“Oh, Hamon, you know I cannot give you the names of my colleagues.” She sounded as if she were scolding him for asking for a treat. “We work in secrecy for our own protection. My life would be in danger if the others knew I’d exposed them.”
“If they’re innocent, they won’t be harmed.”
“None of us are innocent. You know that.” She smiled indulgently at Arin. “Precious few of any of us—of people—are innocent. Certainly you are not, my darling boy. Does your beloved queen know of your youthful activities?”
“She knows all.” He was letting her derail the conversation. Talking with other people was never as hard as talking with Mother. He’d always been excellent at steering the conversation. Just not with her. “If you’re looking to blackmail me, it won’t work.”
She laughed, actually laughed at that. It was a merry sound, like a tinkling of ice, and just as cold. “Darling boy, I have all the leverage I need.”
I’m sorry, Arin, he thought. Once Daleina was safe, he’d help her. “Then garner more goodwill by doing us this favor. The queen wants names and, if possible, addresses. She wants that poison sample.”
“No poison maker would admit to creating the poison that is killing the queen.”
“If the poison maker didn’t know the intended target, then the poison maker would be granted immunity. Absolved of all prior crimes. Free to pursue his or her profession without interference.”
“That could interest them.” She looked as if it interested her. Tapping her teeth with her fingers, she studied Hamon as if he were a three-headed mouse—she’d created one of those once, after infecting a mother mouse with one of her serums. Hamon had made it a pet, until Mother had insisted he kill it so they could study its brains. She’d had him break all three of its necks, even though one had been enough. His childhood was full of fun memories like that. He looked again at Arin and promised himself he’d find a way to extract her from Mother’s influence, after Daleina was healed.
“Absolved of all past crimes, regardless of severity, in exchange for a sample of the poison,” Hamon said, and wondered if he were promising more than he could deliver.
Mother smiled. “So in a way, I would be providing a potentially lucrative business transaction for my colleagues, wouldn’t I? But tell me, what do I get out of this kindness? Will I be granted such immunity?”
He relished the thought of his mother in jail, with no means to create her concoctions, no ability to hurt anyone ever again, no means to intrude on his life. A child’s dream, he thought. “Help us, and I will ensure it. With provisions.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Provisions? I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you need me. Therefore, I set the terms. I want this immunity, on top of the palace position we discussed.”
He ignored the last part for now. “You will be forgiven for past crimes,” Hamon said. “But I cannot endorse your committing future crimes.” Even the first part of that pained him to say. He’d always believed that his mother’s past would someday catch up with her.
“I’ll accept that, so long as self-defense remains a viable option if any of my fellow chemists object to my exposing them,” Mother said. “Grab yourself some paper. I am about to give you names, and if you miss any, it won’t be my fault.”
He scrambled for paper as she began talking.
Chapter 20
It had been three days, and Daleina had her first reports from her investigators, both the ones she’d sent to visit the bereaved families and the ones she’d sent to interview poison makers. Written on curled parchment, sealed with official marks, they were delivered to her on silver platters. She opened them in her throne room, with Bayn beside her and guards outside the door, and then crushed them. The brittle paper crumbled easily in her hands. Watching her, an air spirit stirred a breeze, and the fragments of parchment swirled into dust and then out the window. She let them.
No news. No suspects.
Of course, they couldn’t be certain. People lie. People hide. But her people were thorough, and she was certain these reports were accurate.
The investigators would fan out into the forest. Many families were from beyond the capital, some as far as the border, and most poison makers lived in hiding. They’d need more time. She wasn’t certain how much time she had. Nor did she believe they would find her poisoner.
She was losing hope, and it hurt as much as losing blood.
One of her guards opened the door. “Captain Alet, reporting as ordered.”
Daleina straightened. Maybe Alet would have news. “Allow her in, of course, and then leave us.” Bayn lifted his head to watch as Captain Alet marched into the throne room and then waited at attention until the other guards left. The heavy doors clanged—Daleina had picked the Amber Throne Room today. It held a seriousness that felt appropriate, with the heavy iron-crusted doors, the sconces made of old swords, and the walls sheathed in golden amber. Her throne was also coated in amber, and the armrests felt smooth under her fingers.
“Alet, please tell me you’ve discovered something,” Daleina said.
“I am sorry, my queen, but I have not.”
Daleina closed her eyes briefly, absorbing this blow, and then opened them again. “Are you at least then able to clear the champions of suspicion?”
“Again, I am sorry, but I cannot.” She described how she had visited each of the champions, surprising them in the middle of training, asking them innocuous questions designed to catch them off-guard. In the cases where she could, she’d watched them covertly as they conducted their day. “Most are, I believe, truly loyal to you. But it only takes one.”
Daleina felt her hands curl around the throne’s arm rests. “Who?”
“I have no proof. Only suspicions,” she said. “And I wouldn’t qualify those suspicions as anything more firm than a hunch.”
“I trust your hunches.”
“I’ll need to do more observation. Perhaps if I could have permission to search their quarters—”
“Granted. Do what you must, Alet. Thousands of lives are at stake—and that is not an exaggeration. But please, I must know: who do you suspect?”
“There are two whose actions merit further investigation: Champion Ambir—”
Daleina jolted forward. “No!” Her cry startled Bayn. The wolf rose to his feet. Ambir was a sweet old man, nearly broken by the loss of his candidate, Mari, during the trials. Daleina had cried with him over Mari, felt his pain. It couldn’t be him!
“Again, I have no proof,” Alet cautioned. “It’s only that his grief runs so deep that it permeates all he does.”
Daleina nodded. She tried to imagine Ambir as the poisoner, but she couldn’t. He was filled with sadness, not hate . . . But despair can turn to rage. “And the other?” She braced herself.