16. The Wild Rumor
16
The Wild Rumor
A storia woke up to sneezing from the adjoining room the next morning. She put a pillow over her ears and went back to sleep, but it didn’t help block out the sound.
What greatness was there in saying that he built his empire with fear and power alone when he didn’t even bother to flick his wrist to shield himself from a stupid rainstorm yesterday? Now he was rewarded with wrenching sneezes for his recklessness.
“Everything alright?” Astoria called out as loud as possible in her sleep-addled voice.
There was another sneeze and a long pause before the answer came. “Why, darling, are you concerned?”
And here she thought they had come to some sort of agreement to never get under each other’s skin again. She rolled her eyes. “Of course not! You are simply disturbing my sleep.”
His deep laugh was her answer, just before he sneezed again.
She sighed. “Ring for a maid and ask for some pepper tea; it will help.”
Cyrus sneezed again, and Astoria nearly curled her fists into the sheets at the wrenching sound. A moment later, he called back, “Say that again and I might fall in love with you.”
She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “For goodness’ sake, keep quiet and stop hurting your throat further.”
He laughed again, followed by a few more sneezes. Astoria didn’t sleep a second time. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, when her guilt wouldn’t let her stay in her bed, she got up, pulled on a robe, and went into his room.
Cyrus raised an eyebrow at her, not hiding his surprise, but didn’t comment otherwise—too busy sneezing.
Clara came in with his tea, flocked by a few maidservants who stopped at the doorway and peered inside. Astoria felt the urge to dismiss them—strangely, she didn’t like the young maids being too keen about him—but seeing the concern on their faces, she held back.
They all loved him. She was the only one in the palace who didn’t.
Cyrus tried to leave his bed after he drank the tea, but Clara used her stern, motherly tone and told him he needed rest. If Astoria didn’t know about their dynamics already, she would’ve found it strange to see an Emperor being admonished by his housekeeper.
Cyrus protested, saying he had the weekly court meeting to attend.
“I’ll go in your stead,” Astoria blurted out.
“Yes, you tell him, Your Majesty.” Clara encouraged her with a look in her eyes that nearly startled Astoria. It looked almost motherly. Her heartstrings tightened with silent appreciation.
She turned to Cyrus with newfound confidence. “You can hardly say two words before you start sneezing. Take a rest; let me do this.”
Cyrus gave her a strange look. “Are you sure?” Sneeze .
Astoria bit back a groan. He knew how nervous she was about court meetings—or any meeting at all. She would fiddle with her hands and bounce her legs, and Cyrus’ hand would always be there to clasp over them. At first, she had been annoyed, but soon enough, she realized how his touch anchored her and gave her the courage to make it through the meetings.
Thus, she wasn’t sure she could do this—without him—but he didn’t have to know that.
“Yes.” She nodded.
Cyrus nodded back reluctantly and said the meeting was in two hours. Astoria retreated to her room to get ready and have breakfast, listening to Cyrus and Clara arguing about whether or not he should take bed rest. In the end, Cyrus won.
The meeting was boring. Astoria caught a few courtiers shooting her disapproving looks when they saw her bouncing her legs. She glared at them, and they looked away immediately, pursing their lips. Good. They better not forget what happened to Lord Garrett when he insulted the Empress.
She was barely needed there at all, as Rowan thankfully dealt with most of the matters himself. For someone of low birth, he carried out his position rather impressively, like he was cut exactly for it. When he gave her an exasperated sidelong glance in the middle of the meeting, Astoria gave him an encouraging smile.
No one turned to her for her opinion. No one but Cyrus did that after all. In every meeting, he would ask her for her thoughts, loud enough for only the two of them. If she had any, she would give them.
The meeting lasted until almost noon. After it was adjourned, she and Rowan walked to Cyrus’ study. When they entered, Astoria froze.
“Are you alright?” she asked, taking in Cyrus’ rather disheveled appearance. He would never look so disheveled when he was at work. “You’re not alright,” she decided and walked into the room.
“I think I’m running a fever,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair.
“Well, congratulations. You finally know what happens when you run off into the rain without cover,” Rowan said from behind, half deadpan and half sarcastic. “Seriously, Cyrus, what were you thinking?”
Cyrus fixed his gaze on Astoria, his eyes dancing despite the exhaustion written all over his face. “About my lovely wife.”
Astoria rolled her eyes and approached him in long, unladylike strides, placing the back of her hand against his forehead. “Heavens, you are burning up!” she exclaimed, jerking back and giving him an admonishing look. “To bed. Now.”
Cyrus threw his head back and laughed, immediately ending up sneezing, but he stood obediently. Astoria looped her arm through his and led him towards the door.
“Rowan, I need the update—”
“What you need is medicine,” Astoria cut him off sternly. “Rowan, can you please get the physician and bring him to our chambers?”
“With pleasure.”
Astoria led Cyrus to their chambers. She expected him to start making teasing comments when they were alone, but he was surprisingly silent. Maybe he was too tired to think of one.
Skylar and Spyrah dashed across them halfway through, and a look of panic entered Spyrah’s eyes as she looked up at Cyrus. He smiled down at her, probably assuring her he would be alright. Spyrah turned and led the way to the chambers, Skylar right beside her.
They had become some sort of friends, which was a relief; otherwise, Skylar would be annoying Astoria with his complaints about Spyrah even now.
No sooner had Cyrus lain on the bed and Astoria pulled the covers and blankets over him than Rowan came in with the royal physician. He was a kind-looking tall man with long white hair that was pulled up in a ponytail and round glasses on his nose, clearly older than Astoria’s grandfather, with laugh lines on his face.
The sudden observation tugged at her heart; she missed her grandpa so much.
The physician checked on Cyrus and said it was a normal fever. He rang for a maid and gave her the names of some herbs and the instructions to prepare Cyrus’ medicine. He advised Astoria to give it to him twice a day until he recovered.
When the physician left and the maid went to prepare the medicine, Cyrus asked Rowan for the updates. Halfway through it, the medicine arrived. Cyrus drank it in a gulp and made a face. One Astoria thought was… adorable .
That night, she woke up to the sound of his heart-stopping sneezes and went to check on him. He was burning up again. She remembered how Emmett used to sit by her side whenever she caught the fever and place a wet cloth on her forehead occasionally.
She found a bowl in the washroom, filled it with water from the pool, and grabbed a small towel from the cupboard before returning to his side. She turned a quarter of the water into ice to keep it cool and dipped the towel in it.
“Astra?”
“Yes, it’s me.” She held the damp cloth to his forehead and sat on the bed.
“You don’t have to—” He paused as a shiver went through his body. “I don’t want you to catch the fever too.”
“Shhh,” she said and pulled the blanket up to his throat with her free hand. “Go back to sleep.”
“Astra,” he protested again, weakly. “Ring for a maid, at least.”
She narrowed her eyes down at him even though he couldn’t see it. “I don’t want another woman to do this when I’m right here.”
Maybe she was imagining it, but Astoria saw his lips stretch into a weak smile.
Silence stretched out between them. Astoria wet the towel occasionally and held it to his burning forehead until his breaths evened out and she was sure he had fallen asleep. She placed the cloth in the bowl and stood carefully, not wanting to wake him with the slightest movement.
She almost went back to her room but paused and looked back at his sleeping form. What if he woke up again and she didn’t realize it? What if he needed her and she wasn’t there?
Astoria stepped back into his room and looked around. Her eyes fell on the long, comfy sofa. That would do. She flicked her hand and the golden threads carried the sofa to her. She set it near Cyrus’ bed, summoned her blanket from her room, and curled up on it.
When morning came, she opened her eyes to find Cyrus’ soft gaze on her from where he lay on the bed.
“You stayed,” he marveled in a hoarse voice that sounded so unlike his. The things a mere fever could do to people, she thought.
Astoria averted her gaze to the ceiling and stretched out on the sofa, letting out a yawn before curling in on herself. “What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t?” she mumbled, closing her eyes and pretending to go back to sleep.
She felt him smile.
“How do you feel?”
“I wish I could say spectacular, but…”
Astoria was up and out of the sofa in the next moment, nearly startling Cyrus. She rang the bell. “You need your medicine,” she said to his confused face.
Before the medicine arrived, Astoria moved the sofa back to its place and dragged out a chair instead. Clara brought in the medicine, and Cyrus drank it, complaining about how disgusting it was.
Astoria didn’t leave his side except for the meetings. She occasionally replaced the damp cloth on his forehead with an ice-water dip, but nothing helped the burning. As days passed, the sneezes were gone, but the fever only grew. Sometimes, his skin felt like fire when she touched him. He was strictly bedridden, too; though he couldn’t have gotten up and walked around even if he wanted to. He admitted his limbs were feeling rather weak.
He barely ate or drank anymore, and he refused to take the medicine as well. At first, Astoria would narrow her eyes and reprimand him, but as days passed with no improvement, her reprimands turned to pleading.
“Are you concerned for me, darling?” he asked one day when she pleaded until her eyes were wet with tears she didn’t want to shed.
“Of course not,” she snapped in a slightly wavering voice, narrowing her eyes to hide the tears.
A weak but handsome smile lit up his tiresome, sweaty face. How he managed to look attractive in his illness and weariness was beyond her.
“There’s the fire I love,” he murmured, looking at her with drooping eyes.
Her mask slipped at those words. She set aside the cup, stood from the chair, and sat on the bed. She clasped her hand tightly over his, which was beneath the blanket, and stared at it as more tears sprang to her eyes.
“Why aren’t you recovering?”
Cyrus exhaled. “I don’t know, sweetheart. But, hey, look at me,” he urged weakly. When she met his eyes, he smiled. “I can tell you only this; I’m incredibly blessed to have you.”
“Don’t say that.” She narrowed her eyes and hastily wiped away the lone tear that slipped. “I’ve been a horrible wife. Some other woman would’ve—”
“Hey, hey, hey,” he cut her off, his voice hoarse. “There is no other woman. Not for me. You are the woman; my woman. My wife. My Astra. My little dragon. Don’t you—don’t you dare think like that again.”
Her lips twitched slightly, and she dropped her gaze. Cyrus released his hand from her grasp and brought it over the blanket to grab hers. It was burning, but Astoria didn’t care. She threaded their fingers and met his gaze.
“But it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been horrible to you— no, let me say this, Cyrus. I’m sorry for all the things I said and did to annoy you; I truly am. Whatever part of me wished you ill before, the whole of me now wants your recovery. And it’s not just that. The past few days gave me a lot of time to think—about you.
“You truly are loved by your people. Everyone in the palace is praying for your recovery, asking after you, and extremely worried. One of the guards even told me that you know their names— all of their names—and that you call them by it. I mean, who does that?” She released a watery laugh. “What king bothers to know the names of his staff? Clara told me you know every servant and stable hand too. You are the Emperor, Cyrus the Great. You are supposed to be this power-hungry, bloodthirsty monster, but all I see is a man who loves his people and has their best interests at heart. Of all the things I’ve been openly embarrassed about since you came into my life, not trying to know you is the worst of them.”
Cyrus squeezed her hand and looked at her as if she hung the moon. How could he look at her like that after everything she had done?
“You forgot the important part.” At her confused look, he added with a smile, “I deceived you, kidnapped you, and still have you trapped here with me. You had every right to be mad at me, to do and say the things you did, because I deserved it. Besides, I gave you the worst first and second impressions. If you hadn’t acted towards me the way you did, I would’ve thought something was fundamentally wrong with you.”
He chuckled heartily and lightly, and Astoria found herself joining him.
“For the record, Astra, you were my last regret even when you drove me insane.”
Her chuckle turned into a light laugh. “And for the record, I’m starting to like you.”
“Pigs must be flying—oh look, you are blushing, too.” He sighed dramatically. “I’m a very lucky man.”
“Oh quiet, you!” Her cheeks flamed, and she looked away, her eyes latching onto his medicine. “Now, be a good man and drink your medicine.”
She helped him sit up and he accepted the cup from her. “Only because you are insisting on it, Astra, or I’d rather not take any medicine at all.” He held his breath and gulped it down three times. “It’s disgusting.”
“I know—”
“Have you tasted it?”
“No?”
“Ah, then you don’t have the slightest clue.” Cyrus slipped back under the covers, wincing slightly. “My temples are hurting.”
Astoria picked up the towel from the ice water, wrenched it, and held it to his forehead. “Here, this will soothe it.”
Cyrus exhaled and closed his eyes. “So, even the rockiest of matches work, right?”
“Seems like it does.”
When Cyrus slipped back into slumber, Astoria stared at his face. She wished she could do more than this to help him. She wished she could heal him using her powers. But alas, she didn’t know how—or rather, she felt like she wasn’t powerful enough for healing. When Emmett had fallen ill years ago, she had tried to heal him like she read in Prince of Lars, but it didn’t work. It was definitely not going to work now.
Astoria dipped the cloth in the ice water again. Before she placed it on his forehead, she leaned down and kissed there. Then she stood. There was a meeting in half an hour. Astoria was about to turn when suddenly, a piece of parchment appeared out of thin air, right next to where she had sat on the bed.
She came out of her stupor and reached for it. Had Emmett found someone—perhaps Wizard Orion—who helped him send her a response? But this was a small piece of parchment. If Emmett ever sent her a response, it would be in at least two full parchments.
She turned the note over. What she read, written in loopy handwriting, turned her insides to ice.
Remember the prophecy. Don’t waste your chance. Finish him off.
Astoria reread the words over and over again in disbelief. There was no signature, not even a salutation. But she knew it was meant for her.
She looked at the peaceful form of her husband and back at the letter. Her indignation rose. She crumbled the note in her fist and stomped towards the fireplace where the fire burned day and night for Cyrus, and tossed it into the flames.
The prophecy be darned, she thought, staring at the note as it turned to ashes. She would not harm a hair on her husband’s head.
She swore it to herself.
But the note-sender had other ideas. Once every day, a new note showed up no matter where she was. One time it appeared in her pocket, another time on the table, sometimes on her lap, and sometimes on the bed. Each time, the words grew more demanding. And Astoria burned all of them without a moment’s hesitation.
Then, she heard it. The rumors spreading among the people. Even some of the servant girls whispered, pointing out how horrible she had been to their Emperor at first and how she was acting nicely now as she slowly finished him off.
That, the Emperor was being poisoned by his wife.
Astoria’s fury knew no boundaries. First the notes, now this. Above all, Cyrus’ worsening condition. And she snapped.
She forbade anyone other than Clara, the royal physician, Rowan, and Emily from entering their chambers. But the suspicion only grew.
You don’t suppose he’s actually being poisoned, do you? Skylar asked one day, sitting next to Spyrah on Cyrus’ bed and staring at his now-ghastly white face. He looks awful.
Thanks, Skylar. I have eyes, Astoria snapped at him.
Whoa, there! I’m on your side. No need to be so cross with me of all people.
Astoria sighed and looked at him apologetically. I’m so sorry, Sky. Tears brimmed in her eyes. I—I don’t feel like myself anymore; it’s like I’m losing my mind every day. I feel scared, helpless… I don’t want anything to happen to him.
You really like him, don’t you? Skylar stared at her with mature understanding in his eyes.
She merely shrugged and wiped away her fallen tears. He’s not who I thought he was. So, I think I want to know him more. I just hope I’m not late…
Hey, don’t think like that. He will be alright. I tell Spyrah that every day, and she says it’s her lifeline, that I’m giving her hope.
Astoria’s eyes turned to Spyrah, who was staring intently at Cyrus’ face. It seemed like they were conversing, and Astoria had never been jealous of an innocent red panda before. She wished she could telepath with him, too. It had been three days since he had spoken to her, barely coming to consciousness. Though each time he did and saw her, his lips would pull into a weak smile just before he blackened out again.
A knock sounded at the door. Astoria called out to come in, and Rowan entered, his eyes immediately finding Cyrus. He approached her. “Any progress?”
Astoria shook her head, looking back at her husband.
Rowan sighed heavily. “Did he drink the medicine?”
“Just a sip, and he blacked out again.”
There was a beat of silence before Rowan spoke again. “Astoria, you don’t think—”
“No, Rowan, no one’s poisoning him!” Astoria shot to her feet. “No one’s trying to kill my husband! He’s just… he is just too sick. The physician recommended different remedies, and none of them seemed to work. His situation is merely worsening, alright? No one is poisoning him!”
Tears trickled down her cheeks. She refused to accept it. In a palace full of people who loved him, who would poison him? What could they possibly earn by getting rid of the one person who makes their lives easier?
Rowan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I wish I knew how to contact his father. He would’ve known something that would help Cyrus.”
Astoria looked at him, astonished. “I didn’t even think about that. You have no idea how we can contact the High King?”
Rowan shook his head ruefully. “Only Cyrus does, and from what he told me once, only he could do it. So I never asked more about it.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Heavens, I wish I could do something for him other than running the empire in his place.”
“We all wish we could do the same, Rowan, but don’t say it like that,” Astoria told him softly. “Cyrus is grateful to have a friend like you; I’m grateful to have a friend like you. To know that you are there running the empire in Cyrus’ place and mine while I stay with him means a lot. Never doubt that.”
Rowan gave her a sorrowful but knowing smile. “He wasn’t bluffing when he said he was a lucky man. He indeed is.” Then he added, “I’m grateful for the both of you, too.”
Suddenly, in her peripheral view, something appeared on the table. Astoria’s eyes widened, and she snatched it out of sight. But not before Rowan had seen it.
His wide eyes met hers. “What was that?”
Astoria took a brief look at it, in case it wasn’t one of the regular notes but one from Cyrus’ father at the desperate prayer of her heart.
This is your destiny. You are born for this. Kill him while you can.
She crushed the note in her hands angrily and stomped towards the fireplace, tossing it into the fire.
“Astoria?”
Astoria pivoted to Rowan who stood frozen with open bafflement on his face. “Don’t ask me anything. I can’t tell you, Rowan. I can’t . Whatever you are thinking, it’s not true. I—I care for Cyrus; I will not let anything happen to him. Anyone who wishes him harm will have to go through me.”
She rolled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. She meant it.
Rowan blinked, then shook his head as if to clear it. “I—I’m sorry. For a moment, I… So, he’s not—you swear he’s not being poisoned?” It was clear he meant to ask if she was the one doing the poisoning.
“I swear on my mother’s grave,” she said and surprised herself with her choice of words. She had heard people swear like that but had never used it herself. “I need to ask you a favor.”
“What is it?”
“I want to confront the people who think I’m poisoning my husband.”
His eyes widened. “Astoria—I don’t think that’s a wise idea.”
“Rowan, please, I need to do this,” she pleaded.
He seemed to debate with himself before he sighed. “Fine. I will go and gather the people outside the wall. You can speak to them from the battlements.”
“Not from the battlements. I want to go into their midst.”
“Cyrus will have my head.” Rowan deadpanned.
Astoria rolled her eyes at him. “We both know you’re being dramatic.”
“Fine then, not my head. But he would be utterly furious if I let you out of the gates, even with an army surrounding you.”
Astoria sighed exasperatedly. “Then you leave me with no other choice than to ask you as your Empress.” She looked at him seriously. “Rowan, I want to see my people, go into their midst, and confront them, and I want you to go with me. If Cyrus asks you, blame me. We have Spyrah and Skylar as our witnesses.” She turned to the red pandas who were watching them from the bed. “Right?”
They both nodded.
Astoria glanced back at Rowan and raised an eyebrow. He sighed in defeat. “Fine. Let’s go.”
* * *
The carriage stopped at the main square of the capital, just beyond the great market. Astoria could hear the murmur of the gathered crowd outside, the rising volume of voices mingling with the commands of the guards keeping them at bay. She held back from peering through the curtained window and steeled herself for the task ahead instead.
Rowan and Skylar’s presence in the carriage encouraged her, as she was already a bundle of nerves. Spyrah stayed behind with Cyrus. Astoria asked Clara to stay with the two of them and stationed four guards outside the chambers. No one was to leave or enter until she returned.
Rowan opened the door and stepped out to examine the situation of the square, whether it was safe or foolish to bring her into the midst of an angry crowd. Astoria grabbed the opportunity and pulled out the envelope from her pocket, addressed to her brother. She held it in her palms and closed her eyes.
The letter vanished from her palms.
Emmett ought to know what was going on and that she wasn’t poisoning her husband if the rumor had reached Daliston. She also mentioned the notes, her change of heart, the man Cyrus truly was, and the truth behind his invasions. Whether he would believe it or not was up to her brother; Astoria just wanted to share it with him. She also asked him not to tell anyone.
The door opened, and Rowan poked his head inside. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” Astoria scooped Skylar into her arms and stepped outside, taking Rowan’s offered hand. The sounds of disbelief, curiosity, and anger from the assembled crowd rose in the air. Some called out insults at her, causing Skylar to growl, but Astoria told him to calm down and refrained from glancing at them. She walked with Rowan, flanked by a phalanx of guards, to the elevated platform that had been hastily constructed for her speech.
“You can do this,” Rowan whispered to her as they reached the top, and he stepped aside.
Astoria nodded shakily and hugged Skylar tight before turning to face the crowd. Her experience with a crowd of admirers was nothing to compare to this. These people hated her, thanks to a false accusation. It was time to be brave.
She stepped forward and raised a hand. The crowd fell silent gradually, but the scowls and sneers on their faces remained.
Astoria took a deep breath and flicked her wrist to amplify her voice. “Beloved people of Draken,” she began, her voice surprisingly clear and unshaken. “I have come here to confront you all about the accusations thrown against me, that I poisoned my husband, the Emperor. It’s false and baseless. I wish I could tell you who started this, but there are only assumptions as to who. The culprit seeks to undermine the stability and the unity of our empire.”
“How do we know you are not lying to us?” a man called out to her, accusation dripping from his voice.
“I can make him—”
“Rowan, no.” Astoria held out an arm to stop Rowan. “Violence is not the solution here,” she told him gently before turning back to the crowd, catching the eyes of the man.
“You don’t.” Murmurs rose, and she gestured for silence again. “I know what motivates you to believe I’m poisoning my husband. I indeed hated him at first, for tricking me and taking me away from my family. In my kingdom and all the unconquered ones, Cyrus is known as a power-hungry, bloodthirsty monster, ruthless, and an angel of destruction. That’s what I believed too, until I got to know him and the true story behind his invasions. I was blind, but now I see, and I won’t let anyone raise an accusation against him in front of me ever again.
“Right now, my husband is fighting for his life. It started as merely a fever; now it has worsened. The royal physician is clueless, and the medicine isn’t helping…” Her voice broke, but she cleared her throat and pressed on. “At this point, anyone would be suspicious if the Emperor is being poisoned. And in a palace full of people who love and respect him, I have been the only one who detested him, but no longer. I assure you, I am as committed to his recovery as you are. I am on his side. If—if Cyrus is indeed being poisoned…” She sniffed and lifted her chin. “I will find that person. I will hunt down the culprit who wants to murder my husband and frame me, even if I have to tear the world apart to do it.”
No one spoke a word. There was no murmur this time, not even a whisper. The whole square had fallen into pin-drop silence.
Astoria had no more words, too. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t. Her throat closed up. She turned to Rowan. “Let’s go.”
Rowan nodded and led her down from the podium. Astoria shifted Skylar in her arms and kept her gaze down, fighting back her tears as she followed Rowan to the carriage.
“Your Majesty!” a woman called out from the crowd.
Astoria looked up, but she was already being hurried into the carriage by her guards and Rowan.
“Your Majesty, if I may! Your Imperial Majesty!”
“Let her through.” Astoria nodded to her guard.
“Then everyone would want the same,” Rowan groaned. “Astoria, your safety is more important than interacting with your people at the moment.”
Astoria opened her mouth to protest but closed it as the same voice called out again. “Please, I wish to speak with Her Majesty! It is urgent!”
“Let her through!” Astoria called out to the guards.
A lady in her forties, with brown skin and curly black hair that was tied with a head wrap, stumbled from the line of the guards. She fell into a curtsy. “Your Majesty, if you allow me, I have herbs that can reveal poison—no matter the kind or strength. I can help you tell if His Imperial Majesty is indeed being poisoned.”
Astoria’s eyes widened at the information, but before she could respond, Rowan stepped in front of her protectively and narrowed his eyes at the woman. “And how can we know what you are saying is true?”
“You can ask my customers.” The woman gestured to the crowd. “I’m a Mage healer. Though I don’t have enough powers to heal magically like my great ancestor, I do have his herb garden. Half of the herbs are from Windlewade that he brought with him before the portal was closed. My family has been protecting and growing it for generations. Poison-teller is the most powerful of them all.”
“You are coming with us to the palace. Now,” Astoria declared before Rowan had the chance to question her again.
“Astoria!” Rowan turned to her, his eyes wide. “We can’t just bring anyone into the palace, especially not to Cyrus.”
“No, but I am the Empress, and I say we do.” She turned back to the older woman. “Do you have the herbs with you?”
“No, Your Majesty. But my workshop is just around the corner. I can grab it and come with you.”
Astoria nodded to a guard. “Please escort the lady to her shop and back. We need to hurry.”
They hurried away, and the crowd parted for them, realizing the urgency.
“You know, you are becoming a little bossy.”
Astoria turned to Rowan and saw him looking at her with a twitch on his lips. She returned it, feeling slightly light-hearted with hope, and bumped her shoulder against his. “Get used to it.”
“Cyrus would be proud of you, giving orders, protecting him; that speech and all.”
Her smile bloomed.
When the guard and the healer returned, they got into the carriage and rode back to the castle.
Astoria ushered the older woman to their chambers, telling her that Cyrus had barely sipped his medicine today and they could test the herbs in it. But when they reached the room, Clara informed them that Cyrus had woken up after Astoria had left and that she cajoled him into drinking the full medicine.
“I will go and ask for another cup to be made,” Rowan declared and left the room.
“Your Majesty,” the healer whispered to Astoria, staring wide-eyed at Cyrus. “This is poison, I tell you. I can see it’s draining His Majesty’s life slowly. Look at him.”
Astoria’s heart clenched. “I will believe it when you prove it to me.”
Rowan returned with the medicine half an hour later and handed it over to the healer. She set it on the table and pulled out a small drawstring bag from her pocket.
They gathered around the table, watching the healer sprinkle the green herbs into the medicine. She grabbed a spoon, stirred the contents, and explained, “We stir for a full minute to ensure the herbs blend thoroughly with the medicine, as required for liquid. For solid foods, like rolls or meat, we simply sprinkle the herbs over them. If the food retains its color, it’s safe. But if it turns black…”
They waited, but the colour of the medicine remained the same.
Astoria burst out, tears springing into her eyes. “I told you, it couldn’t be possible! Healer, my husband is dying ! Please, if there’s anything in your herb garden that could save him, I beg you to give him the treatment!”
The woman met her eyes seriously before turning to the others. “Can I have a word alone with Her Majesty?”
“Of course not!” Rowan thundered, his facial expression fiercely protective. “Bringing you into the royal chambers was risky enough. I mean no offence, but I’m not leaving Her Majesty unprotected with a stranger.”
But the healer was only looking at Astoria. Astoria understood her silent message. It was urgent. She looked at Rowan and softened her gaze.
“You forget I was the Unyielding Princess of Daliston, my friend.” She forced him an assuring smile. “I will be fine, Rowan. I can protect myself if I find myself in a dangerous situation.”
Rowan hesitated.
“Rowan, trust me.”
He sighed in defeat and moved towards the door with Clara, looking over his shoulder at Astoria one last time before closing the door behind him.
“Are these two trustworthy?” the healer asked, gesturing to Skylar and Spyrah. They both glared at her.
“Loyal to the core,” Astoria said. “What is it, healer?”
“We are being played for fools, Your Majesty,” she began gravely. “I know when I see poison, and I know when I see someone who has been poisoned. And like I said, this is not some mysterious sickness that has claimed His Imperial Majesty. He is being poisoned.”
“But the herbs—”
“The herbs reveal the poison. And this medicine is not poisoned.”
“I don’t understand.” Astoria frowned.
“Your Majesty, whoever has been poisoning His Majesty’s medicine heard of my visit and has refrained from adding it this time. But after I’m gone, they will do it again.” She pressed the small drawstring bag with the herbs into Astoria’s hand. “I want Your Majesty to test the medicine that will arrive after I’m gone—when is it, tomorrow morning?”
Astoria could only nod. The woman seemed certain Cyrus was poisoned.
“Good.” She patted Astoria’s hand. “Tell no one I gave you this. Tell them nothing until the herbs reveal the poison tomorrow. When it does, please send the word to me. Now, I’m going back to prepare the cure for His Majesty. It will take a full day, but when it’s ready, I will bring it to the gates. Please inform the guards to expect me.”
“T-thank you, healer,” Astoria stuttered and slipped the bag into her pocket.
The woman nodded at her, took one last look at Cyrus’ pale, swollen face, and moved to the door. Astoria sank into the bed by his side. She placed a hand on his chest and felt his weak heartbeat.
“What did she say?” Rowan’s voice asked her softly from behind.
Astoria almost told him the truth but stopped as she remembered the graveness on the healer’s face. “We are running out of time.” She hated that she had to lie to him.
“No,” he interjected immediately. “No, we are not.”
“Rowan…” She turned to him, tears blurring her vision. She blinked them away and saw the anger in Rowan’s damp and blazing eyes as he looked at Cyrus.
“No.” He shook his head. “He’s not dying, not if I can help it.” He turned his gaze on Astoria. “I’m going to search the records of the physicians across the empire, find the best one, and bring them to him.”
With that, he turned and stormed out of the room.
The next morning, Clara brought in the medicine and left after checking on Cyrus. Astoria pulled out the herbs from her pocket, and with her heart pounding like hoof beats, sprinkled two pinches into the cup. She stirred the contents with a spoon.
Skylar and Spyrah watched anxiously at the table, not even blinking. After a full minute of stirring, it happened.
Small, dark specks began to form over the medicine. It spread so fast that when Astoria blinked, the entire contents had turned into a sickening shade of black.
She staggered back in shock, and a wail tore from her chest.