by RJ Metcalf
Finn studied the man Slate talked to, and he belatedly noticed the young boy next to them. The man was definitely wearing the black armor and shadowed clothing of the citadel guard. He clasped a hand on Slate’s shoulder, and a deep green ring of the Monomi clan flashed in the light.
This must be Zebediah’s eldest, then.
Finn stalked up to them as Zane waved a hand toward the doors. “They won’t let us in, either. All I know is that’s an emergency, it’s related to Sapphire, and Prince Richard gave the orders that no one goes in or out. I came as soon as I heard something was happening. I need to be there for Brandon.”
Finn grabbed both of them by their shirt collars, speaking quickly and quietly before the Monomi could do anything. “Follow me if you want a chance to save her.”
Slate immediately relaxed and obeyed, Zane resisting for a long second, his hand on his weapon belt. Once Finn drew them away from the crowd, he turned to face both, looking specifically at Slate, aware of the young boy hovering behind Zane. “You know him,” he nodded to Zane. “You trust him?”
Finn hadn’t been in direct contact with Monomi for years, and he wasn’t about to reveal what he knew to just anyone. Monomi or not.
A thousand questions flickered through Slate’s eyes while he nodded. “This is Zane Monomi, long-time friend of both Brandon and Sapphire. Why? How does this affect Sapphire, who’s dying in there while we’re out here?” he shouted, tears glimmering in his eyes, hands balled into fists.
“Everything.” Finn turned to the young boy. “I need to borrow your—” He glanced between the two, noting the resemblance: black hair, dark green eyes, same discerning look. “Brother, for a bit. Please wait here and keep a lookout. Can I trust you to do that?”
The boy looked him over, then looked up at Zane, nodding only after Zane did. “I accept your mission, sir.”
Finn smiled down at him. “Good lad.” He turned to the two men, serious. “Follow me.”
They strode purposefully through the gardens on the west side of the palace, the men’s simmering impatience almost palatable as they passed guarded doorways. He rounded the corner to the back, where the palace walls weren’t straight, but jutted out, breaking line of sight with any guards. He paused there, then shortened his hurried stride to a normal pace, counting as he walked.
Once he reached the count of one hundred fifty-five, he stopped and faced the wall, running his hand over the aged, yet pristinely white stucco. He spread his fingers and closed his eyes. Searching.
Slate cleared his throat behind him. “Finn, what are you doing? Whoa!”
Finn suppressed his smile. Even after all these years, he still remembered. The outline of a door shimmered on the wall, then the aperture silently swung in, admitting entrance.
So much for keeping his head down and remaining unnoticed.
Finn looked at the two men sternly. “This passage has been secret for a very long time, since before the first of the foundation was made. You both need to keep this secret, as it can be used for much evil, as I’m sure you both can imagine.” Zane nodded, solemn as he struck a fist to his heart, and Finn ignored the glimmer of relief that trickled down his spine. “Vow by the Author that you will both keep this knowledge secret, unless pressed by circumstances such as these.”
Slate and Zane nodded, each holding up their right hand as they vowed.
“Excellent. You two go in first, I need to reseal it behind us.” Finn gestured and Slate ran in first, followed by Zane. Finn entered the narrow hallway behind them, easily finding the switch in the sunlight. He depressed it, and the door swung shut, leaving them in the stifling darkness.
“Slate, who exactly is your friend here?” Zane’s low voice sounded loud in the quiet.
“Old family friend,” Slate replied. “How in the world did you know about this, Finn? Not even I know, and I’m a guard whose extended family is royalty.”
Finn smiled mirthlessly to himself as he brushed past them, stopping at a portion of the wall, fingers feeling for the raised bumps that indicated where they were. “Secrets, my boy. Allow an old man his secrets.” He found what he was looking for, and ran his index finger over a smooth bump, the gem flaring red as a door silently slid aside to reveal the main room for the—thankfully, deserted—staff living quarters.
“I know where we are!” Slate exclaimed. “Follow me!” He raced to the main door and threw it open, leading them up a flight of stairs, down a short hall, a sharp turn and another gilded hallway. A crowd by a door gave clue that they were close.
Slate slipped past a crying maid and approached the guards. They recognized him, and immediately swung the door open. “Prince Brandon has been wondering where you were,” one commented.
“Getting help.” Slate waved for Finn and Zane to follow, and Finn adjusted his bag on his shoulder as he brushed past the anxious people gathered.
The outer sitting room of the second-prince’s chambers had the distinct air of gloom in it. King Rupert and Queen Victoria sat together on a couch, gripping each other’s hands. A young blonde woman with a baby sat in a chair near them, her eyes red and puffy, jaw set as tears streamed down her face. Finn took it all in with one glance, following Slate as he barged through an open doorway that led to the bed chamber.
Finn rolled his shoulders back, and he straightened his spine while he strode into the room. Like a man at war, he analyzed all that he saw in front of him in just a few seconds.
Sapphire was pale, lying on a deep-green bedspread, hair strewn about the pillow. Prince Brandon was curled next to her, his head nestled next to hers, and his arm around her waist with a blue ribbon in his fist. An aide hovered behind the prince, and a man stood by Sapphire’s side, the stethoscope around his neck identifying him as the doctor. Finn addressed him.
“Where’s the tea that she drank? What is her current heart rate?”
Slate cried out in wordless anguish and rushed to Sapphire’s side.
“Uh …” The doctor didn’t question his presence, instead turning to a chest of drawers. He carefully lifted up a bowl, angling it to show a shattered tea cup and saucer. “He wasn’t able to gather much of it, but this is what we have. I’ve given her activated charcoal to absorb what I can.” He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t specialize in poisons like this. I don’t know how to help her.”
Finn grunted in reply, accepting the bowl. “And her heart rate?”
“Erratic.” He glanced over at the prince and Slate. He lowered his voice. “Her heart rate has been decreasing steadily. I don’t think she’ll live much longer. There’s—” The older man hesitated. “I tried to heal her with magic, or at least sense what is going on in her. There’s … something dark in her. Something frightening. I have no idea what it is.”
Nodding to acknowledge he heard the doctor, Finn lifted the metal bowl, cautiously smelling its contents. A slightly earthy, acrid scent filled his sinuses. He lowered the bowl, snorting out the odor. He dipped his finger into the fluid at the bottom of the bowl and didn’t hesitate to lick the drop off his tongue. He spat it out a moment later, turning to Sapphire.
“Do you know what it is, Finn?” Slate’s broken voice broke into Finn’s thoughts.
“Yes, it’s poison—belladonna, if I’m not mistaken,” Finn replied absently, his mind working the magic problem at hand, heedless of softening his words.
Voices babbled in the background from the room next door. Finn watched the prince curl in closer to his wife’s body, tears slipping down his face. Slate stared at Finn, his eyes pleading.
“Please, tell me there’s something you can do?”
“Let me focus!” Finn barked. The steps that he needed to do fell into place in his mind. He looked at the frail doctor in front of him. “You. Doctor. I need a cloth for a poultice and water for a tea.” The man jumped at being addressed thusly, but scurried to obey. Finn looked at the broken brother next. “Slate, I need you to move.”
Slate jumped out of his way and move
d to be on the same side that Prince Brandon was curled on. Finn twisted slightly to reach into his bag, digging around until he found the dark glass jar with the label he wanted. He pulled it out and accepted the cloth that the elder doctor held out for him. He laid the fabric on the bed next to Sapphire’s prone body and quickly tugged a few oblong leaves from the jar and crushed them in his hand. He piled them on the fabric, folded it carefully and handed it back to the doctor. “Prepare that as usual for a poultice. Apply to the soles of her feet the moment it’s ready.”
“Her shoes need to come off.” Zane spoke from the doorway. “Slate, help me.”
Slate bounded off the bed and helped Zane to untie the laces on her boots, yanking them off as quickly as possible. Finn bruised yet more leaves and dropped them into a waiting cup, which the doctor held out for him. The elderly man poured water over them and asked quietly, “How long does it need to steep?”
“Two minutes. Then start spooning it into her mouth.”
“I’m going to scan her. If I take longer than two minutes, just start getting it in her system.” Finn splayed a hand over Sapphire’s clammy forehead, pausing to breathe deeply. Her eyebrows were drawn, as if even in sleep she was in pain.
Focus. Heal her. Don’t let her die. Finn reprimanded himself. And then he gave himself over to the magic, melding his consciousness to her subconsciousness.
Cold. That was the first thing he felt. Ice seeping through his skin, chilling him, slowing him. Followed by a pain that rippled through his body, setting his nerves on fire as he struggled to breathe. Darkness spread through his mind’s eye, broken only by wavering wisps of blue and purple, their movement similar to lightweight scarves fluttering in a breeze. Loneliness threatened to suffocate him; he hadn’t felt so alone, so bereft, since the day Julia died …
With a shout, Finn broke away, heart racing and eyes wide, distantly aware of the slight drain on his energy. He stared down at the young woman who had been a childhood friend of his son. This was not just some simple poison. This wasn’t a jilted servant. This was more.
“Finn? Did you learn any—”
He interrupted Slate, his voice raw, as if he’d been shouting for hours. “This isn’t just poison. There’s Void magic in her. It’s a miracle she’s still alive.”
Color drained from Prince Brandon, leaving him as pale as his wife. Slate staggered and braced a hand against the bed frame, his eyes wide. Zane remained quiet, arms folded.
“Void magic?” Brandon whispered. “Are you sure? Void, as in the barrier? How is that even—”
“As sure as the day you were born,” Finn replied, mentally reviewing the implications and the needed counter spells. How did someone get Void magic in her? When? Who? He shoved the concerns aside. Save her first.
The room fell silent. Slate shifted uneasily at the mention of the dark magic. “I thought no one alive could even understand it. Let alone control it to any degree.”
“So this is beyond an overdose of medication? You’re saying this is murder,” Zane stated, his arm muscles twitching as he gripped his forearms.
“Attempted murder, assuming I can focus,” Finn snapped, desperately trying to think of the best way to counter the Void within Sapphire.
He leaned over her, noting just how minimal her breathing had become. Her lips were opened slightly, a light puff of air passing through them with less strength during each breath. Time was rapidly running out.
Please, let this work. It’s been far too long since I’ve had to use this magic.
Finn rammed a hand into his bag, pulling out one of the white stones he had grabbed from the shop. Gripping it so he wouldn’t accidentally drop it, he carefully laid the cold stone on Sapphire’s sternum, then splayed a hand over it, and his other hand over her head again.
He dove back in.
This time what hit him first was the darkness, the swirls of color brighter than before; the coldness was somehow more frigid and the pain fading away, leaving a numbness in its wake.
His lungs, Sapphire’s lungs, burned from lack of oxygen.
She stopped breathing.
Finn swore.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Brandon
Brandon gripped Sapphire’s clammy hand, torn between closing his eyes against the awful terror that threatened to swallow him whole and wanting to keep his eyes open to watch his wife breathe for every precious second of life that she had. What would he do if she died? How would he continue with life? How would he raise Adeline without the wisdom and grace that Sapphire embodied?
Slate’s friend—Finn, was it?—stayed still as a statue, one hand over her heart and the other over her forehead. Sweat beaded on the man’s brow, his breathing as shallow as hers, as if mimicking it.
Brandon curled closer to Sapphire, watching for the tiny inhale and exhale that gave him the shallow assurance of her life. Her lips twitched as her chest fell, and he waited impatiently for her to breathe again.
He waited.
An even deeper panic than before wormed into his heart. She looked paler than before.
Finn swore vehemently, leaning himself over, touching his forehead to his hand that splayed over the crown of her head. His face scrunched as he began muttering words that Brandon didn’t understand.
Brandon twined his fingers with Sapphire’s, tears streaming from his face, fear pounding against his ribcage.
“Begone!” Finn thundered, pressing his hand against the stone on Sapphire’s chest, his shout and the force of his movement making the whole bed shake. He opened his eyes and stared down at her, purple and green faintly glowing in his eyes. Finn blinked, and the color disappeared.
Sapphire gasped, and Brandon nearly flung himself over her, relief coursing through every vein.
Finn held up a hand against Brandon, preventing him from scooting even closer. Finn pushed himself back to sitting, leaving the stone on Sapphire as he waited, observing as she coughed. Her breathing finally evened out, and Finn brushed his hand against her temple. “How do you feel, my dear?”
Sapphire stared up at him long enough that Brandon wasn’t sure if she knew who Slate’s friend was. She drew her brows together. “Finn?” she whispered weakly.
Brandon ignored the sudden babble of voices in the other room as they were suddenly somehow aware that she’d awoken. Slate or Zane, probably. He focused, not wanting to miss a single word that passed between Sapphire and Finn.
Finn smiled down at her, looking like an ordinary old man who’d dropped in to say hello. Not at all like a man who’d just somehow pulled Brandon’s wife from some dark ledge of poison. Finn gently pulled the bottom of her eyelids down, checking her pupils. “You gave us all quite a scare, young lady,” he admonished, his voice gentle. “What can you tell me about what you remember?”
Brandon pressed a kiss into the back of Sapphire’s hand, thrilled to note the warmth slowly returning to her skin.
Sapphire didn’t move while Finn lifted her wrist and pressed his fingers against her pulse point. “I-I had tea, was reading.” She grimaced. “I spilled the tea. Slate came. I saw Rose and Father, then …” Her voice dropped. “Darkness.”
Finn nodded as if this didn’t surprise him. “You may have some strange dreams for a few days.” He looked at Brandon, giving him his full attention for the first time. “Your Highness, it would be good to have someone test your beverages and food from this point on, just to be safe.” He frowned down at Sapphire. “I don’t know how this magic worked, that it didn’t kill you outright, but you are very lucky that Slate reached me in time.”
“Just who are you?” Brandon asked, finally able to think straight.
Finn smiled and slipped off the bed. He picked up his leather bag and pulled out a jar that he set on the nightstand. “Two cups of this tea a day, please, to help with the lingering headaches you’re sure to experience, my dear.” Finn bowed to Brandon. “And I am just a humble apothecarist and friend to the Stohners, Your Highness. No more, no les
s.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cole
Cole sat with his back to the corner of the room in a U-shaped booth, watching all who entered and exited the bustling Crimson Hawk. His taut nerves thrummed under his skin while he waited for his friends, not even tasting the ale as he sipped it.
Someone had tried to kill Sapphire. Who? Why?
Was it because she was royalty now? Because she was a woman and an easier target? But why kill Sapphire? She was loved by many, and for good reason. Gracious, yet bold. Gentle, yet saucy. Beautiful, yet humble.
Cole sighed into his drink and rubbed at the headache tightening around his head.
All the rumors told him was that an old man healer saved Sapphire, just in the nick of time. Who the healer was, what actually happened, Cole didn’t know yet. Slate hadn’t left the palace since yesterday evening, and the rumor mill gave at least three different stories as to what had gone down. They all agreed on one thing though: at attempt had been made to kill Sapphire.
It all circled back to the same questions. Who would want her dead? Why?
The bench vibrated as Roney plopped down to Cole’s right. He raised a hand to snag Zandra’s attention, then leaned over the table, searching Cole’s face. “Have you slept at all since last night?”
Cole lifted a shoulder in a half shrug, then lifted his mug as Vincent walked in the door. The slender man angled toward them, doffing his white top hat and setting it on the table as he sat across from Cole.
Vincent raised both eyebrows. “Rough day?”
Cole shoved the mug away and snorted as he shook his head. “You could say that.”
“Any news?” Roney asked Cole just as Zandra walked over, the savory scent of roasted meat clinging to her dress.
