32
They gave Balchon a fun and carefree night. Allowing his thoughts and eyes to linger on Valine and Freyja, allowing fantasies of the three of them to bloom—but never come to fruition. Valine and Freyja played up the sexual energy Balchon so clearly wanted to see, urging more touches, and flirtations, and laughs, and tempting scenarios. His vision was clearly compromised by the fate stealer he was liberally snorting—though he was kind enough to offer some to Valine and Freyja despite their refusals.
He truly was so easy to manipulate.
Valine felt the magic-cancelling drug exit her system as they were leaving the den, her necromancy coiling as if it were a snake groggily waking from sleep. And it was pissed. She was able to keep her mind off of things when she returned to her suite and began penning letters and forging documents.
Still clad in her sapphire dress, she pulled out the clay mold from her belongings and made a shoddy job of casting some grays into a seal. Once the weak sigil was created, Valine dripped some wax on the forgery and stamped it with a false Lunethian seal.
The letter arrived seven days later. Days which Valine had filled with navigating the secrets of the palace, and deducing which one was best to infiltrate, categorizing which to leave to backups. She had found herself winding her way up the narrow spiral staircase to the aviary, the sounds of feathers rustling and caws cutting through the midseason air. It was a lush, vibrant day filled with warm breezes and the scent of seawater. Most of the royals had just recovered from their hangovers from the tournament day and the following private celebrations, so Valine had been left to her own devices while they languished in their rooms and attended less exciting activities. She’d hardly seen Malik the last few days, the king having been ensconced in political meetings regarding trades, taxes, alliances, and all manner of bureaucratic nonsense.
Valine crept across the hay-laden stone floor. Walls of perches and cages encircled her, bins of seed and chests of raw meat surrounding her. The scents of the sunny day intermingled with the sour stench of venison and bird shit, with hints of moldering underlying the hay and dirty linen.
The falcon she’d sent in the direction of Adraali had returned, viridian string tied in a neat bow around his ankle, a crisp scroll tucked into the sheath. Valine stuck her hand into the wooden chest of raw meat and held it out to the falcon. He fluttered his wings excitedly and hopped closer. His beak darted for her hand and broke the skin. She bit out a curse as pain ripped through her palm. She dislodged the scroll and unfurled it, blood smearing across the back of it.
Valine thought back to what she’d written.
Dear Diana,
After having spent only days in Talloh, I am in awe of the royal shade, and I write to you to inquire about the procurement of garments in such a vibrant color—perhaps a gown? It would surely pair well with opal or moonstone, don’t you think? I’ve seen such combinations here, and I must say, I’m surprised I never thought of it before! Are you familiar with it?
I’d like to express greetings from the house of Raziche. I’ve learned that your family is familiar with the lineage. Would you like to confirm if this is true? I’m sure your household would be grateful to hear news of their current status.
Your friendship is invaluable, and I am eager for our reunion after the Tri-Moon Festival.
With Regards,
Valine
She had to be careful with her wording, should the letter be intercepted in any way. To a layman, it was a woman writing a friend or servant, inquiring about frivolous things like dresses and sending pleasantries to family friends. Of course, the other two letters were penned similarly—frivolously—and she knew those letters would not return in the same haste as Diana’s. The ōrdinem wanted their missions completed, and the expediency of this letter would make it come to fruition.
Dearest Valine,
I am certain I can procure garments in the shades of violet and plum. I am familiar with the pairing you described, and I can confirm that the light stone is more complimentary than amber. To the best of my knowledge, I’ve never heard of the two together.
It has been six years since I’ve heard from the Raziche family, and word from their station has been difficult to come by. I do confirm that we extend our approval, and eagerly wish to thank you for helping us reconnect.
Upon the commencement of the festival, I wish to gift you with a family heirloom if you would so accept it.
Yours in Faithful Service,
Diana
So, the ōrdinem did send Hafsa to kill the mark Hanish identified. Valine wasn’t going to trust the word of a man who had less to lose than her—she had to be certain. And how serendipitous was it that she had a lady’s maid who happened to be in that very same order? Valine also appreciated the clarification that only the assassin was present and not a healer, too. Not to mention the fact that Valine was being offered a membership into the ōrdinem once the kill was carried out. The only question she still had was why Hafsa wouldn’t finalize the assignment.
She dismissed the thought. The why was no longer important. It was the how, now. Ideas unfurled in Valine’s mind. She needed to pull this off without fingers pointing in her direction. This needed to be regarded as an accident. This death was just one of many hurdles required to secure Talloh’s servitude to Adraali, and while Valine didn’t particularly care, it did help that it truly was for the greater good.
As much as she favored her garrote, it would never do. Perhaps failed autoerotic asphyxiation? Of course, that still left her as a potential suspect, should it not be ruled an accident, and she couldn’t afford any suspicion since she was sent to kill the King of Talloh. She settled on poison. It was tried and true, and she knew how to get away with it.
Smiling to herself, Valine descended the staircase, depositing the scroll in a brazier as she left, seeking out Hanish.
It was the evening; shades of blush and lavender painted the sky from the view of the parlor in the Zephyr wing of the palace. They were all propped up on cushions, Valine having manipulated Jacira into summoning her friends, and cronies, and allies for tea. It was the perfect ruse. An informal tea hosted by the princess? The blame could not fall to Valine, and she had ensured that Hanish was the servant who would be bringing in the tea. Valine would make sure she was the one to serve it.
Across the low table was an assortment of small sandwiches, pastries, and samosas, with tureens of hot dips, and bowls cold spreads, offered by a wide variety of crackers and bread, dressed intricately with artfully placed flowers. Currently, they were sipping on flavored waters while the tea brewed, Valine having added a particular blend of nightshade to a particular teapot from the hand of Hanish.
As an assassin, Valine always kept a small store of poisons and blades hidden in the velvet lining of her trousseau and a specific set of items hidden in a locked chest. Both of these items were currently in Hanish’s possession. It took Valine much confidence to entrust Hanish with so much that could indict her, but of course, the threat of necromancy can do wonders for motivation.
Jacira was draped over Pandora, while the other girl ran her fingers through the princess’s hair, a serene smile playing on her lips. Her eyes were sparkling with a cleverness that Valine wondered how no one else saw. Tallulah and Freyja were engaged in a lively discussion regarding the overrated stance of diamonds, bringing up the grandeur of rubies and emeralds, while Sarim watched Freyja quietly from beside Valine. On Valine’s other side was Balchon, chatting amiably with Alastair, telling him of the terrible trip some mushrooms had taken him on days past and how the daemon patrons wanted to eat his dick. Valine knew about that much too well. And then, there was Malik. The king she had not seen in days was flirting with Cersei. Bright, hot, jealous rage flooded Valine, and she quaked to think about what her territorial reaction meant. What it hinted towards, and all the truths it hardly kept at bay.
Palm fronds waved gently in the breeze generated by nearby aethermancers, the need for hydromancers unnecessary as the air was already full of expectant rain. The use of mages only infuriated and reaffirmed her duty. The scent of jasmine and freesia spiced the air as Valine’s stress colored it just as potently—if only to her. The anxiety was only slightly diluted by the carefully formulated plan, contingencies upon backups at her fingertips. She was giving the air of languid relaxation when, in reality, every string of her nerves was pulled taut.
Cersei’s vivacious laugh had arrows shooting out of Valine’s eyes, and she only tempered her reaction by leaning into Sarim and whispering to him.
Valine slowly unfurled her necromancy, allowing it to seep into her target, and letting it fester. She smiled when her victim rubbed their head as if an ache were beginning.
“Do you think Balchon knows everyone saw his dick and balls when he went screaming past our rooms about the daemons?” Valine asked.
Sarim guffawed, tilting back his head, his shoulder-length hair hanging behind him. “You missed when he initially stripped. He began raving about the true heir to the firebird, and that sand serpents were going to breed in the throne room.”
“Oh my, I’m sad to have missed it. But I’m curious as to why he had to be naked.”
Sarim cracked a crooked smile. “Something about becoming closer to the gods’ creations. That was until the patrons turned on him.”
“Oh, so he thought he was speaking prophecy?”
“I’ll have you know,” Balchon interjected playfully, “that I stand by my statement. The tincture I consumed opened up my third eye and led me to the path of the gods, and the valley of their wisdom.”
“I suppose we’ll never know,” Valine said, faux solemnity coloring her tone.
“Perhaps. But, since you brought it up…” a lewd smile graced his lips. “What did you think of my equipment? As you so proudly admitted, you are familiar with the appendages.”
Valine chuckled. “I’ve seen better, but I’ve seen worse. It’s a fine specimen to be sure, but alas, it is not one for me.”
“What a shame. I was hoping to make your top ten.”
“I hate to disappoint.”
“Well, if you ever decide to try it out, surely keep a good rating in mind.”
Valine laughed, a happy sound that she was sad to say was false. “A sound plan.”
“Honestly, this low-energy event is much needed, things have gone tits up with the business.” Balchon turned to Valine conspiratorially. “Can you believe one of our guards was stupid enough to steal from us and overdosed on fate stealer? Fuck, what shit irony.”
“No! Oh saints, that’s unfortunate.”
Just then, a bell tinkled, and servants arrived, carrying an assortment of teapots in porcelain, silver, clay, and glass. Valine met Hanish’s eye, watching him bring over the pot, the fa?ade of which was Vitus beholding a staff, only to hide Mrithun holding his blade inside.
Getting to her feet, Valine brushed her silver skirt free of wrinkles. “If I may, Your Highness,” she began, addressing Jacira. “I’ve heard that it is a sign of respect as a guest to pour the tea, and it would be my honor to be the first to do this if you will allow it.”
Jacira beamed. “By all means, please begin.” She gestured grandly, and Valine dipped before carefully taking up the teapot Hanish held on a tray.
Deliberately, Valine stoppered a hole with her finger and went around the circle starting with Alastair, coming around, not stopping to meet eyes with Malik even though he tried to catch hers. She poured for Sarim, and then she moved her finger to a separate hole, pouring for Balchon. The cup filled with amber tea, and Valine’s hands did not shake. Finally, she poured her own and then returned the now empty pot to Hanish, who lightly bowed and disappeared to replace the teapot.
“Care to test the tea for me, Valine?” Malik’s voice cut Valine like a blade, and she froze. The King of Adraali was holding out his gilt-edge teacup, a challenge in his eyes.
Valine curled her lips in a facsimile of a smile. “Why of course, My King.”
“Why is she testing his tea?” Tallulah asked in confusion, their narrow brows pulled together.
Alastair rolled his eyes. “It’s their weird foreplay. Call it fucked up flirting.”
“Oh, they’re sleeping together?” Balchon asked as if neither Valine nor Malik were present in the room.
Valine couldn’t help the flush that burned in her cheeks as she crossed the center of the space, skirting the table of appetizers. Cersei watched her calculatedly, her lioness gaze hinging on territorial. Valine wanted to snarl back.
“No,” Sarim corrected, “but they may as well be. They’re obsessed with each other.”
“Sarim.”
Malik’s sharp admonishment was like a sword. It fell heavy, and with conviction—one simple swing, and the air in the room flattened out under the word of a king. For a moment, it seemed as if everyone realized that, while they were among royalty with Jacira, they were in the presence of a king with Malik. They had forgotten.
Sarim cut his gaze askance, his jaw gritted under the verbal lashing. He wasn’t wrong, but the problem was that he called them out on it in public when Malik was supposed to select a bride next year. Surely, this would fuel gossip. If not for what was going to happen next.
Valine delicately took the teacup, and blew across the steaming surface, sipping prettily before returning the not poisoned tea to the king.
“Delightful.”
She returned to her seat beside Balchon and Sarim, taking her teacup from the table and sipping it. Bitterness exploded across her tongue, and she fought to keep it from her face. It was what she expected from an actually poisoned cup of tea.
“Valine, if you would, I’d be ever so grateful if you cared to taste my tea,” Balchon said suggestively. “I would be so very appreciative of the gesture.”
Valine smiled, and she had to keep the malicious glee from it. Oh, this was too perfect. To be witnessed drinking from his cup was the most divine sign from Mrithun she could have imagined.
“I suppose I can entertain this taste for you.”
And so, Valine did.
She tasted the bitter poison in his tea, and showed the venom on her teeth. “Lovely brew.”
Balchon grinned. “I can die a happy man. Do you reckon you know what it is?”
“I believe it’s a chai masala.”
“That’s exactly what it is!” Jacira clapped delightedly.
Balchon physically recoiled. “Oh, I hate chai.”
He hated chai?
Chai?
Chai, the national tea of Talloh was this plan’s fucking downfall? How could Valine have had such a massive oversight as to the flavor of tea that Balchon would consume?
Immediately, dark, hot rage filled Valine, and it took everything in her not to take the fucking cup, and dump it down Balchon’s throat herself. But of course, that would be a little too obvious. Even still, Valine found her fingers curling, her necromancy eager to lash out, crawling from the edges of her person like a storm cloud on the horizon.
“Lucky for you, chai is my favorite,” Cersei purred. “Would you be a doll and pass me your cup?”
“My pleasure.” Balchon practically jumped to his feet.
No.
No.
No this could not be happening.
It was as if everything slowed in motion, as if movement was caught in stasis, each of Balchon’s footsteps steeped in molasses in the Cold Season. She watched as a cat-like grin crept across Cersei’s mouth, the poisoned cup of tea drawing ever nearer. Valine’s thoughts were a rampage, horror clouding her judgement, fury pushing her to irrationality.
With panic fueling her, Valine lashed out with her magic, her dark tendrils of necromancy diving for Balchon’s back, spearing through his chest. She twisted her fingers into a fist, and with those blades of magic morphed, Valine turned them into a vice, and squeezed. She could feel the frantic beat of his heart beneath the absolute power of her magic, and the reaction was instantaneous.
Balchon gasped and staggered. The fine porcelain cup shattered on the gold-veined marble, poisoned tea splashing wide and glaring like an amber eye. Balchon dropped to a knee, clutching his chest, eyes straining, mouth gaping. Valine could see the blood rushing to his face, saliva dribbling out of his mouth, his eyes turning an alarming shade of cerise.
Shouts of surprise and fear went up about the room, guards startling from their posts, aethermancers faltering in their manipulation of the air. Cups clattered in saucers, and feet hit the floor.
Valine held Balchon’s heart a moment longer, the gambling den heir making ugly choking noises, spit flying from his struggling breaths. He was turning blue, his eyes shot, vessels burst. Another struggled breath later, and Valine let go, her magic withdrawing back into her with force that belied her outraged emotions.
Everyone was surrounding the heir, crouching by him, concerned hands upon any bit of arm or shoulder available. Everyone but Malik, whose livid stare speared through her, the wrath radiating from him was a palpable thing, those not-quite eyes burning a furious gold. His full lips were set in a thin line, and even though she’d beckoned her magic back, it too, recoiled from the fury that beheld her.
She’d fucked up.
“Are you all right?” Pandora queried, her jade eyes soft, dismay coloring her features.
Balchon lay on the floor, breaths ragged, patting his chest. Sweat dotted his brow and set his normally impeccable hair into disarray. “I think so. That was…I thought I was dying.”
“What happened?” Sarim asked, and though his voice held just the right amount of concern, Valine felt the tension the Valmotti held by not looking at her. He knew what she’d done.
“It felt like my heart stopped. Like something was crushing it.”
“Has this happened before?” Valine asked hesitantly.
“Not like this. Not this bad.”
Valine was thrown for a loop, and recollected herself with a couple blinks. “What do you mean?”
“I’m no stranger to drugs, we all know this, and sometimes it has an adverse effect. It’s not usually this delayed though. But I suppose I’ve never taken such potent vices before the other night. It’s bound to have greater consequences.”
“Are you sure you’re well?” Pandora pressed.
“Yes, and I would much rather everyone forgot about this terrible incident. May we return to tea? I’m eager to try out the lavender and lemon-grass blend I smelled earlier.”
Balchon got to his feet, rubbing his chest as he returned to his seat next to Valine again. The assassin asked a gentle assurance for appearances sake and was reassured. A servant was summoned to clean up the broken cup and poisoned tea and moments later all evidence of Valine’s attempt was wiped away. Hanish returned with the replacement teapot—a replica of her assassin’s pot, only this one had one compartment, and not two. It was a contingency in case they elected to examine all the pots for signs of artifice. Unfortunately, his rush was unrequired. Hanish sketched a curious brow, and Valine shook her head indiscernibly.
Nearby, Pandora steepled her fingers against her temple, staring into her cup, overwhelmed with the event. They all returned to their teas, and Valine, in a sullen mood, bitterly drank every last drop of her poisoned tea while Malik stared her down, promising words she didn’t want to hear.