Poison (15 page)

Kyra swallowed. “It is.”

Nadya nodded. “Then I wish you all the luck in the world.” She put down her whittling and walked away.

Kyra picked up the piece of carved wood—it was the
figure of a tiny pig, a basket slung below its snout, a smile on its face. She grinned and clutched it in her fist.

A little extra luck definitely couldn’t hurt.

T
HE NEXT DAY
, Kyra pinned the scrap of green silk into Rosie’s basket, attached her leash, wrapped up some food Nadya had given her, and hefted her pack onto her shoulders. It seemed like every member of the tribe came to hug her good-bye.

Nadya gave her one last squeeze. “Be careful, my dear. The world needs you.”

Kyra hugged her back. “Thank you for everything,” she said, then marched off toward the wavery line on the horizon that marked the border of the bog illusion.

She took a moment to get her bearings, then set the pig down on the ground.

Immediately, Rosie strained at the leash. It looked as though she was pointing right back toward Wexford.

Why was Kyra even surprised? It seemed like her whole life revolved around that city.

She took her time getting back to the capital. She kept their gait slow and made Rosie take frequent rest breaks. Their plodding pace gave her plenty of time to wonder what her vision of Fred had meant. There were lots of reasons why he might be dressed like that, why he’d have a staff.

Since her vision in the sauna, the cracks in the wall she’d built around her witch’s spark had grown. As she’d hugged each of the Gypsies good-bye, images had flickered through her vision. But try as she might, she could not make her Sight do what she wanted.

She couldn’t focus it on Fred.

As Kyra approached the road to Wexford, she put on the glamour of a middle-aged housewife, complete with an apron. Now she just had to hide Rosie. Hal would have spread word that the Princess Killer had a pig.

“Rosie. You’re going to have to hide in my pack. Do you think you can do that?”

Rosie oinked and nudged Kyra with her snout.

Kyra gave her a carrot from the provisions Nadya had given her, tucked the rest in her apron pocket, then picked Rosie up and set her inside atop her things. The pig curled up and sighed.

“You really are a sweetheart.” Kyra loosely fastened the top flap, then hefted the pack onto her back.

Traffic on the road moved slower than the last time she’d entered the city. Up ahead, Kyra could see that there were King’s soldiers everywhere, watching the crowd, occasionally stopping people and questioning them—looking for the Princess Killer. Her pulse beat hard in her veins as she drew closer.

“Hey, you there!” A soldier stepped in front of Kyra.

Kyra stopped and tried to smile. “Yes?”

“Where are you coming from?”

“Littleton.”

“Littleton’s not far. Why do you have such a big pack?” The soldier’s voice was harsh.

“I’m just bringing my cousin some country produce. She loves the roots that grow wild near my house.” She dug a couple of carrots out of her apron pocket.

His eyes glazed over with boredom. “Carry on.”

Kyra let out a breath and passed into the city.

She went first to the small weekday market to gather supplies. Nadya had said her Sight would grow stronger with use, so she decided to test it out. As she stepped between the open-air stalls, she mentally touched the spark within her mind. Visions bombarded her. Not just of the future, but of people’s pasts as well.

She flashed on the old gentleman at the greens counter as a young boy digging in a dirt pile for worms. The little girl at the cheese stand, on the other hand, she saw as an old wrinkled woman on her deathbed. In the bakery, when Kyra went to pay for the bags of dough she’d selected, she almost said, “Congratulations” to the young woman behind the counter. She stopped herself just in time, realizing that just as surely as she knew the woman was pregnant, it was a joyful surprise the woman had yet to discover for herself.

From there she went directly to Fred’s inn. She paused outside his door, her cloth bag of purchases dangling from her arm. She didn’t hear anything.

Kyra knocked and, when no one answered, she broke into his room.

Fred’s room was, thankfully, Fredless.

His bottle of olive oil was still on the counter in the small kitchen area. Perfect. He was out, but he was still staying here.

Kyra got to work, stoking the stove with kindling she found in a bin and rummaging through cabinets and drawers. They were filled with an odd assortment of pots and pans. Glimpses of people who’d used the cookware flickered through her mind’s eye as she touched each item, and she practiced pushing each vision to the back of her mind so that she could focus on her work.

By the time Fred bounded through the door with Langley that evening, Kyra’s housewife glamour had worn off, and the stage was set.

“Kitty?” He dropped his day pack on the chair by the door.

She’d thought she was ready for him, but his face still took her breath away. He wasn’t handsome the way Hal was—Hal was too perfect, too long-lashed, too well-coifed. Fred was beautiful in a completely different, effortless way. His green-gold eyes sent a shiver of happiness down to Kyra’s very core.

Kyra recovered herself. “Thought I’d surprise you!” She threw off the apron she’d borrowed to replace the one that had vanished when her glamour wore off. Underneath it was a floaty white blouse. Kyra never thought she’d feel this way, but it felt nice to wear something soft and light and pretty after months in the same black durable shirt. She looked good.

“Fred, I’m so sorry I stole Rosie away.” She watched to see if he’d heard of the Princess Killer by now. But his face remained blandly happy and impassive.

He sat on a chair at the tiny table and leaned back, his legs out in front of him. “She was your pig. You weren’t really stealing her.” Langley rubbed noses with Rosie.

“You were right—she didn’t belong with a family, and I shouldn’t have given her to them. I realized that I couldn’t live without her, so I stole her back. Anyway, I made you dinner to repay you for all your kindnesses to me.”

“Something does smell good.…” Fred reached down to pet Rosie, who had come over and was anxiously butting her head against his leg and looking up at him with shameless adoration. She settled at his feet. Then Fred stretched his arms overhead, and Kyra caught a glimpse of his flat stomach as his shirt lifted slightly.

She blinked rapidly.
That
was distracting. “You’re going to love it.”

The room seemed really quite small. Kyra tried to focus her witch’s Sight for a moment to see if it would tell her anything about the mysterious man in front of her. Nothing so much as flickered in her vision. What good was this power if she couldn’t control it?

She turned to the counter and began cutting slices of the steaming-hot strudel she’d cooked—layers of fresh spring spinach and salty cheese wrapped in a light flaky dough.

Fred came up behind her, his hand gentle on her back as he leaned over her shoulder to look at what she’d made. “Wow. That looks delicious.”

Kyra caught the scent of him, all spicy and woodsy, and had to keep herself from burying her face in his hair. Then he leaned over and landed a tiny kiss on her cheek, below her left eye, sending a spark right down to her toes.

It was only a kiss. A tiny little butterfly kiss. Kyra could handle that.

She loaded up two plates with strudel and mounds of fresh-herb-and-tangy-olive salad while Fred spread a blanket on the floor between the bed and the table. “Table’s too small for two.”

Kyra brought the plates over and gingerly set one down in front of Fred and another across from him.

Then, settled on the floor with the animals beside them, they ate.

Kyra was in a tiny pocket of goodness that she wanted to savor before it was gone.

She enjoyed every last morsel of the meal she’d made. Fred was strangely quiet, offering compliments to her cooking, but mostly focusing on the food in front of him. “It’s
good
,” he said, more than once.

Then it was time for dessert.

Kyra was really proud of it. She put a heaping plateful in front of Fred. “Homemade springberry pie.”

He smiled at her, his fork poised in his hand. “You really didn’t have to do all this, Kitty. But I’m glad you did.”

“Eat up!” Kyra gestured with the pie knife.

He took a big bite. “Come sit next to me.” Fred patted the blanket beside him, and Kyra scootched over. He put his free arm around her.

He took another bite. Two. “You’re a great cook. Your talents are wasted on the dairy industry.”

He ate a couple forkfuls more, then swallowed and set down his silverware. He leaned toward her and pressed his lips against hers.

Her whole body reacted. She melted into him and began kissing him back, wishing that things weren’t the way they were.

Fred went still, and she pulled away.

He slumped down to the floor, eyes closed.

Kyra scooped a nibble off her own plate. It really
was
a delicious pie. The berries were deliciously tart against the sweet crust.

Perfect for hiding a sleeping potion.

Kyra kept her fingers crossed that he’d had enough. She eyed his plate critically. He’d only had a half dozen bites. But that should provide her with enough time to find the princess without Fred “accidentally” interfering—whoever he really was. She didn’t trust how he kept “accidentally” crossing her path. Now she could be sure it wouldn’t happen again. Before he woke, she’d be far enough away that he couldn’t follow.

His body’s natural nighttime sleep cycle would probably kick in where the potion left off, and he’d think he’d eaten too much and fallen asleep.

Kyra laid him on his back, propping up his head with a pillow. His hair was soft in her hands as she arranged his head so he would be able breathe freely.

Before she could think about what she was doing, she leaned forward and dropped a small kiss just above his left eyebrow. He did smell wonderful.

She gathered her pack, making sure her potions pouch was safely tucked inside, and took one last look. Completely relaxed, his face looked ready to break into a smile at any moment.

Langley lay down beside Fred, his big dog head resting on his front paws.

“Keep an eye on him, okay?” Kyra said.

Kyra’s glamour was gone, but it was late enough that she hoped the shadows outside would be disguise enough. The festival was long over and people rarely came out this late at night. The streets were quiet as she followed Rosie on her hunt. The little pig walked right up to the front door of Gabrielle’s Fine Dresses and sat, looking up at Kyra expectantly.

“No, Rosie. I know this is where the cloth came from, but I’m trying to find the person it belonged to originally. Come on, girl. I know you can do this.”

But Rosie was unyielding. She began scraping the door with her hooves.

Kyra gave up, brought Rosie around to the side door, and broke into the shop. Maybe she’d find something interesting in Ari’s closet that she hadn’t seen before. Something besides the wedding dress Ari had ruined. Or maybe Rosie, who was headed right for the curtain concealing the private closets, needed to come into contact with the whole dress before turning around and tracking down the princess.

Except Rosie didn’t lead her to the closet.

She wound her way through the reams of multicolored fabric on display in the main room of the shop and through the curtain to where the closet was located. But instead of stopping there, she headed for the half-open storeroom door and pushed her way through with her snout.

Kyra followed and watched as Rosie scrambled her way to the top of the slippery pile of mannequins and began digging through them.

Finally, about halfway down the stack, she settled herself on top of one of them with a satisfied grunt.

“Come on, Rosie. Those things give me the creeps. Let’s go check out Ari’s closet.” The mannequins’ frozen, painted eyes seemed to stare at Kyra.

Rosie just snorted.

“Rosie, come here!”

Rosie stayed where she was, not so much as lifting her head at Kyra’s voice.

Kyra stepped into the room, wishing that Rosie would just come when she was called. If it had been daylight and the shop bustling with costumers, maybe this stack of naked wooden bodies wouldn’t seem so creepy. But here in the silence with only the faint glow of Kyra’s necklace lighting the room, there was something unnerving about the flat, sightless dolls’ eyes watching her.

She made her way to Rosie and reached down to scoop her up. Just as her hands touched the little pig, she caught sight of the mannequin Rosie was on top of.

And almost screamed.

It looked just like Ariana.

C
REEPY
.

Kyra clutched Rosie to her chest, staring in awe at the blond-haired mannequin in front of her. It was uncanny how much this stiff, dead thing looked like the princess. It even had her frizzy hair. Maybe Gabrielle’s tailors did their work for the princess on a life-size model of her, just to be certain they got everything
just
right. Maybe.

Kyra set Rosie down on the floor and watched in dismay as the pig scrambled back up on top of the mannequin. Weird.

She went back into the other room and took down a lantern hanging on a hook, lit the wick, and brought it into the storeroom with her. She knelt by the mannequin that looked like her friend. It was perfect. It even had the mole on her belly that Ariana said was shaped like a teddy bear.

Except
this
Ariana was carved out of wood.

And had a tiny and very contented-looking pig curled up on its stomach.

Was Rosie wrong to lead Kyra here, to this thing? Or was there more to this mannequin, a lie in its appearance?

Kyra took out her potions bag and picked through the bottles.

Her fingers closed on the potion she’d spent so much time and energy acquiring. The potion she’d risked breaking into the Master Trio’s flat for and had ended up finding on the floor across the hall, in Ellie the hermit’s living room.

Official name
—Peccant Pentothal;
potion number
—
07 211
;
previous working name
—Red Skull Serum.

The potion she’d used on Arlo at the king’s bidding.

The potion that had nearly killed him. Which, diluted with pine oil, had transformed him into wood. Arlo had been told of Kyra’s mistake; maybe he’d repeated it on someone else.

Kyra took several deep breaths to still her hands before beginning a far different dilution process for the Red Skull Serum. The
proper
dilution.

Properly prepared, the serum could reveal any falsehood—including magical ones.
Could it counteract this spell?

Improperly prepared—well, depending on the potions used on this painted doll, it could end up destroying the mannequin, the storeroom, and anyone in it.

Kyra glanced down, patted the piglet’s head, and scooped her up. “You’re going to wait outside,” she told Rosie, setting her in the main showroom and closing the door on her.

She unscrewed the top of an empty dropper bottle and filled it with dilution fluid. Carefully, she went through the many steps of the process, repeating them to herself as she worked through every possible counter-reaction, just to make certain she wasn’t overlooking anything. She put the cap back on the dropper bottle and swirled the contents around
inside.

As she worked, questions ran wild through her head.
What
if Ariana came to the shop to get her wedding dress mended and
never left? What if I don’t have to kill my best friend after all?

She uncapped the bottle and sucked a tiny bit of the serum up into the dropper.

Her hand hovered over the mannequin. It stared at her with its painted blue eyes so much like Ariana’s, blond hair in a pouf around its face. It didn’t have the identical features as the models lying around it, and it was thicker and
sturdier.

This has to be her.

Kyra squeezed one drop of diluted serum on the wooden lips. A small bead of moisture stood out—the wetness turning the pink paint a shade darker where it lay.

Nothing happened.

Kyra went back over her calculations. She didn’t believe she’d made it too strong; she’d taken every care to make sure it wasn’t lethal. Had it not been strong enough? Or had she completely lost her mind and this was just what it appeared to be—a replica of the kingdom’s princess?

A series of images clicked together in her head: Arlo going rigid when she’d administered the wrong mix of the serum to him. The vial of Peccant Pentothal she’d found in Ellie’s lodgings. The way Rosie had first led her to Ellie, who was somehow mixed up in the princess’s disappearance.

But even if this mannequin
were
Ariana, it wasn’t flesh and blood: it was a wooden figure. It could no more drink a drop of serum than Kyra could cough out a splinter of wood.

And it was all her fault. It was
her
poison that had been used on Ariana. Kyra had failed in her mission to kill whatever had taken Ariana’s place, just like she had failed to rescue the princess from this horrible fate.

After everything else she’d suffered, this was just too much: Kyra wept.

She hugged the stiff figure and sobbed loudly, her tears slicking her cheeks and the hard face of the Ariana mannequin, crying out, “I’m sorry, Ari—so sorry. It’s my fault.” She cried until she’d dampened the doll’s wooden visage, cried until she didn’t have any more tears. She ignored the scratching of the pig at the door and just held on to her friend.

Then something absolutely miraculous happened. Beneath her arms, the wooden stiffness warmed and began to soften. Kyra pulled back and looked at the mannequin. The painted skin brightened into flesh, and a sparkling blue replaced the dull paint of the eyes.

Kyra barked out a laugh and dragged her hand across her snotty nose.

Her tears!
She hadn’t diluted the solution enough, after all—she’d overlooked the necessary admixture of salt water as an alkaline. Kyra laughed again and shook the figure in her arms.

Ariana sucked in a great gulp of breath.

Then she turned those sparkling blue eyes on Kyra. And coughed in her face.

“Kitty, I feel
awful
.” Her eyes spun as she looked around the room, then she rolled over onto her side and wheezed. “Ugh. And why aren’t I wearing any clothes?”

Kyra smiled. “It’s a long story.”