A Little Taste of Poison (18 page)

“He's up to something shady, isn't he? I
knew
he was too good to be true!”

Isaveth bit her lip. Eulalie was so close to the truth, there seemed no sense in deceiving her. But did she dare to give away a secret that was Esmond's as much as hers?

“I'm not going to take his side, silly,” Eulalie said impatiently. “I'm from Listerbroke, remember? The Lording's just another politician to me, and I don't even think he's good-looking. There's something creepy about the way he smiles. . . .” She gave a theatrical shudder.

That decided Isaveth. Eulalie had done as much as anyone could to prove her loyalty, and she had to take a chance sometime. “You're right,” she said. “Eryx isn't what he seems at all.”

Keeping her voice low, she told Eulalie everything she knew about the Lording, from his role in Governor Orien's murder to his scheme to offer more relief to the Arcan and Uniting commoners who supported him by denying it to Moshite families like her own. Then she explained about the documents. “Esmond knew they were somewhere in the house, but he couldn't find them. That's why he had to smuggle me into the ball, so I could use a spell I know to track them down.”

Eulalie's brown eyes lit up. “A Common Magic spell, you mean? How clever! Eryx would never suspect something like that.” She squeezed Isaveth's arm. “This is so exciting! So did you find them, or . . . No, wait. They were in his spell-carriage, weren't they? That's how you set off the alarm.”

Isaveth nodded. “So now we have to find a way to get into Eryx's sportster without him knowing it.” Which could be even harder than finding the documents in the first place. But Eulalie's remark about Common Magic had sparked a thought in her mind. . . .

She was just about to tell Eulalie her idea, when the bell rang. They dashed for the charmery, and there was no more time for talking.

*  *  *

“They say it was the fish he ate for supper, and he's fired the whole kitchen staff.”

“That's
not what I heard. Daddy says he was off in the gaming room all evening getting roaring drunk, and—” Betinda broke off, glaring at Isaveth. “Do you mind? This is a
private
conversation.”

Isaveth had no desire to cross Betinda, so she quickly walked on. But she'd heard enough to know what her classmates were talking about, and it chilled her. Could Mander Ghataj have been right about Lord Arvis? Was Eryx closer to becoming Sagelord than she'd thought?

When the bell rang for lunchtime, Isaveth went straight to the library, looking for a message. Sure enough, Esmond wanted to meet—not after school, but right away. Somehow he'd got a key to the room where the old college records were kept, and he was already waiting for her.

Glancing about to make sure she was alone, Isaveth ran up the staircase to the top level of the library and knocked—
tap tatta-tap-tatta-tap-tap-tap
, the familiar beats from the opening theme of
Auradia
. The door opened at once, and she slipped in.

The storage room was cramped and windowless, lined with shelves and cabinets on every side. The lone spell-lamp cast a pool of amber-tinted light—and in it stood Esmond, his thin face lined with strain.

She knew that look: She'd seen it every day in the
mirror when her mother was ill. Stricken, Isaveth touched his arm. “Oh, Esmond. Is it that bad?”

“Bad enough.” His voice sounded husky, as though it were the first time he'd used it all day. “The healer says his liver's failed. They're trying to make him comfortable, but—” He looked away, the gleam of his half glass vanishing in shadow. “My father's dying.”

Isaveth drew a shaky breath. “How long?”

“A week or two, maybe. The healer wasn't sure.”

So it made no difference anymore whether Eryx had his father's support or not. As soon as Lord Arvis died, Esmond's brother would become the next ruler of Tarreton, free to bring his new relief plan to city council whenever he pleased. Worse, since it was Eryx, the council would probably agree with him.

Yet Isaveth knew what it was like to lose a parent, and this wasn't the time to talk about her worries, no matter how pressing they might seem. “I'm sorry, Esmond.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Then you're the only one. I think half the city is already celebrating, including Eryx.
Especially
Eryx.”

“Because now he can do whatever he wants?”

“Because he's the one who poisoned him.”

“What?”

“Why are you shocked? Remember what he said to
me before he did this?” He flicked a finger toward his scarred eye. “If Eryx was ready to poison Father then, why wouldn't he do it now?”

Isaveth could think of at least one reason: that by killing Master Orien to spare his father the trouble, Eryx had won the Lord Arvis's confidence and the two of them had been working together ever since. Yet wicked as the Sagelord might be, part of Esmond plainly longed to believe in him, so revealing the truth about Orien's murder now would only be cruel. After all, Lord Arvis would soon face the All-One's justice, even if he'd managed to escape everyone else's. . . .

“Doesn't it seem a bit obvious for Eryx, though?” she asked. “Why would he poison him in the middle of Civilla's party? Why not do it gradually, and make it look natural?”

“Maybe he was trying to,” said Esmond grimly. “I don't know what happened yet. Father keeps babbling about being poisoned, but he doesn't seem to know who did it—so far he's accused the healer, the butler, half the guests at the ball, and everyone in the family by turns, including Civilla and my mother.”

Which was no help at all, and also raised a serious problem. If they could prove Eryx had poisoned the Sagelord, he'd be arrested for certain—but what if he hadn't?

“Well,”
Isaveth said slowly, “your father's got no shortage of enemies. And there were a lot of people going in and out of the ballroom that night—”

“I know that!” Esmond snapped, then winced and passed a hand over his eyes. “Sorry. You're right. But even if Eryx wasn't the one who actually gave Father the poison, it still comes back to him in the end. He's the motive even if he isn't the means, if you know what I'm saying.”

Isaveth's thoughts flashed back to Mander Ghataj clapping as the Lording took the stage, and his sister's rapt expression when Eryx whirled her into the dance. “Did the healer
say
it was poison?”

Esmond sat down on an empty book cart, which creaked beneath his weight. “I told him what Father said, but he dismissed it as raving. Father's been having liver troubles for a couple of months now, and he'd had at least two drinks that night, so Doctor Achawa says there's no mystery about it.”

“Do you think Eryx bribed him?” After all, it wouldn't be the first time the Lording had paid someone off to hide the evidence.

“Not Doctor Achawa. He's not the sort to line his pockets at a patient's expense. I did think he might have overlooked something, though, so I searched the gaming
room and took samples before the servants could clean up.”

She'd heard all the same episodes of
Auradia Champion
he had: She knew what that meant. “And?”

“I don't have the results yet, I only brought them to Master Robard this morning. But he said he'd get back to me by the end of the week.” Esmond stood up and started to pace. “I know he probably won't find anything. But I had to try.”

Isaveth nodded.

“Father doesn't seem to remember who came to visit him in the gaming room, or whether they offered him anything. So I'm going to talk to some of the servants and find out what they know.” He turned back to her. “You're awfully quiet. What's wrong?”

“It's just . . .” She lowered her eyes, smoothing her robe self-consciously. “I keep thinking about those documents. I'd love to help prove that Eryx poisoned your father, but what if we can't? That's why I think we still need to find out what charms he's using to protect his sportster. So we can find a way to counter them before he . . . does anything worse.”

Esmond looked crestfallen. “Of course. I'm an idiot. I'll look into it tonight.”

Isaveth breathed out in relief. He'd seemed so obsessed
with his new plan to stop Eryx, she'd feared he might be annoyed with her for even bringing up the old one.

“But counter-charms are tricky stuff, Isaveth.” Esmond stepped closer, regarding her seriously. “Even if we can find the right formula, we'd need a fully trained Sage to help us make one. I'm not sure even Mistress Corto—”

“If there's a sage-charm to cancel out Eryx's defenses, he probably knows about it already.” And taken all the precautions needed to guard against it. “What if we use Common Magic instead?”

Esmond's brows shot up. “You think you can?”

“I don't know, but I'm sure going to try. Only I'll need sample copies of whatever charms he's using, so I can experiment.”

A slow smile spread from one corner of Esmond's mouth to the other. “You really are marvelous,” he said. “All right, meet me in the bell tower tomorrow. I know what to do.”

“W
HAT'S THIS I HEAR
about you questioning the servants?”

Quickly Esmond shut the book on protection-charms he'd been reading, turning it face down so Civilla couldn't read the title. “Sorry?” he asked, doing his best to sound innocent.

“You heard me, Esmond.” Civilla shut the library door and sat down across from him, her eyes—the same uncertain blue-gray as their mother's—holding his. “Olina tells me she heard two of the footmen gossiping about it, and I want to know why.”

Olina was the grimly efficient lady's maid who dressed both Civilla and his mother, and she had no use whatsoever for anyone else in the family. Esmond had avoided the older woman for that reason, but he should have guessed he couldn't keep her unaware.

“Why do you think?”
he said defensively. “Doesn't it seem a little odd to you that Father collapsed on the night of your ball, even though he'd been perfectly fine at dinner?”

“He
said
he was fine,” retorted Civilla. “That doesn't mean anything. You know what Father's like, especially when it comes to the public—I wouldn't put it past him to dose himself with Pep-a-Tonic or even use an illusion charm to make sure nobody knew he was unwell. If he was healthy, don't you think he'd have made at least
some
effort to mingle at the party, instead of hiding in the gaming room all night?”

Esmond squirmed deeper into the armchair. Frivolous or not, Civilla still had an uncomfortable knack for picking out the flaws in his logic. “Maybe, but he still talked to plenty of people. Including your friend Delicia—”

“Delicia!” Civilla sat up, startled. “Why?”

“Apparently he sent for her. After Eryx practically drooled over her from the platform, I can see why he might have been curious. Anyway, he also had a visit from an older fellow done up like a beaver—”

“Mister Gullinger,” said Civilla.

“And a couple in wolf masks. Do you know who they were?”

Civilla sighed. “No. I didn't talk to them.”

“They talked
to Eryx, though. That could mean something—”

“Esmond!” Civilla leaned forward, fists clenched as though resisting the urge to throttle him. “Enough blather. What is all this about?”

Did he dare tell her? At this point, it was more a question of whether he could afford not to. Civilla's curiosity could be dangerous if she didn't know what the stakes were, and Esmond couldn't risk her getting in the way.

“I think Father was poisoned.”

Civilla stiffened. She stared at him, her eyes ringed white with horror.

“If I can find out who went to see him that night and what they talked about, I might—”

“No.” Civilla's voice was shaky but fierce. “Esmond, this has to stop right now. You're alarming the servants, you're accusing our friends, and you're going to upset Mother terribly. I know Father keeps talking about poison, but he's delirious—there's nothing in it. You're not Auradia Champion; you're not even a Lawkeeper. You're just a boy who fancies himself a detective, and you have
no right
.”

He should have known she wouldn't understand. All she cared about was keeping up appearances and making everything pleasant for her and Mother and their silly society friends.

“I'm
not a fool, Cilla,” he snapped. “I know what I am. But I also know when something fishy is going on in my own house, and it's
my
father who's dying.”

He hadn't planned for his voice to crack on that last phrase, but it had an extraordinary effect on Civilla. Her face softened and she reached out to touch his hand.

“Oh, Esmond,” she said. “It's awful, feeling helpless. I know. But calling it poison, and finding someone to blame for it, isn't going to stop what's happening to Father. All you can do is accept it.”

“Like my eye, I suppose?” said Esmond. “As I recall, you thought that just
happened
too.” He flung himself to his feet, careful to keep the book he held turned inward, and stalked toward the door.

“Esmond, stop.” Civilla drew herself up. “You need to promise you won't pursue this any further.”

“Or what?”

“Or I'll tell Eryx.”

His fingers clenched around the door handle. “You wouldn't.”

“I will if I have to. You may hate him, Esmond, but he's going to be Sagelord soon, and he doesn't want a scandal any more than Mother and I do. If you won't listen to me . . .”

So that was how things stood. He'd thought there was
nothing between Civilla and Eryx but indifference, but now it was clear whose side she was really on.