Her action took Innes by surprise, who looked at her with an arched brow.
Sidra smiled and said, “Thank you for the warm welcome, Laird. It is an honor to be among you and your clan, to walk the west at your side not as an enemy but as a friend. While I can utter no promise that a cure will be found, I will make the most of my time here to find one.”
Innes nodded, lifting her cup to begin the toast.
Sidra dared to add, “And out of precaution, I would request that my guards serve as a cupbearer for me, as well as for my bard, Jack Tamerlaine, and your daughter, Adaira. It would be impossible for me to move forward with my collaboration should I fall prey to poison, and as Jack and Adaira are two of my closest confidants, I cannot allow them to take such a risk either.”
No one moved. Sidra’s words seemed to cast an enchantment over the table. Not even Jack and Adaira had known of her plans, and Adaira was the one to move first, as if she wanted to protest.
Sidra’s gaze flickered down to hers. Whatever was in Sidra’s eyes made Adaira shut her mouth and nod, even though she looked anxious.
A second later, Sidra knew why.
“Of course, Lady Sidra,” Innes said in a careful tone, but Sidra could hear the twinge of irritation it held. As she expected, her request had offended Innes, and yet Sidra couldn’t let herself worry about it, even if it did cause more trouble for her later. “Although,” Innes added, “I have taken great pains to ensure this wine isn’t poisoned.”
“All the same, Laird,” Sidra said, “my guards are willing to serve as cupbearers, and I must be entirely certain before I take a single sip.”
“Then let them come forward.”
Blair walked to Sidra and took the cup from her hand.
Mairead took Adaira’s cup from her, and Keiren took Jack’s. Sheena, the one guard who wasn’t going to drink, stood beside a rowan pillar, holding Sidra’s healing satchel, ready to move forward if she needed to.
Sidra watched Blair drink from her cup without hesitation. There was no fear in him, though she didn’t know if his courage came from having faced countless dangers in his life or from his complete trust in Sidra to save him if need be.
Mairead drank for Adaira. Keiren drank for Jack.
The moments felt long, hot, and tense as everyone in the hall waited. Sidra could feel the heat in her face, the perspiration shining on her skin. The Breccan nobility had stood, eager for a good view as the three guards stepped back and prepared to cut themselves and bleed on the floor.
In unison, Blair, Mairead, and Keiren withdrew the dirks from their belts and cut their palms. Their blood welled and dripped from their fingertips.
Sidra watched the blood gather on the stone floor. Her breath turned ragged when Blair’s blood hardened into the telltale blue jewels. So did Keiren’s. Mairead’s blood flowed clean and red.
Someone had poisoned Sidra’s cup, as well as Jack’s.
And now two of her guards were going to die if Sidra had misinterpreted her previous studies.
There was a strange minute of calmness, as if everything was slowing down. Innes stared at the gemstones, as did Adaira and Jack. Finally, the shock broke when Innes looked at her nobles and said, in a cold, pointed voice, “Which of you did this? Who poisoned their cups?”
A medley of answers and accusations rose and tangled like smoke—“Not I, Laird!” and “It was them!”
Sidra could scarcely think straight amidst the noise. Thanes were protesting and arguing, and Innes’s voice was rising in fury. The deaths of two Tamerlaines on Breccan soil would start a war—a war that neither east nor west could afford. Sidra shivered as she beheld the chaos.
She wanted to doubt herself, to regret her choice to let Blair take poison for her. But when she touched the small blisters on her forefinger and thumb, she was reminded of who she was. She knew the antidote for Aethyn, if she would only trust herself and let her knowledge and years of training flow through her now.
She turned to David, who stood at her side, solemn with dread.
“Can you bring me a small iron pot, full of water that I can boil over the fire, a knife, and a wooden board to cut on?” Sidra asked.
David nodded. He strode to the doors that fed into the kitchens, and Sidra began to drag her chair closer to the hearth.
“Let me, Laird,” Blair said to her, but his voice had grown hoarse, and he grimaced as he cleared his throat, as if it hurt to speak.
Sidra studied his face. The Aethyn dose in her cup must have been potent because Blair’s color had already blanched. An icy sweat was breaking out over his face.
“I need you to sit, Blair,” said Sidra.
Jack had already delivered a second chair, anticipating what she would need. His expression was grim, his eyes alight with guilt as Keiren also sat down before the fire.
“What can I do?” Jack asked, desperate. “I never wanted—”
Sidra took hold of his arm. “It’s all right. They agreed to do this, knowing the risks.” And yet the guards’ cooperation didn’t make it any easier to watch their distress. She knew Jack’s guilt, because she felt it too, sitting in her heart like a stone.
She held the bile down, clenching her teeth. Looking at Blair and Keiren, she thought, You will not die. Not beneath my watch.
David returned with three servants who were carrying the things she needed. Then Sheena stepped forward and handed Sidra her satchel of supplies. She now had everything she needed, and easing to her knees, she prepared a workstation on the floor.
But before she began, she reached into her pocket and withdrew the vial. She held it up to the light, studying how its color had changed. Before, it had been clear and odorless. But after she added a piece of fire spurge to it, a reaction had occurred: the liquid had turned blood red and warm to the touch.
She had thought of the spurge only after hearing Adaira’s explanation of Aethyn’s side effects, how it had turned her cold, as though ice had gathered in her veins, weakening her heart. What better way to counter poison of ice, she had realized, than with poison of fire? She had also deduced, after not seeing the spurge in David’s herbarium, that it was an entirely eastern plant. It made sense now that the Breccans had failed to find an antidote to the poison that often plagued them.
Sidra opened her satchel. She withdrew the spurge, biting her lip as it burned her hand with blisters. She worked quickly, uncertain how long she had. She cut the spurge into strips and set them in the pot of boiling water, which hung over the hearth fire.