A Little Taste of Poison (22 page)

There'd been no time to leave a message for Esmond or talk to Eulalie. As soon as she came out of the governor's office his secretary had called for the porter, who'd escorted Isaveth off the school grounds.

After nearly a week without protests, threats, or nasty messages, Isaveth had dared to hope that her enemies had lost interest in her. Now it was bitterly clear that they had only been biding their time.

Yet one thing hadn't changed. No matter how crushed she felt, no matter what Betinda's parents might say or the masters decide, Isaveth wasn't giving up. She was fighting for her family and her people, even if they didn't know it, and she had work to do.

She unlaced her boots, hung up her coat, and went to light the stove for her next round of experiments.

*  *  *

“You're home early!” exclaimed Mimmi. Her cheeks were still rosy with cold, her hair fuzzed where she'd carelessly dragged off her hat. “What are you making? It smells good. Is it for supper?”

Isaveth glanced at her little sister distractedly, balancing the journal in one hand as she stirred her latest decoction with the other. This one claimed to be an antidote to curses, which nobody really believed in anymore. But
a curse was a kind of spell, at least in theory . . . and until she could get the ingredients for the metal-dissolving potion, it was the best she could do.

“No,” she said. “It's magic.”

“Oh,” said Mimmi, lip jutting in disappointment. Then she brightened and began to chatter about the soap carving she'd made at school. Isaveth let her little sister's words wash over her, nodding at intervals. At least someone was happy.

“Where's Lilet?” she asked, when Mimmi paused for breath.

“She had to stay behind. I think she was fighting again.”

Isaveth nearly dropped her spoon. “
Again?
How many fights has she been in?”

“A few. She usually wins, though.”

The liquid in the pot was simmering, tiny bubbles rising toward the surface. Isaveth added a pinch of null-pepper and began to stir in the opposite direction. She'd had no idea Lilet was getting into trouble at school—she'd been too consumed with her own troubles to notice. How much else had she missed these past few weeks?

“Does Papa know?” she asked, but she already knew the answer. Lilet would never admit to causing trouble, or even being in it, until she was caught.

“No, and she said she'd thump me if I told him. She didn't
tell me not to tell you, though,” Mimmi added, proud of finding the loophole.

Isaveth rubbed a hand across her brow. She had one piece of bad news to share already; now Mimmi had handed her another one. It was going to be an unhappy evening in the Breck household. . . .

Unless, of course, she said nothing. Not just about Lilet fighting, but about her suspension as well.

Guilt pricked Isaveth at the thought of keeping more secrets from Papa, but it made sense. As far as her family knew, she was under Esmond's protection, had a loyal friend in Eulalie, and even the scandal of Su's article had soon been forgotten in the buzz of fresh gossip after the ball. Would it really hurt to let them go on believing all was well, at least until she knew for certain that it wasn't?

Isaveth lifted the spoon and let the liquid ooze back into the pot, testing its thickness. Then she dribbled it over the warding-charm and the sealing-charm Esmond had made for her. Holding her breath, she took out her charm-glass to inspect them. . . .

They still glowed just as brightly. The decoction had made no difference at all.

The dull pain in Isaveth's chest pushed up into her throat, and her eyes blurred. But she told herself it was too soon to despair. Since she couldn't go to school on Mendday, there'd
be plenty of time to try the remaining spell; all she had to do was sell the beautiful new coat Esmond had given her and buy the ingredients she needed.

Yes, things looked hopeless right now. But Lord Arvis hadn't died yet, and Eryx couldn't bring his plan to council without the Sagelord's permission, so there was still time.

Her next experiment would work. It had to.

*  *  *

The next day was Templeday, so none of the shops were open. The snow lay thick over the sidewalks, and Isaveth and her sisters had to wade through several drifts to get to Wisdom Hall. But the sanctum was warm again, and Mister Yeltavan's announcement that sales of Glow-Mor tablets had risen across the city cheered her a little. It would be a bad blow for Mister Wregget if she was expelled from the college, but at least there was still hope of keeping her scholarship if she wasn't.

Mendday morning was the usual flurry of activity as Isaveth and her sisters scrambled to get ready and Papa shoveled the front step, clearing away the snow that had blown over it last night. Mimmi and Lilet were first out the door, hats pulled low and scarves high to keep out the bitter wind, while Isaveth filled a flask with tea and packed up her book bag as though she meant to use it.

“Have
a nice day at school,” she said to Annagail as the two of them put on their coats.

Anna flicked a glance at her. “And you,” she said colorlessly.

Something was troubling her, and as a good sister Isaveth ought to ask about it. But if she'd been going to school as usual, she wouldn't have time. She gave Anna an apologetic smile, tugged on her mittens and went out.

Last night she'd wrapped up her new coat, not without a pang of regret, and hidden it under the back step. Isaveth waited until Papa left the house—without his shovel, oddly enough, so he must have some special business to attend to—then slipped back to fetch it. She caught a westbound tram into the heart of the city, and by the time the town clock tolled noon she had sold the coat at the Relief Shop, used the money to buy the ingredients she needed, and returned home to start her next experiment.

She'd ground the bitternuts to a paste and was chopping the dried scorch-pepper when a firm rap sounded at the door. A visitor at this time of day? Isaveth put the knife down and sidled up the front hallway, craning her neck to see who it could be.

“I can see you, Miss Breck.” An amused female voice floated through the mail slot, and gloved fingers waggled at her from beneath the flap. “It's Su Amaraq from the
Trumpeter
, and I'd like to ask you a few questions.”

A
S ALWAYS, SU AMARAQ
sounded like the perfect reporter: friendly, competent, and interested only in the truth. But after the last couple of articles she'd written, Isaveth had no faith that the woman would treat her fairly.

“I have nothing to say to you,” she replied, one hand pressed to her thumping heart. “Please go.”

Silence followed, then a sigh and a crunch of footsteps, growing fainter until they faded away. Cautiously Isaveth crept to the door and raised herself on tiptoe to look out.

Su's face popped up in the window, and Isaveth jumped back with a shriek. “You look familiar,” the woman said, her voice muffled by the glass. “Have we met before?”

They had, once, when Isaveth was looking for information on her father's case. But she'd pretended she only
wanted to become a journalist, and they'd parted without Su even asking her name. Isaveth swallowed, fingers curling into her sweaty palms. “Does it matter?”

“Maybe,” said Su. “Look, I understand why you don't trust me. I wouldn't either. But I'm not the villain here, I just want to know what's going on.”

“So you can print it in your newsrag and turn the whole city against me? No thank you.”

“The story's going to break eventually, whether I write it or not. I got a tip that you'd been suspended. Somebody's out for blood, Miss Breck, and it appears to be yours. I'm starting to wonder why.”

“Isn't it obvious?” She knew she sounded bitter, but there was no point in hiding it. “They hate me because I'm—”

“Moshite. That explains some of it, no doubt. But I get the feeling my ever-so-helpful informant is playing a bigger game.” Su pressed a gloved hand to the window, imploring. “Come on, Miss Breck, help me out. I'll even keep your name out of it, if that's what you want. I'll quote you as an unnamed source at the college.”

It wasn't that generous an offer. But if she could get Su to investigate a little further, instead of writing up her article at once . . . Isaveth wiped her hands on her skirt, sent up a silent prayer for courage, and opened the door.

Su stepped inside, unbuttoning her fur-collared coat—then paused, sharp eyes focusing on Isaveth. “Oho,” she said softly. “It's my little journalist.”

It was no use pretending otherwise. Isaveth nodded and led her through to the kitchen.

“Right, then,” said Su, sitting down and taking off her gloves with practiced elegance. Her gaze swept the room, lingering briefly on the hallow cabinet in the corner, then returned to Isaveth as she flipped her notebook open. “Let's start at the beginning, shall we? How did you first learn about the Glow-Mor scholarship, and what made you decide to apply?”

“I didn't,” said Isaveth. “Mister Wregget liked my . . . work, so he offered it to me.”

“Your work? Ah, yes. Your homemade fire- and light-tablets. A family recipe?”

Isaveth smiled faintly, relieved that Su had jumped to such a safe conclusion. “My mother's.”

“Your family must have been quite proud when you got the scholarship. Especially after your father's, ah, recent difficulties. How did you feel, coming to Tarreton College? Excited? Nervous? Anxious to do well?”

“All of those things.” Su looked up, black brows arched against her coppery skin, and Isaveth felt compelled to say more. “I knew people wouldn't want me there, and I
hoped I could . . . convince them . . .” She looked away, unable to finish the sentence.

“So you were aware that you were being watched, and that it was important to keep up a good reputation. Did you enjoy learning Sagery? Were you good at it?”

“I think so.” Actually she knew so, but she didn't want to sound arrogant. “I liked it very much.”

“You don't think there's anything disrespectful about a Moshite making sage-charms?”

Heat flooded into Isaveth's face, but she kept her anger in check. “Some of the greatest sages were Moshite,” she replied. Or at least they had been until the Concord of Abirene, the centuries-old treaty that had stripped Moshites of their lands, destroyed their books of magical lore, and forbidden them to practice Sagery. “I don't have to worship the sages to respect them, or learn what they taught.”

Su tapped the end of her lead-point against her lips. “How did you feel when the story appeared naming you as the winner of the Glow-Mor scholarship?”

“It was horrible,” said Isaveth flatly. “And don't you mean
your
story?”

“My name was on the article, yes. But it was edited before it went to print.” Her lips pursed with displeasure. “One might even say butchered—and
not
in your favor.”

“You
mean someone at the
Trumpeter
was bribed into changing the story?” asked Isaveth, pulse quickening. “Why would anyone care what the newsrags say about me?”

Su sat back, appraising her. “Good question, Miss Breck. Have you made any powerful enemies lately?”

If she thought she could trust this woman, Isaveth would have told her everything. But she'd seen Su at the ball only a week ago, flirting with Eryx and defending him to Civilla's friends. Still, if she could get her to doubt the Lording even a little . . .

“I've never met Lord Arvis,” she replied cautiously, “so I don't know what he would have against me. And if he didn't want me at Tarreton College, all he had to do was say so. But I heard that Eryx Lording wants to deny relief to Moshites, so . . . maybe he feels differently.”

Su went still—but then she smiled, and Isaveth's hope died out. “Oh, I can't imagine that. I'm sure you misunderstood. But let's get back to the point. Why don't you tell me, in your own words, what happened the other day?”

*  *  *

Su did not ask many questions after that, and stayed only long enough to hear the briefest version of Isaveth's story. She jotted a few cursory notes, then rose from her seat
with a neutral “Thank you, Miss Breck,” before pulling on her gloves and heading for the door.

“Miss Amaraq!” Isaveth hurried after her. “When will you—I mean, if there's going to be a—”

“Governor Buldage expects the investigation will be done by tomorrow,” said Su. “So you can look for my article on Worksday morning.” She strolled out to her waiting taxi, and was gone.

Isaveth shut the door and went back to chopping ingredients, wondering if she'd made the right decision by talking to Su or whether she'd soon regret it. After all, if the reporter had been telling the truth, anything favorable or even fair to Isaveth wouldn't make it into the
Trumpeter
anyway. Eryx Lording would make sure of that.

Yet if Eryx was behind all of this, it seemed like a strange way to punish her. Why allow her to go to Tarreton College and even study Sagery for half a term, before . . .

What, exactly? Coaxing Betinda Callender to lose her expensive necklace, and Meggery to plant it in Isaveth's pocket? How could Eryx do that without risking his reputation, and more importantly, why would he? He had no reason to believe Isaveth posed a threat to him, and his new plan to cut off relief to Moshites would ruin her just as surely.

Unless he needed to make Isaveth look like a criminal in order to convince the council that Moshites didn't deserve charity? Could it be that simple?

The question still nagged at her as she read over the instructions in the country-mage's journal one last time, making sure she hadn't missed anything. This spell could be dangerous if she didn't follow the steps exactly. She unstopped the glass jar she'd washed for the purpose, then began measuring and pouring in the ingredients.