While Amero acquainted himself with the new order of things, I kicked out of my chair and walked around to the head of the table.
I pressed two fingers to Jarrin’s throat. There was no pulse of blood against my hand, but I held it there for a full minute to be certain. “He is dead.”
There was no need to check the others. They’d also been given the antidote—a smaller portion, mixed in with the barley ale. They would wake, though not for a few more minutes. Long enough for Amero and me to conclude our business. Only Jarrin had not been given the antidote; he did not like barley ale.
Amero spread his palms out on the table, a wide grin stealing over his face. “Well done,” he said. “You are worth every single gold coin.”
I said nothing. I’d been at this for a long time. Consorting with his kind never got easier. Even though Iwasone of his kind.
He counted coins out into a leather pouch. I barely paid attention. I was a wealthy man. Money was not the reason I did this; it never had been. If I wanted riches, I’d have remained at Balar Shan.
“You should drink the second dose soon,” I said, watching the rest of the party for signs of consciousness.
“Not necessary,” Amero said, handing me the sack of gold that signified the end of our arrangement.
I’d completed my brief. Jarrin was dead. When the others woke, I would be gone. They’d believe that their rival in the village an hour north was to blame for Jarrin’s death. Amero would assume complete control of the mill, exactly as he’d planned it. The three sons would squabble, but Amero assured me he’d forged the documents to show that all property reverted to him. I did not care.
It was an easy bounty. Not even a bounty, really. I had not had to hunt anyone down. The worst part of this job was eating the bland food.
“One spoonful should be enough. You will wake a few minutes after the rest of them, free of any suspicion.” With the amount of antidote already in his system from the barley ale and his pre-taken dosage, the extra hexblight would only knock him out for a few minutes.
“Not necessary,” he said again.
I was almost out the door. I should have kept walking. But a nagging voice in the back of my head—one that sounded too much like my mother—asked the question. “Why is it not necessary?”
He was busy making a circuit of the table, delving around in each of their pockets.
“They will not wake.”
Cold slid down my back. A warning. I was back at the table in one step. The father-in-law was closest to the door. I grabbed his wrist. No pulse. The elderly man might be more susceptible to hexblight, given his age.
The pregnant woman’s hand had fallen across the table, her fingers still half-curled around her empty glass of wine. Her wrist was tiny, despite her condition.
No pulse. I could not let myself believe it. I pressed my fingers to her throat, cradling her head carefully against my midsection with my other hand. It had to be there. She could not be—he could not have…
No blood thrummed against my fingers. I set her head gently against the back of the chair.
“What have you done?”
Amero straightened, his hands full of the goods he’d pilfered from Jarrin and his family’s pockets. A few coins, an engraved silver signet ring. He shrugged. “You did it.”
My mind flipped through the possibilities. There was only one that made sense. The brief had been for Jarrin—to dispatch him so that Amero could take sole control of the mill. It was ugly. It was wrong. But it wasn’tthis.
“You did not put the antidote in the barley ale.”
Another shrug.
“I did not do anything. You did,” Amero repeated.
He was right.
I was the one who snuck into the cellar and switched the bottle of sweet wine for another, laced with hexblight. I had paid the maid to serve the wine and not ask any questions. It was I who had procured the antidote and instructed Amero on how to use it. He had done nothing—except ignore one piece of my instructions. And in doing so, he’d murdered an entire family. A pregnant woman.
No, my blackened conscience corrected. He had not killed them.
I had.
This would follow me. Amero and Jarrin’s competitor would still get the blame, and he would not have to deal with forging the paperwork that made him the sole proprietor of what remained. There were no heirs left alive to make a claim.Amero would play the lucky survivor of a botched assassination attempt.
