Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
S ilence settled over the hall like dust motes.
‘Bar the doors,’ someone shouted. ‘The assassin may still be in our midst!’
Several guards and attendants spurred into action, with the royal guards of each kingdom surrounding their monarchs protectively.
But Thea remained rooted to the spot, her eyes falling to King Artos, whose mouth was slack as he gazed upon his dead cupbearer.
After what felt like a lifetime, he looked to his men restraining her. ‘Release her,’ he ordered, his voice raw.
As soon as their hold loosened, Thea jerked out of their grip, rubbing her bruised arms with a wince.
‘How did you know?’ King Artos asked.
‘You said the wine smelt of lilac, Your Grace. And then I smelt something similar to ash… The combination of aromas put me on edge, for there is a particular mixture that can have adverse effects. Then I saw the blue powder near your decanter… I have seen it before, Sire.’
‘What is it?’
‘Crushed Naarvian Nightshade, Majesty. With the added deadly blend of lilac and Widow’s Ash.’
‘And how do you know of such a poison?’
Thea swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Alchemy is a vast and varied arena, Sire.’ Thea left out the fact that it was poisons that had always interested her the most when it came to the bubbling potions and strange herbs of the workshop.
The king nodded, clearly still unnerved.
The hall was tense, guards blocking every entrance and stationed all along the tables, while Hawthorne watched on from his position on the far wall, his expression unreadable.
Thea’s mind whirred and she dared to take a step – two steps, towards King Artos, scanning the mess the cupbearer had caused when he fell.
A guard made to stop her, but the king raised his hand and Thea understood the opportunity she was being given.
Now, she stalked freely down the length of the table, studying not the array of food and drink, but the guests themselves.
Some stared back at her, oblivious of her intentions, others looked defiant, offended, and some twitched in their seats, not guilty of poisoning, but other misdeeds at the forefront of their minds.
Thea slowed towards the end of the table, revelling in the power she felt. ‘One thing I learned about Naarvian Nightshade, Your Majesty,’ she said. ‘Is that it stains…’
‘Oh?’
She stopped before an immaculately dressed man, his hair slicked back with oil, his tunic embellished with gold thread. And at the tips of his fingers, were the faintest hints of blue.
‘Him,’ she stated.
Several people gasped aloud.
The noble in question paled but forced a laugh. ‘These are but ink stains, girl.’
‘I find it unusual that a man of your status, status high enough to be seated on the king’s own table, would carry out his own correspondence. A man of your position would have a scribe, surely?’
Quiet followed.
‘And surely were they ink stains, you’d have scrubbed your hands before dining with the king?’ Thea pressed.
The man leapt out of his seat, his chair falling back with a crash. He surged from the table, ducking through the guards’ attempts to grab him, darting for an exit Thea couldn’t see.
She threw herself after him, determined not to let a royal assassin escape in her presence.
Something whistled through the air – a spear, which hurtled towards the culprit, lancing through his cloak and pinning him to the step of the dais.
The guards leapt upon him, all the while, the spear still wobbled with the force with which it had been thrown.
Thea sought its point of origin, suspicion already curdling in her gut.
Wilder Hawthorne leaned against a pillar as though he had barely lifted a finger.
The awed expressions of the nobles around him and the precision of the throw confirmed Thea’s hunch.
Hawthorne had apprehended the king’s poisoner.
It took five men to dislodge the spear.
The noble protested, shouting curses in Thea’s direction and straining against the guards’ grasp. But when his eyes landed on the king at last, he fell silent.
Thea pointed to his hands. ‘See the blue stains there, Sire? Beneath his fingernails? Those are from the Naarvian Nightshade. It was this man who tried to take your life, who claimed the life of your cupbearer.’
The king looked from the colour marking the man’s skin, to his wide-eyed expression. ‘Well, Aemund… You have a choice.’
‘Your Majesty, please —’
‘You can choose death,’ King Artos continued. ‘Or, you can choose the Scarlet Tower.’
Thea’s stomach roiled. She had heard only rumours of the Scarlet Tower, the prison close to the Veil, south of what used to be the kingdom of Naarva.
Those rumours had been enough to make her blood run cold.
The worst of humanity was sent there; those who had committed unforgivable crimes, those who deserved worse than execution, and those who had conspired against the rightful rulers.
All forced onto a pitiful boat that sailed past the Broken Isles, past Naarva, to a tiny spit of land home to the worst place in all the midrealms.
‘Your Majesty, no, I —’
The king stared him down. ‘Death or the Scarlet Tower. Choose.’
Thea had seen a drawing of it once; a single column of stone on an uninhabitable island.
‘Death,’ the man called Aemund choked out. ‘I choose death.’
King Artos studied him for a moment, his gaze lingering on the patches of blue at the man’s fingertips. Then, he turned to his guards. ‘Take him to the dungeons. Interrogate him. We need to know who he is working with. Then, he goes to the Scarlet Tower.’
‘No!’ shrieked the man. ‘Your Majesty, I beg you —’
‘The time for begging has long passed, Aemund.’ And with that final dismissal, the guards dragged him away.
It was then that King Artos’ eyes fell to Thea once more. ‘I owe you a great debt,’ he said.
Thea’s hands tingled at her sides and a jolt shot through her veins. ‘It was an honour to serve, Majesty.’
But the king shook his head, dissatisfied. ‘Usually I would bestow lands and knighthood for such a deed…’ he told her, his voice increasing in volume as he walked around the table to face her. ‘But I know to such a woman that riches would mean little.’
‘I need no repayment, Sire,’ Thea insisted, bowing. ‘I am only sorry for the alarm my actions caused.’
King Artos considered her, glancing at the other rulers and back to her. ‘I wish to re-address your earlier request, Althea Zoltaire.’
Thea froze. What?
‘It appears I was too hasty in my decision.’ He turned to the other kings and queen. ‘Althea wished to be admitted to Thezmarr as a shieldbearer,’ he said. ‘With your blessings, I now hope to grant that request.’
For the first time since Thea had thrown the dagger, chatter broke out around the hall. Hundreds of hushed voices filled the room, vibrating across Thea’s skin, their stares boring into her back. But Thea didn’t move, didn’t dare to hope.
‘It is not your decision alone,’ King Leiko stated, standing, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword.
‘You are quite right,’ King Artos allowed. ‘Which is why I turn to you, my fellow rulers. This young woman has the support of the Guild Master and now me, the King of Harenth in her petition to join the Thezmarrian ranks. What say you?’
King Leiko cleared his throat. ‘What of all you said before? About the stability of Thezmarr and all it stands for?’
‘Our law from two decades ago forbade women to wield blades, but were it not for a woman wielding a blade today, my life would be forfeit,’ King Artos projected his voice to the far reaches of the hall.
‘Were it not for this woman, the kingdom of Harenth would be kingless, my conspirators on the rise to power and this great territory might have descended into chaos and war. It’s my belief that we have found an exception to the laws forged in the past. The courage and skill Althea demonstrated just now in saving my life surely proves that? ’
‘I do not deny the girl’s bravery —’
The girl. The girl. The words bounced around in Thea’s mind like a persistent headache, but she remained quiet.
‘However,’ King Leiko continued. ‘You cannot vouch for her alone. It would mean you have a vested interest in Thezmarr, and Thezmarr was and always will be, an independent territory from the kingdoms of the midrealms.’
Thea watched on, as yet again she was talked about and not to .
As yet again, men decided her future. As she fiddled with her sleeve, she remembered the Warsword whose shirt she wore…
He was where he had been the whole time, stationed by the exit at the far end of the room, his hand on the hilt of her dagger, watching on without a hint of emotion on his harsh face.
‘You do not think it reasonable for me to reward the woman who saved my life?’ Artos argued.
‘Not if it interferes with Thezmarr,’ King Leiko bit back.
It was Queen Reyna of Aveum who spoke next, gracefully rising from her chair and turning to address both rulers. ‘I vote with King Artos. The young woman has proven her worth. She would make a fine addition to the guild’s recruits.’
Thea’s chest was about to burst. She hardly dared to look from one ruler to the next, so sure that she had misheard the words she had spoken, that this was all some elaborate figment of her desperate imagination.
‘As do I,’ Queen Reyna’s husband, the quiet King Elkan voiced from her side.
King Leiko of Tver’s gaze fell to her. The pause seemed to last forever before he spoke again. ‘So be it.’
King Artos beamed as he turned to Thea. ‘Congratulations, Althea Zoltaire,’ he said. ‘You’ve just become the newest shieldbearer of Thezmarr.’
Thea’s legs buckled so badly she had to steady herself on the back of a chair.
‘You have all the rights a shieldbearer has. You may train, bear arms and partake in the initiation test to become a Guardian of the midrealms upon the next season.’