I’m Sorry I Poisoned Your Murderer #2
“I will not let him win this competition, no matter what stupid spell Isobel has put on him,” Esme said, eyeing Urias’s messy collar, now wrinkled with his own dried blood. “Or you.”
Urias pulled down his shirt away to show her the words.
“Crafty idiot sent Mak’kon to the Foot to make the deal.
Betrayer’s Serpent, just like the will, but in Micrean.
They agreed that Isobel would win him the competition as long as he promised to marry Hallel after he was crowned.
Janos thought he was just making a deal, but Isobel made him read the agreement and…
well, you know what happened next.” Urias huffed a laugh.
“I give him credit—he went at her with a sword. Didn’t make it far before the spell struck him down, but the attempt was solid. ”
Esme didn’t like Janos, but it did bring a smile to her face to know someone had finally gone at Isobel with a blade. “Any other terms?”
“Mak’kon is to remain Hallel’s bodyguard for the rest of her life,” Urias said.
Esme rolled her eyes. Isobel didn’t give a shit about him. She could have bartered for Mak’kon’s freedom. Instead, she’d wrapped another chain around him. “Who else heard?”
“Mak’kon. It was just the four of us in the room.”
“Same kind of spell? It’ll kill you if you don’t listen?”
Urias’s mouth twisted. “I don’t know. She only mentioned that it would kill Janos if he tried to hurt Hallel, but it sure hurt like a motherfucker last night.
There wasn’t any earthquake, for whatever that means, but when Janos pulled his stunt, it hurt just like the will.
I assume Mak’kon and I would just live in eternal agony. ”
“He tried to poison himself and it all but slit Isobel’s throat,” Esme mused, focusing on the wall.
“Then again, it’s given him a throttling, too.
” She looked at Janos’s throat, now black and purple and weeping from where his deal with Isobel had been carved into his flesh.
Urias’s neck was red but looked much better, which could have been due to his Wraith healing or the fact that the spell had affected Janos more than any of them since his name was the only one included in the terms.
“I have a feeling the spell needs him to be king, not to kill him,” Esme said, stroking her chin.
Urias’s eyes sparked. “Then he only lives if he wins?”
“The day we crown Balthazar, we do the kingdom a double favor,” she said, seething.
“Janos is pretty, Urias, but we can’t let him become king.
He’s sweet to you, but there’s a woman who works over east and every inch of skin on her chest is scars.
Her sister’s children lost their father to him, and she had to sacrifice her countrymen just to escape with her life.
She doesn’t deserve to bow to him again. ”
Urias threw himself back in his chair and shut his eyes, then wiped his hands down his face. “He might have a good reason,” he said, leaning on his knees. “We’ve killed millions. Do you think we deserve death, too?”
A muscle ticked in Esme’s jaw. “This is not that.”
“How do you know? Have you spoken to him at all?”
“Never. And I refuse to.”
“So you’ve decided he just has to die? No trial? No witnesses?” Urias’s voice grew louder, wilder, like he had any right to be angry with her. He was the one who’d spent a night weeping over a damn murderer. Every other Wraith had at least checked on her, but no, not Urias.
He’d had to come coddle a human.
Like Mak’kon.
The comparison had Esme’s chest squeezing tight with betrayal. She gulped own a mouthful of wine and continued, “His victims are proof enough.”
Urias’s jaw ground from side to side. “You always were a good executioner.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll let you keep the head.”
Silence pulled taunt between them until Urias snapped it. “You’re being cruel.”
Esme shrugged. “Probably. Let him go, Urias. I’ll find you another tall redhead. He’ll even have an accent.”
Urias rolled his eyes and threw back his whole cup before holding it out for Esme to refill it.
She fixed him with a judgmental glare as she filled his glass.
“What if it had been Bal?” he asked, voice low and bitter.
“What if he was the killer, and he drank all that poison?” He took a big gulp of wine.
“You look at me like I’m so weak for caring about Janos.
Like you wouldn’t be where I am if it’d been your Bal. ”
“I am not so attached to any man that I wouldn’t kill him if he became a problem,” Esme said.
The only reason Bal wasn’t the one swamped with sweat in his death bed was because he at least wasn’t a child killer.
At least, that’s what Esme told herself.
“What? Are you saying you love this comatose thing?”
“I like him,” Urias whispered, looking sideways to Janos.
“But I am contracted to him and Isobel. So whatever you know that gives Balthazar an edge, or is a detriment to Janos, you’ll be smart not to tell me.
Isobel may ask me for it, or I may be compelled to use it against Balthazar. I can’t be sure how her spell works.”
Esme groaned. “I can’t believe she sent Mak’kon to get a spell, of all things,” she said, scratching her scalp. That’s why he’d been in the Foot at night, just as the serving notes had said.
“I can’t believe there’s enough Magic in the Foot to trade for spells.” Urias slumped back in his chair. Their war of wills was far from finished, but for now it could freeze over.
Esme kicked off her slippers before bringing her knee up to her chest and sitting her chin on it. “I don’t like keeping things from you,” she said—not for long, at least—“but just know that I have won our bet and you owe me thirty talons.”
Urias scoffed, but he gave her a half-smile.
“I am sorry for trying to kill someone you care for,” she said. “I cannot promise I won’t try it again, but I regret making you so upset.” She sighed. “You should have told me you were becoming attached to him.”
“Well, I wasn’t planning to be, nor was I aware that I was until I saw him dying,” Urias muttered, taking another drink. “I dislike it when we are on opposite sides, Bast.”
“We both want what’s best for the kingdom, Ryukyhn.
It doesn’t matter who is prettiest or tallest or who makes our hearts flutter.
We’re cursed to live under whichever man wins, and the rest of the kingdom will have to live under him, too.
” She stood and set the wine down on Janos’s bedside table.
“We must make the decision that secures us, not the one that excites us.”
“Since when did you become the annoyingly moral one?”
“Since I met a woman with that man’s handprints burned into her skin,” Esme said, remembering her promise to Yanor.
Urias let a resigned silence stretch between them. “You aren’t going to stop, are you?”
“What gave it away?” she asked, sliding on her slippers.
“Your tone,” Urias said. He sniffled and poured wine down his throat like it was a drain. “You haven’t said my name like that in eons. Maybe you could talk to him—”
“What could he possibly say to sway me? What has he said to sway you? I bet you didn’t even know. And now you’re just glossing over it. Why? Because he has nice eyes? Those are Omniel’s eyes, Ryukyhn. The man in that bed, that’s Omniel Asterou. I sunk that motherfucker once. I’ll do it again.”
She left without another word. Urias wouldn’t have wanted to hear another sound from her anyway.