“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Kallias said, careful to keep his tone as calm as possible. “I must determine the nature of her symptoms and what she may have consumed.”
Drusilla twisted her hands in her lap. “All of a sudden I started feeling hot, especially my mouth, and then I began to itch.”
Now that Kallias was closer, he noticed some red patches on her face and neck. Her lips, too, appeared reddened and swollen.
Kallias signaled to one of the servants. “A lamp, please.” The servant ran off.
“Is there any other discomfort?” Kallias asked. “Does your stomach pain you?”
Drusilla shook her head. “I-I feel a trifle lightheaded, but that’s it.”
Kallias’s mind flicked through what poisons might cause such symptoms, which seemed blessedly mild. It was odd for there to be no stomach pain, but perhaps she had only consumed a small quantity. “No one else at the dinner party displayed the same ill effects?”
“No. Gaius and I, and those nearest us, were all eating from the same platters.”
Gaius hovered near the couch. “This must have been meant for me. When I find out who is responsible for this, they will pay with their lives.”
“Could you show me what you were eating when you began to feel unwell?” Kallias asked Drusilla, eyeing the pile of overturned dishes on the floor. He was beginning to have an idea of what might have happened, but he needed to confirm his theory.
Drusilla pointed to a silver plate. “That was mine.”
The servant brought the lamp, and Kallias used it to carefully examine the remains of food on Drusilla’s plate. It would have been much easier to assess if the emperor hadn’t overturned the table in a fit of rage, but Kallias did his best. He even tasted a few bites, trying to identify any odd flavors.
“I presume the food was sent to the taster, as always?” Kallias asked, addressing the guards, who were responsible for such safety measures.
A guard nodded. “Of course. The taster is in perfect health.”
“Someone must have added it at the table, then,” Gaius snarled. “One of the servants—I want them all interrogated—”
Kallias raised a hand in a conciliatory gesture. “That may not be necessary, sir.” He turned to Drusilla. “Have your symptoms worsened at all since you first noticed them?”
Drusilla shook her head.
That was promising, and it confirmed Kallias’s theory. “Is it possible that you accidentally consumed something with walnuts in it?”
Drusilla’s mouth fell open. “Oh! I-I didn’t even think of that. It’s been so long since that happened, and everyone was going on about poison…”
“Walnuts are forbidden from the palace!” Gaius snapped. “If any contaminated your food, it must have been foul play!”
“It could also have been a simple mishap,” Kallias said, keeping his tone as casual as possible so it didn’t sound like he was contradicting the emperor. He lifted the silver plate, holding it close to the lamp. “I believe there are some chopped walnuts inside these stuffed dates. In dim light, you wouldn’t have noticed, and the flavor is mild. That would explain why you were the only one who became ill.”
Drusilla let out a sigh of relief. “Yes, that must have been it! This is just how I felt the last time I accidentally ate walnuts. There must have been some mistake in the kitchen. Thank the gods.”
Drusilla’s reaction to walnuts was strange, but luckily it had always been mild. He’d heard other physicians speak of people who ate something perfectly harmless, only to collapse and suffocate moments later. No one understood what made some foods deadly to certain people and not others; it seemed only explainable as a sort of divine curse.
Not that he would ever dare to suggest aloud that Drusilla had been cursed by the gods, of course.
Gaius did not seem to share his sister’s relief. His fists clenched and unclenched spasmodically. He turned to his guards. “Findout who was responsible for preparing those dates. Bring them to me.”
Two guards saluted and hastened away.
“I do believe it was a mistake, sir,” Kallias said. “No true harm was done. I can prepare an ointment to soothe Drusilla’s skin, but the irritation will fade on its own in due course.”
Gaius ignored him. He paced in a tight circle, muttering under his breath. He seemed entirely too consumed by his own fury and panic to hear reason at the moment.
Kallias glanced toward Sextus, still standing in the shadows near the doorway, and found him watching the proceedings with wide eyes. Kallias debated sending Sextus away, but before he could, the guards dragged in a protesting man—one of the cooks. Kallias had once helped him with an ingrown toenail, and he’d found the man to be warm and personable.
The guards threw him to the floor. Kallias winced.
