“Indeed it is. She has been given a poison that causes False Death. Or more accurately, causes symptoms that mimic it. You have done research into other cases, yes?”
He’d researched many cases—the scientists and healers he’d contacted had sent him reams of research. He hadn’t found any examples of cases with no symptoms other than the blackouts. In that, Daleina was unique. He simply hadn’t known what it meant. Hamon sank onto a chair. “This would explain why she had no other symptoms, if it wasn’t natural. But does such a poison exist? I’ve never heard of one.” And neither had anyone else who had responded to his inquiries. No one had mentioned this as a possibility.
“Frankly, nor have I. But I tested the blood thoroughly. The sickness was introduced from the outside. You can check my work.” She nodded to a table that ran along the back. It was filled with glass tubes and stacks of parchment.
Arin hurried over to the table and showed him a dish with a drop of blood. It was under a curved bit of glass. He slid it under the microscope and peered in.
Coming up behind him, Mother said, “I treated that sample with everberry sap. If the cells had the abnormality that causes False Death . . .”
Peering at it, he saw the cells tinged with orange dots. “They would have rejected the sap. Of course.” He made a fist, wanting to pound it on the table, but restrained himself so as not to damage any of the equipment. He should have thought to test for this. But why would he have suspected a poison when one like this had never existed? “What else?”
Setting aside her wine, she led him through the various tests and experiments she’d done. It was, he admitted, impressive—she’d done at least a week’s work in three days, rerunning all the tests he’d done, plus adding many of her own. Several were so clever that he thought he should take notes.
All of them gave the same clear result: it was the False Death, but it wasn’t natural.
“How could this happen?” he asked. New poison or not, there were systems in place to prevent any kind of poison from touching the queen. He’d been especially careful, given Queen Fara. “She has tasters, and I am her healer. Only the most trusted people are allowed in her rooms or near her throne.”
“My boy, you know there are many ways for a poison to be delivered.” She was smiling at Arin as she said it, watching the girl neaten the food display.
Hamon followed her gaze. “Mother, what did you do?”
“Do? I solved your problem.”
“I mean to her.”
Mother laughed. “You think I would poison my best assistant?”
Arin laughed too, a merry cascade. “Mistress Garnah would never harm me! She’s the kindest soul that has ever lived. And so very wise.”
Hamon shook his head. There was something not right here, but he had a more important question: “Do you know how to make the antidote?”
“Again, you flatter me. I had no idea you thought so highly of me. I admit this is quite gratifying. I am so pleased I came.” She sauntered over to the food table and plucked herself a grape. “The poison dissolved in her system already. I can’t separate it out. But . . . if you find an undiluted sample, I should be able to manufacture a cure.”
Again, he felt unable to breathe.
“Ah, that look in your eyes! If I do find a cure . . .” She let the sentence dangle and sashayed across the room.
He followed her with his eyes, watching her like a hawk watches a squirrel . . . or perhaps more like a squirrel who has seen a hawk. Mother was no one’s prey. “What do you want?”
“Respect. Yours. The country’s. I want a position in the palace. Master . . . Healer?”
“You’re no healer.”
“Master Chemist then?”
“You’re too dangerous to be allowed access to the kind of power—”
Arin scowled at him. “Mistress Garnah is not dangerous! She’s enlightened and pure! She wants only what’s best for you, her son. She loves you and has missed you. She told me. You were to be her apprentice—the one she would pass all her knowledge on to—but instead you ran!” Scooping a slice of cake onto a plate, she held it out to him. “Have a piece. You’ll feel better.”
“Fix her,” Hamon said, pointing at the queen’s sister, “and prepare to create an antidote. You will be well rewarded.” He strode out of the chamber. “I will find the poison.”
Passing the guards, he said, “Don’t eat the cake.”
Her borrowed embroidered shoes quiet on the smooth wood, Naelin followed Ven up a staircase into one of the many spires of the palace. He had barely spoken after he’d come to claim her for training. He’d introduced the guards who would be watching her children while they slept, and he waited while she’d grilled them on their qualifications and trustworthiness. But after that, silence.
It occurred to her that maybe he was afraid of what she was going to say. Or not “afraid,” perhaps. He was a champion. But . . . wary.
It was almost funny.
If she had been younger, Naelin might have yelled at him and cursed him out. She might have hated him, blaming him the way she used to blame her parents—her mother, for being reckless with her power, and her father, for not finding a way to protect them. Or the way she still blamed Renet, who had started all this.
But she wasn’t interested in lying to herself: She’d been the one to summon the kraken. It was her power, and she’d been foolish to think the queen would help her, or could help her. There was no easy fix.
“Talk to me about your training plan,” Naelin said.
He was silent for a moment. She had the sense he hadn’t been thinking about her or her training at all. At last, he said, “With Daleina, she had to learn how to use her power judiciously, favor the techniques that worked for her and abandon those that didn’t. A handful of gravel thrown in the eyes of your enemy can be as effective as a boulder dropped on his head.”
“And with me?”
“You have to learn not to drop boulders on everyone’s heads.”
She snorted. “How exactly do I learn that?”
“By dropping a few on my head. You draw them, and if you can’t handle them, I’ll stick my sword into them. Fairly straightforward. We don’t have time for nuance.” He was climbing the stairs as if he wanted to pound them flat with his feet. She was struggling to keep pace with him. The stairwell was lit with firemoss, and their glow wavered as she and Ven passed.
“What if I draw another kraken?”
“That’s why we’re climbing up instead of staying on the forest floor. Besides, even big spirits don’t like being jabbed with pointy metal sticks. You surprised me back at the academy. I won’t be surprised again.” Reaching a landing, he halted in front of an ornate door, decorated with carvings of vines. He pulled out a key. “No one lives in this tower. Not anymore. You will be able to practice here without endangering anyone.”