A Tale of Two Castles

I did. In the sack, along with the food and drink I found a leather purse—containing two silvers and three coppers.

“Masteress!” I cried.

“Speak softly.”

I lowered my voice. “Masteress!”

“It is unwise to be in prison without a full purse. You may succeed in bribing a guard, but do not attempt to bribe more than one at once. Each will not trust the other.”

“Thank you!”

“If you don’t use the coins, I expect them back.”

I was affronted. “I’m not Master Thiel.” I pushed my old purse into the new one and hung the new one on my belt.

“Lodie, I can visit you only at night, but I will watch your window at intervals during the day. If you need me, tie your cap to a bar. I’ll come somehow.”

I nodded while pulling a piece of cheese off its skewer.

“You may hear a lion roar again tonight if the wind is in the right direction. Sulow has agreed to roar.”

“Why?”

“Perhaps we can draw out our villain.”

“Masteress, why did Cellarer Bwat accuse me?”

“Common sense tells me that he knew someone would be named. He didn’t want the someone to be himself or any of his friends among the servants, so he offered you, a stranger.”

I wondered whether Sir Misyur or Her Highness had asked him or if he’d come forward unasked.

“Farewell, Elodie. May your sleep be sweet.”

“Thank you, Masteress.” I wished IT could stay. “Good night.”

“Do not climb up to the window unless you must.” IT let go of the bars and was gone.

I threw a log on the fire and toasted three skewers. With each bite I took in ITs friendship.

When I finished, I returned the remaining skewers and the half-empty jug to the sack, which I hid between the head of the bed and the wall.

I lay down. Firelight made the ceiling glow orange-gray. For how many nights would I look up at it? For how many years?

Two guards brought my breakfast, one of them a chatty, fatherly sort who informed me that the king had eaten his breakfast and his face was no longer so waxen. Goodwife Celeste, Master Dess, and the physician attended him in turn, although they would depart soon if his improvement continued.

“Her Highness rarely leaves his side, and Sir Misyur comes often as well. Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Later. I never wake up hungry.”

“Children need nourishment.”

I wondered if he might be the poisoner, or if someone had instructed him to see me eat. “It tastes bad unless I’m hungry.”

The other guard said, “Let her starve if she likes.”

The kindly guard gave up, and they left. As soon as they’d gone, I climbed up to the window. A steady rain poured down. I tossed my breakfast—pottage again—out the window and consumed a skewer. I would need to husband food and water until IT came tonight.

King Grenville’s skin had been waxen. Martyr’s mint caused waxy skin, and so did false cinnamon. Both were grown in Lepai. False cinnamon tasted enough like the true to go unnoticed. Martyr’s mint, despite its name, had no flavor at all.

But false cinnamon acted quickly, and His Highness had been poisoned at the feast. He certainly had been well the next day—well and spiteful enough to paint my face with gravy.

In addition to waxy skin, martyr’s mint caused slow and light breathing, stomach bloating, listlessness, no pain. And death.

Enough thinking about poison and death. To distract myself, I passed the morning reciting tales and mansioning every role. When the knock came for the midday meal, I was bellowing, “Fee fie fo fum, I smell the blood of a Lepai man.” Not the most sensible line for one suspected of being a spy for Tair.

The door opened, and there was the princess herself, holding my tray. No guards, but I knew they were outside at the ready.

I curtsied while hoping the thick door had contained my words. “Your Highness . . . beg pardon, I was mansioning. Do you know—”

“Ehlodie.” The lowest note came last, sorrowfully.

I took the tray and set it on the table.

“I shouldn’t have struck you.” She smiled. “You’ve heard?”

I nodded. “His Majesty is better. Your Highness, I didn’t—”

“Let’s not speak of it. I’m still glad I gave you my cap. La! I do not miss it. And until . . .” She shook her head. “I’ve always been happy to see your head in it.”

“Thank you.” I wasn’t sure what to say. “I’ve never had such a fine cap.” I remembered my manners. “Please sit.” I pulled my chair away from the table for her.

“That’s your chair.” She sat on the bed. “I’ll keep you company while you eat your meal. Lamb stew. Won’t you try it? I had mine, lamb stew also, quite tasty.”

What excuse could I give her for not eating? I wondered if I could trust her with the truth.

Wait! Why did she want me to know her meal had been the same as mine?

“Your Highness, I finished my good breakfast just half an hour ago.”

“La! Breakfast? Hardly enough to feed a squirrel. Come, you must have more now.”

Could she be the poisoner?

She couldn’t be. She would expect me to share with her.

Oh. My tray had but one spoon.

Still, she couldn’t be.

Whatever she was, I had to prevent her from forcing food on me. Mansion! My eyes filled with tears. “You have always been kind to me. I promise to eat as soon as hunger returns.”

“I won’t leave until I see you swallow a morsel or two, for my own consolation. No one will say we starved a prisoner. La! I’ll entertain you while you eat. My father . . .”

She was the poisoner. I gripped the table, which seemed to spin. Princess Renn was the whited sepulcher.





Chapter Thirty-Five

Princess Renn had come to see me eat, because she knew I hadn’t touched my meal last night or this morning. If I had, I would be sick or dead by now. I rinsed my fingers in the water bowl, slowly, slowly. Her mouth moved. I restrained myself from screaming and heard not a word.

What poison would she give me? Something quick, that wouldn’t hurt, because she didn’t want to cause suffering.