Chapter 29
The next morning saw me waiting at the entrance to the apothecary wing.
I was likely going to be in trouble for skipping court and evading my escort, but I didn’t care.
Not after what I had seen last night. Perhaps part of me should have been pleased—I’d finally found the spindle, had I not?
The Transgression that had dragged me to Khatti Ugal, one I briefly feared might have been an invented scheme to imprison me.
Oh, it existed. But whether Khayzur had lied or simply been ignorant, he was wrong to suggest the spindle might be an artifact that had innocently washed up in Lab’s lair and been mislaid.
Instead Lab had clearly found it, claimed it; had built a queendom garbed and decorated with cloth spun from a spindle that manipulated fate.
It sounded like a fable . . . one I needed to unravel before it strangled my friend.
Fortunately, I wasn’t waiting long before someone fetched Dalila or perhaps warned that her barbarian friend was stalking the corridor. She arrived from an adjoining chamber, irritation burning in every line of her face.
“What are you doing here?” Her gaze traced over me in brusque examination. “You look terrible.”
“I might say the same.” Though that wasn’t entirely true.
Dalila looked weary, but dressed in a delicately woven gown of undyed wool and a gossamer shawl pinned with ruby ornaments, she appeared the picture of grace compared to me.
Her braided hair was twined in an elegant bun, revealing a strand of carnelian and amber beads draped around her long neck like a tendril of fire, almost certainly a royal gift. “We need to talk.”
She glanced up and down the corridor, but we were alone. With a snap of her fingers, she motioned for me to follow. Irked at the gesture, I nevertheless did so.
Dalila led me to a room down the hall, shutting the door behind us.
The room was not particularly large, taking up less space than the Marawati’s deck, but it was crowded, with tables full of glassware and bottles of God only knew what.
The air reeked of chemicals harsh enough to burn my nose and I’d been with the Mistress of Poisons for too long not to recognize her trademark chaos.
But not even Dalila’s hoarding tendencies and madcap experimentation could entirely mar Khatti Ugal’s determined beauty.
Twin skylights of hazy glass let in bright shafts of natural light as did an entire wall of windows.
A terrace overlooked gardens and inside there were plants growing everywhere, erupting from pots and trailing from baskets.
Heavy wooden shelves groaned with bottles and tins of neatly labeled ingredients, and upon a small table, I recognized a draft of the familiar gray tonic.
“So this is where you’ve been working?” I asked. The chamber—the laboratory—looked like something out of Dalila’s dreams. There was a stool in one corner but no couch or cushions suitable for sleeping.
“Yes,” she replied, defensiveness in her voice.
“And where do you sleep?”
She crossed the room to stoke a smoldering hearth, setting an iron cauldron on the glowing embers. “Did you truly hunt me down to ask where I’ve been sleeping?”
In a manner of speaking . . . but it seemed better to ease into that topic. “You’ve not been back to our rooms.”
“You threw me out, nakhudha. I had the impression my return was unwelcome.”
I hesitated, uncertain how to reply. No, her return hadn’t been welcome, if I was being honest. It had been easier to worry about Dalila from a distance; standing before her now, my companion as prickly as always, her betrayal felt fresh all over again.
And that was before I discovered her with Lab. “No,” I said softly. “I don’t suppose it was.”
If Dalila had a reaction to that, I couldn’t tell; she was all inscrutable coldness this morning, a far cry from the woman who’d been spinning in the queen’s lap last night. “You’re still taking the antidote?” she asked instead.
“Yes.” I might be angry at Dalila, but I wasn’t suicidal.
“And your symptoms? Have there been any changes? Any improvement?” There was the slightest hint of hope in her tone.
I dashed it. “I’m not dead.” I held out my blistered hand. “But the poison is clearly still in my body. It tends to overcome me in waves and is worse in the morning.”
She took my hand, examining the blisters. Now her expression did crumble, just a bit. “I tried concentrating the dose. I thought it would improve things.”
I pulled my hand back, trying to pretend my heart didn’t sink at the disappointment in her face.
I didn’t want to think about the poison swirling through my blood, the poison that would likely kill me before I saw my child again.
The prospect of defeating Lab, of getting my people and the Marawati off this island only to die at sea .
. . “I didn’t come here to discuss my health,” I said harshly.
Any softening in Dalila’s face vanished, replaced by her curt mask. “Then why are you here?”
Straight to it. “Orinth came to me the other day to warn that there are rumors going around about you and the queen. That Lab has been seen favoring you, granting you gifts . . .” I hesitated, trying to assess Dalila.
Part of me had feared her already compromised, ensorcelled by Lab to the point I’d have to guard my tongue—but the simmering hostility before me was entirely the Mistress of Poisons.
“And that it can be a dangerous position for a castaway.”
Dalila’s gaze stayed even. “Is that it? You skipped court, risking the queen’s displeasure, to warn me about gossip?”
“I skipped court because that warning got Orinth transformed into a beast.” The grief that choked my voice was impossible to fight. “She was kind, she was funny, and your queen sentenced her to a fate worse than death.”
Dalila paled. “I didn’t think she did that to her people.”
At least she wasn’t denying it. “Nor did I.”
There was silence between us for a long moment. I swallowed, then continued. “What’s between the two of you, Dalila?”
Dalila gave me an incredulous look. “Between us?”
“Yes. Are you conning her? Has she bewitched you?” When scorn crossed Dalila’s face, I explained. “She has done something to Raksh. He came back from the dungeons wearing some damn dyed belt and now half his wits are gone.”
“Do you see me wearing a belt?”
“I saw you with the spindle.”
Dalila’s expression entirely changed, panic seeming to freeze her tongue.
Which was fine, I had plenty more accusations to hurl. “How long have you known of it?” I demanded. “The spindle you told me likely didn’t exist? The spindle you’re apparently spending your evenings—”
“That’s enough,” Dalila hissed, glancing quickly at the door. “By God, it’s as though you want to get yourself killed. Do you have any idea how precarious your position is?”
“I’m all too aware. So, what are you plotting?”
She was already shaking her head. “You’re better off remaining ignorant. If anything, this . . . estrangement between us makes things more believable.”
“That is a shit-spattered excuse and you know it.” When Dalila held her tongue, frustration exploded in me. “I was tasked with retrieving the spindle, Dalila. You know where it is, you’ve held it. You must know if it can be broken, if it’s the key to her strength—”
“I know that she keeps it on her person and if you try to steal it, she’s going to turn you into a goat and flay you alive.”
“So you shall . . . what? Pluck it from her clothing as she slumbers beside you?” Fear snarled my heart.
Before Sarilaglag, I wouldn’t have questioned Dalila.
There was no better con artist than my friend.
I’d witness her embody dozens of personalities; enchanted and seduced and intimidated and betrayed.
In our prime, I suspect we could have charmed our way into the very caliph’s bedroom, eluding dozens of guards, to break bread and steal his rings.
But I hadn’t seen that version of Dalila for a very long time.
“Lab threw me to a pack of griffins because I lied about being a pirate,” I added urgently. “What do you think she’ll do to you for pretending to love her?”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” Dalila snarled, but the charge seemed to have slipped under her skin, setting her off. “You have no part to play in this, understand? We’re not on your ship, and I am not Firoz. I don’t need you to throw your life away to save mine.”
I responded in kind, my voice cold. “I believe that’s already been accomplished.”
Dalila finally flinched. Then she took a deep breath and continued.
“So let me fix it. I told you I would. You won’t have to worry about the poison, Amina.
You’ll return home, you’ll see Marjana again.
” Bitterness swirled in her voice. “You won’t even have to fret over what to do with me, for I know too well the crew wants me gone. ”
“What does that—”
“You won’t have to worry because I’m going to stay.”
I stared at her in shock. “This is the deal you’ve made? That’s madness, Dalila. You cannot trust—”
“I trust no one.” The words flew from her, hurt and alive. “Do not condescend to me, Amina. You have no idea what it has cost me to do this, to trade away the last bit of my soul. I would have rather died with Sheikh Sasan’s poison on my tongue.”
“So tell me!” I shouted. “How is anyone supposed to help you if you shove us all away?”
“Why can’t you understand that I don’t want your help!” Her eyes blazed. “If we were ever friends, if you have a single thought for the lives of the rest of the crew, you will do as Lab asks. Hold your damned tongue and obey.”
Her words scorched the air between us. “You sound just like her,” I accused. “She’s a dangerous woman, Dalila.”
Dalila did not look cowed in the slightest. “So am I.” She crossed to the door and yanked it open, beckoning to someone down the corridor.
Growing desperate, I tried another tack. “She doesn’t even want to stay here. You think you’ve seduced her into some life together in Khatti Ugal, but the only reason I’m still alive is so I can help her escape it!”
“Lab will never set foot on the Marawati.” Her tone was firm. “On that, you have my word.”
“I don’t trust your word, Dalila.” It was cruel, but it was the truth, and she wasn’t the only person on this island I had to look after. “I need more than that.”
If my reply hurt her, I couldn’t tell. She said nothing until two guards arrived—the men she must have summoned when she opened the door. And when she did speak again, it was to them.
“Take the captain back to her chambers,” she ordered, her voice ringing with authority. “And do not leave. She is not feeling herself and should be looked after.”
“I’m feeling just fine,” I snapped, charging closer. Too late, I realized that the corridor was bustling now, curious scholars and scribes pausing to steal a glimpse at the brewing confrontation.
Dalila’s expression turned pitying. Disappointed.
She said something in Khatti Ugalan to the guards—loud enough to be overheard by those watching—and heat filled my face as their gazes flickered over my rumpled clothes.
I wasn’t unaware what sort of sight I presented, but it seemed unnecessary shaming.
Perhaps it was part of her ploy to “save me,” but I refused to be dragged out of here like the drunken barbarian she was no doubt implying I was.
Instead, lifting my chin, I swept past her without another word.
Dalila wasn’t the only one who could scheme.