Perhaps at the beginning she didn’t want to kill anyone but an ogre. Causing a monster’s death wouldn’t be evil, according to her. She didn’t intend for Nesspa to die. He would have been freed when she was safe from His Lordship.
But when her father announced her new betrothal, she realized—while I was alone with the two of them—that he would go on making matches for her. She decided that he had to die, too. She couldn’t have much daughterly affection for him, horror that he was.
That meant he wasn’t really poisoned at the feast. She might even have dosed him while I watched. I shuddered.
How?
The fashion of long, flowing sleeves! Perfect for concealment. Prepared for anything as she was, she could have kept a hidden pouch of poison on her always.
With closed eyes, I recalled the scene. I saw her spear a chunk of sausage on her knife with her right hand. Her left passed over the meat to gather up her right sleeve and keep it from trailing through the food. Likely the poison was in her left sleeve. She sprinkled with her left hand.
I remembered the missing mortar and pestle on the morning of the feast. She might have taken them to grind her poison.
Where was my masteress? As soon as King Grenville recovered enough to do without constant watching over, his daughter would feed him something else. In his weakened state, he would certainly die. Everyone would think he’d merely taken a turn for the worse. Cures for poisoning were uncertain.
IT had to come soon!
I returned to my deducing. Princess Renn must have been behind Cellarer Bwat, my accuser. She had probably hinted to him that I might be to blame, hinted so subtly he thought the suspicion his own.
As I mulled it over, I saw she had reason to fear me. I’d witnessed her dismay when His Highness revealed her new future husband. She had directed me to search the stable when she knew Nesspa was elsewhere. I had dis-
covered the mauled ox. And I was the assistant to a dragon skilled at unraveling mysteries. Thorough again, she thought imprisoning me not enough. She had to poison me, too.
I wondered if His Lordship had seen her set the cats on him. Poor count. If he loved the princess, what a blow that would have been.
Had she poisoned him as well as signaled the cats? I remembered his face had been mottled red and white when the minstrel sang, and he’d swayed when he tried to address everyone after the king announced the betrothal. Also he’d hugged himself as if he were cold just before he shifted into the lion.
Poison might have made him less able to resist the cats.
Again I climbed to the window. Below me a hooded figure rounded the tower, walking slowly, hugging the wall. Even from above I recognized Princess Renn’s thin shoulders and awkward gait. She was seeking the remnants of my meal.
A moment ago I’d wanted my masteress instantly. Now IT mustn’t come!
With trembling hands, I pulled in the trailing cap laces, untied the knots, and took in the cap.
Then I waited, waited, waited.
Surely she must be gone by now. I peeped out.
She was kneeling on the wet ground, her shoulders shaking. As I watched, she raised her head. I retreated, but not before seeing her red eyes, her tragic expression.
The next time I looked, she was gone. I tied the wet cap back in place. A form, grayed by the weather, flew toward me from Two Castles. Soon IT would pass over the outer curtain. I waved. IT would find a way to save the king.
IT wheeled back and forth as IT had last night, but at a greater distance from me. Why?
Abruptly IT flew straight up.
“Come back!”
IT rose higher, then twisted in the air. While frantically beating ITs wings, IT fell and disappeared behind the outer curtain.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I gripped the bars. IT must have taken an arrow in ITs belly. I heard myself sobbing as if from far away. Could IT survive the arrow or the fall? I squeezed my eyes tight, making colors swirl behind my eyelids—rather than images of ITs death.
Oh, my masteress, I thought again and again.
I untied my cap and climbed shakily down from the window. Then I sat with my head down on the tabletop, but after a minute I stood, refusing to cry anymore. I would hope IT lived, so why cry?
IT couldn’t save the king now. I would have to attempt the deed myself.
But His Majesty wasn’t worth saving compared with my masteress. How could I save IT?
Master Dess might be able to heal IT if I could get to him.
I hadn’t tried to escape while I was relying on my Great, my Unfathomable, my Brilliant Masteress Meenore.
I circled the room, looking at everything. The fire poker. Stand on the table, yell for the guards, and smite them on the head as they entered.
No. The first guard would catch my arm before I could strike. I would only anger them.
Might I mansion myself out of here?
I continued to circle.
When would the princess come to see how sick I was?
Had she already poisoned her father again?
I circled the other way. An idea began to form. I thought it out, although I had no time for all this thinking.