I smacked his arm. ‘He’s hurt me plenty. He even threw me into the dungeon.’ The wicked man only grinned, and I smacked him again. ‘Stop it. Rey isn’t that soft-hearted. Go and get your men ready. I’ll deliver the poison and the instructions when Ireturn tonight.’ I hesitated, then pointed to the name at the top of the list. ‘This one I need to visit myself… if you’ll get me past his security.’
Marquess Yaran, Tivala’s richest and most influential supporter, was the key to my plan. My gut told me he would be in control of whatever nasty surprise was planned for Rey, so I had an especially nasty surprise planned for him.
Irsha’s smirk widened. He placed a hand on his chest, bowing theatrically. ‘Of course. Anything for his Majesty’s Little Viper.’
‘Keep on digging, Blade. That grave’s getting deeper, and you just grabbed a bigger shovel,’ I muttered. His laughter chased me long after I turned on my heel. With only a few hours to refine the potion that would sufficiently scare the council members, I didn’t have time to lose.
‘Sana, where’ve you been?’ Tova’s voice rang out the moment I opened the door. ‘I looked all over the university for you. You should’ve told me you were leaving.’
The harsh wind decided that was the perfect moment to blow snow through the open gap, so I hastily closed the door and basked in the heat from the roaring fire. The house was as hot as a dwarven forge, the fire built up so high I feared for the mantle. A shirtless Tova stared at me from the kitchen table, where a clay model of the disc lay in the middle of a carefully drawn schemata.
‘I had things to do,’ I said, approaching the table. ‘Is that what I think it is? Did you find out how it works? Why it flares to life for no apparent reason?’
‘Oh, there’s a reason. What I don’t understand is the metal… the alloy created using srebrec. It stores the aether like a mage, then somehow discharges into the spell.’
‘But dwarves can’t cast. So who made it?’ I asked, more concerned with his haunted expression.
‘We did. My kind created this, Drah’sa. My fucking people and whoever invented the design.’ He pointed to the table. ‘I wanted to have dinner together before I head to Wiosna. I need to find what they used, how they smelted the alloy, and how they tied the spell to it. And my answer is beneath the throne room.’
‘You’ve barely returned. Shouldn’t you study the cube more? I mean, you can always melt it down or something,’ I stuttered, trying to argue against his leaving.
‘I could if I had endless time in my pocket, but I don’t. Neither does your kingdom.’ He pointed to the table, leaning over the schemata. The lines and runes looked like someone had set a spider on fire and thrown it on the page.
‘I don’t understand any of this,’ I said after a moment.
‘Drah’sa.’ Tova sighed, the sound making my heart ache. It sounded as if he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. ‘Sana, Mlot can’t be allowed to make more of these, so I will go to Wiosna and stop him. If I’m lucky, I’ll discover a way to stop them from ever being a threat again.’
He drummed his fingers on the table, and with each dull tap, a sense of hopelessness grew inside me. Tova’s determination to head into danger left me feeling helpless. After what I’d learned from Jagon and with Tivala’s scheming, I suspected there was a connection between Mlot and the South.
‘Let’s eat,’ I said, rolling the parchment up and heading to the stove, attracted by the scent of winter onion soup. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to mull over it during the journey. Right now, I want to have a meal with my friend.’
Tova’s eyes narrowed, and I was close to telling him about my afternoon and how Irsha’s words still sat heavily in my chest. Instead, I smiled. ‘What? Can’t I have one peaceful meal without worrying someone will jump out of the cupboard? Besides… that smell. You could cook for the king.’
That compliment seemed to placate him. The soup had a distinct sweetness and enough spices to warm the body. I ate with gusto while he talked about his travel arrangements, then as quietly as I could, I washed my bowl and withdrew to my workshop.
It took less than an hour to mix some monkshood with a little nightshade, creating a smooth, pale paste. I worked fast because both plants, when crushed, released an unpleasant odour. I could only compare it to visiting soldiers’ barracks while the men removed their boots after a day spent cleaning latrines. My magic made me immune to poisons, but not to the smell, and even swallowing hard wouldn’t ease the retching it caused.
It was an excellent incentive to speed up my efforts, so as soon as the paste was ready, I added milk and let it sit for a moment while I snapped the windows open, letting the cold winter air soothe my overwhelmed senses.
‘Drah’sa, are you boiling Veles’ pantaloons? The smell clawed through two closed doors and throttled me senseless.’ Tova stuck his head in, grimacing when confronted with the full strength of the odour.
‘A political guarantee for the king. Riordan is concerned about tomorrow’s council session, so I decided to remove the obstacles before they became too bothersome.’
He grimaced. ‘You’re going to chase them out of Truso with a bad smell?’
I stretched, wiping my hands on my apron. ‘If it were only that simple. Could you grab some butter from the kitchen?’
Tova left, returning with a clay pot full of a yellow mass that had melted slightly in the kitchen’s warmth. ‘So you’re going to kill members of the royal council?’ he said with a sigh, putting the pot on my workbench. ‘Not that I mind, but is that wise?’
I poured the extract through a sieve, happy that the milk had removed most of the odour, before placing it on the burner. I drew a sigil on my hand, which directed my magic into the mixture, making it shimmer as its primal properties were altered.
‘Kill? No.’ I grinned at Tova, who observed my work with unbridled curiosity. ‘No one deserves to die for deeds they haven’t committed… yet. I’m simply ensuring they reconsider their decision to betray the king. A night full of nightmares and a burning that tightens their throat each time they try to speak ill of the king should guarantee that.’
When the mixture had reduced, I added the butter, letting it melt in the pot. I suspected my victims would do anything in their power to avoid swallowing the pill. Holding the pill in their mouths to spit it out later wouldn’t work… the pill would dissolve in moments.
‘That’s wicked.’ he snorted with healthy laughter. ‘I didn’t know plants could do that.’
‘Nightshade will give you nightmares, monkshood is an irritant that burns when ingested. My magic and the appropriate suggestion will do the rest,’ I said, forming twenty small, round pills and then placing them on a metal tray to cool.
