, as if carved from ice with a razor-sharp sword.
“The messenger is Joris.”
“What about it?”
“He will poison you. He will use omaran, the same poison that killed your father, and blame the Crimson Empire for it.”
A spark of brilliant green flashed in Everard’s eyes. “Will he, now?”
That’s what happened in the books. The joedurar was called after the assassination of the Sun Margrave, which should’ve happened months from now, but I’d sent the timeline to hell in a handbasket. In the old timeline Sauven dispatched Joris to fetch Everard with orders to poison him. Joris had done exactly that, and Everard barely survived that attempt. It took him months to recover. He couldn’t even attend the joedurar, which was why Sauven demanded his presence at the Winter Hunt. He was still sick at the Hunt. And then Kiel was murdered, and Kair Toren went off the rails.
“Joris will do it on the way to Kair Toren. The poisoning will be severe enough that you will return to Selva instead of pushing on.”
Everard didn’t seem concerned.
“Listen to me.”
I strode to his chair, leaned my arms on the armrests, and stared straight into his eyes.
“When you meet Joris, don’t touch anything he offers you. If he brings you a gift of wine, don’t taste it. If he offers you a beautiful dagger, don’t hold it. If he gives you a dog as a gift, don’t pet it. If you smell strong perfume, find a way to exit the room. Don’t eat with him, don’t drink with him, don’t share any items. Touch nothing his hands have touched.”
His eyes widened.
“Joris is very good at what he does, and omaran has no antidote. If you feel sick, don’t take the extract of wodon flower. It will make things worse. Drink a glass of water and make yourself vomit, and then do it again, and again. Your only hope is to dilute and purge the poison before your body digests it. Promise me.”
He stared.
“Ramond, promise me!”
“I promise.”
“You swear?”
“I do.” He nodded. “I’ll be careful. Trust me, Maggie.”
I realized I was still clutching his chair and let go.
“Thank you for warning me,” he said.
“Don’t thank me.” I dropped into my chair. “Just don’t die.”
We fell silent. Everard stood up and looked at the window, thinking about something. He looked very regal right now, elegant and focused, his face severe and unforgiving.
I didn’t want him to die.
He was leaving the house, which played right into my hands. I needed to do things, and his presence would make them impossible. He would never let me rescue Isadau. More, this was my chance to escape his grasp. When he came back, he would arrive in public. The Accords he’d signed limited his movement in the capital and he would be closely watched. This was our last chance to spend time together.
It felt like someone had stabbed me in the heart and twisted the knife.
I would miss him. No, that was nowhere near adequate. Not having him hear would feel like a hole had been torn in my life. He was at once a threat and my safety net, and he took up so much room. As long as he was in this house, no intruder would make it past him, but that’s not what I would miss the most. I would miss his wit, his sharp mind, his rare smiles, the way he looked at me, his body, his voice . . .Him, I would miss him.
Oh, I’d fallen really hard. If there was any doubt before, it was all gone now, because when I thought about Joris, panic punched me right in the heart. I was terrified Ramond would die.
Damn it.
“How did he do it in your future?” he asked.
