Chapter 20 #3
That sobered some of the men around him.
Hands pulled Amril back, into a cloud of urgent whispers, but it was already too late.
In the bedchamber doorway, the carevna exchanged a few words in Seragian with her women, too fast for Melia to understand.
One of them produced a heavy silk wrap and wrapped the carevna in it, covering the shameful stains.
I did this. This is my doing.
A ridiculous thought.
And yet, there was nothing ridiculous about Aratea as she laid an icy gaze on her groom and his friends.
“I understand now what you think of me,” she said, “and I understand that, in spite of all preparations, you might not have been ready for the wedding. All I can do now is retreat and seek advice from the Seragian ambassadress.”
Not waiting for a reply, one of her ladies shut the bedchamber door, leaving the rest of them crowding around the prince in a sour-smelling room.
· · ·
No one knew what to do next; they stood in a frozen tableau around the prince until footsteps thundered in the corridor and Amron ran in, followed by a handful of guards.
“Amril.” Amron rushed to his brother, knelt down beside him.
The two men who held the crown prince let go, not even trying to hide the relief on their faces.
“Where’s Aratea?” Amron asked his brother.
Amril shook his head.
The door of the bedchamber creaked open, but instead of the carevna or one of her ladies, Captain Darin stepped out, stern and impeccable as always. The atmosphere among the courtiers changed, a sudden silence following the chaos.
“The princess requested my men to escort her to the Seragian embassy,” Darin said.
“Have you slipped into my wife’s bedroom behind my back and allowed her to leave?” Amril lifted his head, his face pale with greenish shadows.
“I think it’s probably for the best, my lord. Just for tonight.”
Whispered conversations filled the room as Darin’s men herded the guests towards the door.
“She poisoned me,” Amril said, sullen like a boy.
“You deserved it,” Amron muttered, and amazingly, unexpectedly, his brother cracked a sour smile.
“You’ve come here to gloat, haven’t you?”
“No, I’ve come to fix this. Come.” With Darin’s help, Amron dragged Amril up. “The physician is on his way. Do you have the cup you drank from?”
“I drank from many cups.”
“Of course you did.” Amron motioned one of Amril’s men over. “Help the prince to bed. Clean him and let him lie down.”
“I’m not drunk,” Amril said. “I’ve been drunk many times before, and this is different. Someone poisoned me.”
“I know,” Amron said. “But I don’t think it was your wife.”
Amril paused on his way to bed. “Who was it then?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. In the meantime, as soon as you feel you can stand on your own, rush to the Seragian embassy and apologize to Aratea.”
Amril frowned, but allowed himself to be led away.
“I’m going to find my father, he needs to know what’s going on,” Amron told Darin. “Send two dozen guards to the embassy and watch over them until dawn. I’m afraid something might happen.”
“I’ll go there myself,” Darin said.
Amron nodded, while his gaze searched the room, stopping—finally—on Melia. “A word, please,” he said.
The relief of seeing him drained as a tide of panic filled her veins. “Where were you?” she asked.
He ignored her question. “It was you,” he whispered.
“I don’t understand,” she stammered.
Amron grabbed her shoulders. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm as he gave her a brief shake. “It was you who put something in his drink, wasn’t it? Down in the great hall, while he was dancing?”
She winced.
“I haven’t told Amril or Darin yet, but you must tell me what was in there.” His thumbs dug beneath her collarbones. “Is it dangerous? Is it going to harm Amril?”
“No.” She shook her head violently. “It’s not dangerous, I swear.”
“Why did you put it in his drink? Who gave it to you?”
She shook her head, tears blurring her vision.
“It was your father, wasn’t it?”
“He said it was just a sleeping draft.”
“But it wasn’t, was it?” he asked. “This is arrowfoil, I smelled it on him, and something else, you saw how sick he is. What was in there?”
“Arrowfoil, lobelia, vervain, that’s all I know, I swear.” She was crying hard now, even though he’d let go of her. “It just made him sick, nothing else. He’ll vomit everything he drank tonight, but he won’t be harmed.”
He took a step back. “Melia, what is the point of this, what does your father want? His men pretending to be Seragians, attacking me in the street? Poisoning my brother on his wedding night? Does he think we’re going to break the peace treaty over this?”
“He can’t forgive the Seragians. He won’t forgive,” Melia said.
“Nobody is asking him to forgive. But this? This is treason, and I have to go to my father and tell him about it.”
The broken shards inside her head connected briefly to form a picture of utter chaos. Her father’s actions and their consequences. “No, Amron, please, he’s going to kill him.”
Amron paused, weighing the options. “He’s going to find out one way or another. By morning, Darin will piece it together. Whatever your father intends to do, he needs to stop.”
But all she could think about was the king’s cold, harsh gaze, his complete unwillingness to show mercy. “Don’t betray him, please, I’m begging you.”
Amron rubbed a spot between his brows with his index finger.
“I suppose nothing irreversibly bad has happened yet. There’s still time to fix this.
” He laid his hand on her shoulder again, gentler this time.
“Go to him, go now. Tell him to leave Abia immediately, go to Syr, and bury himself there in the red dust until everybody forgets about him. And then come back to me. I won’t mention you, I won’t reveal what you’ve done.
We’ll explain Amril’s behavior somehow, apologize to the carevna, and the wedding will proceed as planned. ”
“Will you forgive me?” she asked.
“You are my wife.” He squeezed her shoulder briefly. “Go now, hurry, before this escalates.”