The Hunt for the Three Roses

by Jason Hubbard

  He was sure he would eventually overcome this odious setback, but the greater question was, who did this and why? Who could possibly wish him harm enough to poison him, and were there other people who held similar sentiments about him? It was possible word of his origin in Consaria got around, stirring up bad blood that the war had brought on. But that didn’t explain why Dio was poisoned, too … unless Dio was an unintended victim.

  It wasn’t hard to come up with suspects. Master Harris detested him the moment they first met; if it was him, then his show of concern a moment ago was just an act. Callie’s friend, Avery, probably had a stronger motive, for she had accused him of being a spy for Consaria. Sean hated to think of either of them as the culprit, but he would have to relate his suspicions as soon as he was able.

  That chance came when the count came to check up on him. The nobleman plopped himself down on the bench and set his crutches beside him. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I’ll have you know we’re interrogating the taster who should have checked the mead and the servant who poured it. One of them has to know something.”

  “And … Dio?” Sean asked with a hand on his throat.

  “I’m sorry to say, he is dead. It was impossible for him to breathe. I wonder why you were affected differently.”

  “I … only took … a sip … He drank … more.”

  “I see. That makes sense: The more poison you drink, the more effective it is. And to think, I drank as much as Dio had.” The count shuddered. “If my drink was tainted, I wouldn’t be here now.”

  “I’m … sorry.”

  The count patted his leg with a reassuring smile. “As we all are. Perhaps we were too lax in our security, but nothing like this has happened in all my time as count. Oh, I remember witnessing something at the palace, but never here. But don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “Thank you … my lord … Perhaps … Harris … or Avery … did it.”

  “Hmm … we’ll look into them, if that’s what you think. I suspect Callie myself; I know you said she left yesterday, but maybe she did that to throw off suspicion.”

  Callie. He had nearly forgotten about her. “A man … with long … black hair … and a … facial scar.”

  “Pardon?”

  “That’s … what she said … who she … warned me … about.” With Jonas’ help, he explained how Callie had returned and seemed distracted as she talked, though she ultimately gave him a cryptic warning.

  “Interesting,” the count said, stroking his beard. “I’ll inform the guards. Meanwhile, you worry about nothing but getting better. It looks like you may have to stave off sleep for now.”

  The count departed, leaving Sean more depressed than before. He was right, Sean could not rest in this condition, for he doubted his body could regulate his respiration as it normally did while sleeping. He will have to do it consciously to ensure he received much-needed air, or else risk slipping into a coma.

  Two hours later, Jonas snoozed with his head against the wall while Sean fought to keep his eyes open. It was shaping up to be a losing battle, as his eyelids grew heavier as the moon rose higher, and he had to snap himself awake a few times. The imaginary hand around his windpipe had not lessened its grip, and he had to spit out phlegm into a spittoon since it was starting to make him gag. The only good news was that the prickling in his limbs was nearly gone, and he could walk a short distance though his muscles felt spent.

  When he heard booted feet on the floorboards, he thought little of it. House servants were constantly coming and going, many giving sympathetic looks as they passed. He only looked up when he heard his name coming from a familiar voice. Upon seeing Callie’s figure in the spooky candlelight, he was fearful for but a second—a result of the seed of doubt Count Guyver had planted in him. But he had once long ago made a promise to never doubt Callie’s motives ever again, so he greeted her with a smile as warm as her own.

  She sat next to him and held his right hand. “How are you?” she whispered so as not to wake Jonas.

  “Not … well,” he wheezed.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen; I would have told you if I did. But I have good news: We caught the man responsible. His name is Darrel Noors; he’s an assistant butcher who somehow got burkleweed and minced it himself, then gave it to a friend of his to poison you and Dio Tranquilli.”

  Sean gaped at her, amazed that the culprit was someone he had never before heard of, and that Callie had found this out. “Why?”

  “Jealousy. He lost early in the trials, and he wanted to take out his anger on the winner. He must have been jealous of you, too, for being a guest of honor.”

  “Jealousy … that’s all?”

  “Yeah. There’s nothing you did to him that called for this; he’s just a sicko with no conscience, no soul. Oh, when I heard about you, Sean, I feared the worse. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  She laid her head on his shoulder, and while it made him feel good, it unfortunately made him comfortable enough to want to fall asleep. I should really tell her to stop … but I guess I’m okay for now.

  He unknowingly caressed the same fingers that had once comforted his very poisoner, and he marveled at tonight’s sudden turn of events. He had thought he would never see his friend ever again, only to see her return and warn him of peril he could not have seen coming. It gave him a sense of déjà vu, for she had done this very thing weeks ago. The circumstances were different, but the act was the same: She had come to him in a time of great need.

  He again thought that she was unwittingly being used as God’s tool to keep him alive. Or perhaps he had it wrong: Perhaps God was making sure he and Callie stayed together, and it was for a purpose he could not yet fathom.

  Regardless, he didn’t feel like he was under God’s protection anymore. He had been at Death’s door before, but this time was different. He had survived explosions and murderous slave masters, but never had he undergone an assault from within his body, nor had he obliviously placed himself in danger with no chance for escape. The only reason he was still alive now was his slight aversion to booze, and even that hadn’t been enough to keep him completely safe.

  Well, it was probably not his place to question God’s plan nor his methods. He could not claim to know the mind of God or even say that God had a hand in what happened tonight. He should just be grateful he was lucky enough to still be alive, and to have the soothing sound of Callie’s steady breathing next to his ear.

  Thirteen

  Count Guyver traveled to St. Clive and addressed his subjects near the market the following afternoon. He was joined by twenty guardsmen, two advisors, and Callie and Sean. The direct effects of Sean’s poisoning had lessened, allowing him to walk effortlessly. The imaginary hand around his windpipe had a much weaker grip, but he had a slight fever and often went into coughing fits brought on by phlegm. He still felt sleepy even after resting that morning, but he had insisted on joining the count for his speech. The people he had met last night were probably worried about him, and he wanted to reassure them.

  From atop a stage where actors and musicians usually performed, the count related last night’s events. Dio’s body was currently stored in the manor’s barracks, awaiting burial in the cemetery near the northern mountains. Until the body was interred, the count would hold off going to the capital.

  “With Dio’s passing, the honorable position of bronze sentinel shall go to the first runner-up, Marcus Torrelli,” Count Guyver said. “Let us offer him our congratulations.” The audience of around two hundred applauded. Sean followed suit until he began coughing and spat out a wad of mucus. Marcus, a tall man with short dark hair who was of similar build to Dio, respectfully bowed with one hand behind him. The haunted look in his eyes reflected his thoughts: If he had won his last match in the trials, he would be the one now awaiting burial.

  Count Guyver t
hen told of those responsible for the poisonings: Darrel Noors, who had mashed some burkleweed into pulp, and his friend William, the servant who had put the pulp into the drinks. “Both men maintain their innocence, but the evidence is clear: Burkleweed was found in the drinks and on Darrel’s hands, and William is a close friend of Darrel’s who was seen with him the other night in St. Clive. My friends, the killers might have gotten away with it if not for one extraordinary person. She was in the right place at the right time and acted on what she heard. Lady Calista, if you would please, present yourself to me.”

  Sean snapped his gaze onto Callie, who looked as surprised as he was as she headed across the murmuring crowd. She went up the stairs which the count had gestured to and stepped towards him. Sean was afraid she wouldn’t do what she was supposed to—kneel before the count with a lowered head—but fortunately she did. She may be a proud woman who didn’t care much for the peerage, but she was wise in choosing which battles to fight.

  “Lady Calista, if it was not for you, we would have not seen justice done last night,” the count reverently said. “You went above and beyond what is expected of a citizen—and you are not even a citizen of Darin Province. We are most grateful to you.”

  He and the audience applauded again, prompting Callie to glance up with a nervous smile.

  “Lady Calista, allow me to show you my appreciation by offering you retainership to House Guyver. In being a retainer, your hard work shall be rewarded with sustenance and shelter provided by the house. What say you?”

  Sean’s heart skipped a beat as he stifled another cough. He had expected the count to offer a monetary reward, not a retainership. If Callie takes this offer, she’ll never leave the province unless the count does, and she’ll stay close to Sean …

  Oh, but she won’t take it. She valued her independence, and she had plans for living in Asturia. She would never agree to remain in Darin, much less pledge her services to a nobleman.

  But to his surprise, she held off on answering. In fact, she appeared conflicted. Was she actually considering the offer?

  Sean and the entire audience waited on bated breath. To his credit, Count Guyver gave Callie all the time she needed to think, exhibiting a kind of patience that was rare among nobles.

  Callie kept a wrinkled brow as she looked around with her head still lowered, weighing the offer’s pros and cons. In spite of this, Sean still fully expected her to decline; she would then be given a good amount of coin and be back on her way to Asturia.

  Instead, she smoothed her brow upon making her decision and said, “I accept, my Lord Guyver.”

  “Excellent,” the count said, and he placed a hand atop her head. “Now repeat after me …”

  He spoke the words of the Oath of Fealty, and Callie matched him without fault or hesitation. Sean was left more dumbfounded each time Callie spoke, and he wondered whether or not she was pulling some kind of trick. He imagined her suddenly standing up, jumping off the stage, and running away before saying the final words, but his vision never came to pass. She completed the oath then stood when commanded and waved at the politely cheering audience.

  She was guided to a place beside the guards, and the count finished his address with a few inspiring words for his subjects. Sean began coughing again, which made Callie look at him. When their eyes met, she made a smile that was partly warm and partly mischievous, taking pleasure in Sean’s questioning look. He couldn’t guess why she had thrown away her initial plans and given up life as a clanswoman, but he had faith that this wasn’t part of some grand scheme for self-gain.

  Perhaps something had happened to make her reconsider a life on the run, surviving on anything she could steal. Whatever her reason, she was bound to struggle in the huge leap from being a talented thief to an honest working woman.

  Sean slept soundly the rest of the day and intermittently that night. Master Harris gave him a potion that was supposed to help with the cough, but all it did was make his eyes and nostrils uncomfortably dry while doing nothing about the phlegm. He once looked up “burkleweed” in an herbology book; it said the best potion to use was one that had crab eyes for an ingredient, which the alchemy lab didn’t have. It seemed like his only option was to wait for the poison to work its way out of his system.

  At sunrise, Sean’s cough proved persistent, yet he felt up to taking a few lessons from Master Harris. The master obviously wanted to be left alone, and he was too lazy to come up with a curriculum, but he humored Sean by teaching a few tricks that a house mage rarely used.

  They were in the middle of a lesson about altering locusts to make them kill their own kind (a risky spell that could annihilate an entire human community if not done right) when there was a knock on the door. “What? Who is that?” Master Harris crankily asked. “Who in bloody tarnation dares to disturb two mages at work? We could be doing a ritual that’ll blow us into chunklets the moment that door opens! Great leaping piles of shit, who is it!?”

  “I’ll go see who it is!” Sean cried in irritation, and he went to the door. “Yes, who is it?”

  “It’s, uh … it’s me, Callie. I can come later, when you’re done blowing up the house.”

  Sean told the master he’ll only be a minute, then opened the door and entered the hall. “Hi, anything I can do for you?” he said before breaking into a cough.

  Callie made a nervous laugh. “I happened to be inside on an errand, and I wanted to see how you were doing.”

  He smiled weakly. On the way back to the manor yesterday, he had congratulated her, but they otherwise didn’t say much. He felt guilty for not reaching out to her afterward. “Well, I’ve certainly sounded better, but I’m improving.”

  “It might go faster if you ditch the fossil and replace him with someone sane.”

  Sean rolled his eyes to the room, where Master Harris was mumbling something about meddlesome people interfering with his “privilege time.” “You may be right. He’s not teaching me anything useful today.” He sighed. “But he is my master.”

  “I’ll leave you to it, then. Talk to you later.”

  “Actually, it’s a good thing you came. Are you free this evening?”

  “I should be sometime at sundown.”

  “Good. If you’d like … care to join me for dinner?”

  Callie raised an eyebrow. “Dinner? You mean in town?”

  “No, in the banquet hall. I’ll ask the chefs to make something special.”

  “Special? Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

  “Well, I had a feast held in my honor, but the count didn’t plan one for you … so I thought I could do something for you. The only problem is that I’ll do more coughing than talking.”

  Callie stepped back and ran a finger through her hair, genuinely touched. “Thanks, but you don’t have to do anything special just for me …”

  “Mm, very well. Maybe another time.”

  “Oh, dammit, I’m messing this up, aren’t I? Yes, when is a good time?”

  “I’ll come get you at around six or seven if you tell me where you’re staying.”

  “I’m at Olivia’s cottage since her sister’s still mad at me.”

  “I can imagine she is. And where are you working? I may need to find you if things don’t go as planned.”

  She sighed in exasperation. “I’m, uh … I’ll be at one of the barns.”

  “Good. I’ll—”

  “Are you two done yet?” Master Harris cried. “You wanted your lessons, young man; you won’t weasel your way out of them now!”

  “Coming!” Sean replied and shook his head, grimacing.

  “Come to think of it, he reminds me of Giacomo,” Callie said. “Maybe you’re not so bad off here.”

  “One day, I may laugh at that … but not today.”

  Callie laughed in his stead and headed away.

  “Was it an emergenc
y?” Harris asked once Sean closed the door behind him.

  “No, sir.”

  “Then you tell that girl, no more interruptions! If she disrupts an important spell in here, then poison will be the least of your worries!”

  “Yes, sir,” Sean said, as much as he didn’t want to. It wasn’t as if Callie had tried to force the door open, and he and Master Harris hadn’t been doing a spell together. So where was the harm? He suspected Harris would use any excuse to yell at people, just to vent his anger over his own miserable life.

  “No, no makeup.”

  “Oh, come now, a little lip color won’t kill you.”

  “But I’ll be eating.”

  “So you’ll have to learn how to eat without smacking your lips on the food.”

  Callie sighed. She didn’t mind having Olivia fuss over her looks, but she wasn’t sure if dolling herself up was appropriate in this instance. “He’s just a friend who wants to congratulate me on becoming a retainer.”

  “Do you want him to be more than a friend?”

  “No.”

  “Then you should have turned him down. Going to him now will be sending him the wrong message.”

  “I know, but after all we’ve been through together, I couldn’t just turn him down. It’d feel wrong.”

  “And what if he shows interest in you?”

  Callie looked into the vanity mirror atop Olivia’s bedroom dresser, giving herself a blank stare. Whenever Sean’s name came to mind lately, she didn’t know what to think or how to feel. Part of her wished he hadn’t made the invitation; she needed more time to sort herself out. “I’ll just see how it goes.”

  “If you do turn him down, be gentle. Poor boy nearly died; you don’t want to make him suicidal, do you?”