by Ava Sinclair
“And he doesn’t suspect us?” she asked.
“How could he? He had no way of knowing that Sal has been giving us information to use against them. So far as Xander is concerned, Avin’s accusations are borne of delusion.” Lord Reginald laughed. “Just one look at his expression in the hall tonight and I knew all had gone to plan. Now, the king may yet ask if you had the necklace. If he does, what will be your reply?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Lady Fleur mimicked concerned indignation. “The poor dear. Why would she say such a thing when I’ve only seen her once, and that was when she was tied up with the dogs!”
“Very good, my dear. Very good.”
Cynric peeked from around a pillar. He could see Lord Reginald clap his hands and rub them together.
“With no proof to back up the wretched bitch’s claims, combined with your steadiness and popularity, we’ll soon have Xander brought to heel. It will be impossible for him to deny the benefits of marriage to a calm young woman of good breeding who grows more popular by the day with his people. And we shall make sure that Sal chips hints regularly at the king’s love for you. We’ll drive her mad.”
Lady Fleur smiled. “It’s going to happen, isn’t it? Soon I will be queen.”
Lord Reginald grew quiet. “You will be. I’ll see to that. And once you are, I’ll arrange Avin’s death one way or the other. But first, there is one other obstacle to my plan that is soon to be eliminated.”
“Queen Fleur of Windbourne. It has a lovely ring, does it not?” Lord Reginald stepped closer to the young woman. “And we both know how busy your husband will be, managing a realm and two castles. And how distracted.” He pulled her to him and squeezed her breast. “As a good father, I’ll be there to help Xander fulfill his duties. In every way.” His hand moved to her breast, groping as the young woman laughed.
The usually calm Cynric’s heart was racing. Even in his most cynical moments, he could not have foreseen this.
He needed to tell the king, but his hands were shaking, and such news needed to be delivered calmly. Cynric waited quietly until the couple had left, standing in the dark to make sure they were one before heading to his room. He usually had his evening glass of wine before bed, but tonight he would make an exception.
As always, a servant had brought a jug and a cup. He could smell the wine as he lifted it. It was some of the fine vintage from the feast. Good. It would steady him, for what must be done. He poured a glass and downed a large gulp. The wine was full-bodied, the best of the Ravenscroft vintage. He took another.
At first he thought the chill he felt was from a draft. But then came the tingling in his throat, and the numbness that began to creep from his hands up to his shoulders.
The passing servant Cynric bowled over as he stumbled into the hall looked almost as terrified as the advisor felt. Cynric grabbed his arm as he fell, remembering with sudden dread the words of Lord Reginald.
“…there is one other obstacle to my plan that is soon to be eliminated.”
How could he have been so blind? He was that obstacle. Lord Reginald knew Cynric’s loyalties lay with the king. He was grooming Lady Fleur to be his confidant, and eliminating the Gawens’ trusted advisor.
There was only one small glimmer of hope, but it now hung on the servant he clutched. As Cynric’s vision blurred, he uttered a message he hoped Xander would understand. His life, and perhaps the kingdom, depended on it.
“The king,” Cynric said, his voice barely above a strangled whisper, his terrified eyes meeting the servant’s frightened ones. “Get… the… king… Tell him… Avin… Need… Avin…”
Chapter Sixteen
When the guard came for Avin, her first instinct was to refuse. It would be the second time this evening that she’d been brought from her room. But she knew there was no use to fight; had not the Gawens proven they could do with her as they wished?
She wondered if she was being taken back to the tower, or maybe the dungeon. She was surprised when she rounded the corner of a hallway in the adjacent wing to hers to see Xander standing there, looking stricken.
He walked over to her as soon as she was delivered to him, then barked at guards to leave. They left.
Avin stood in silence before him.
“Cynric,” he said, breaking that silence.
“What about him?” she asked coldly.
“He’s dying.”
This was not expected. Avin stared up at Xander. The advisor had been kind to her. But so had this lying man who’d pretended to love her.
“Why should I care?”
“Because the last word he uttered was your name.” Xander moved close, so close that they were almost touching. His voice was low now. “I do not know what has happened. I do not know why you said the things you said today. I only know that my advisor is close to death, and I believe both things are related. And I believe if Cynric asked for you with his last able breath, it was for a reason.”
Avin started to refuse, but found herself heeding the healer within, even as she wondered at the futility of going to see this dying man. Xander did not pull her along, but turned to walk ahead of her without looking back. His stride was long and purposeful, his back broad. Avin knew that she could turn and run, could disappear down the corridors of this castle she knew better than anyone else, could hide and eventually escape. She realized he knew it, too, but he was trusting her to stay behind him, and so she did.
The physician was in Cynric’s chamber when they arrived.
“Is he…?” Xander choked out the question.
“He still breathes, but barely.” The physician who’d examined Avin was there, looking frustrated and distressed. That look turned to confusion when he realized the king’s captive slave was approaching the advisor’s bedside, but she did not linger on either man, turning instead to the one on the bed.
She leaned over, studying Cynric’s skin, noting that it was mottled and clammy to the touch. Sweat beaded on his brow and his upper lip. His eyes were closed, but twitched behind his lids. Avin leaned closer. There was something about him… something unnatural about his state. She put her nose to within an inch of his mouth, and felt her heart quicken.
She looked up.
“Poisoned.”
The king rushed to her side.
“How do you know?”
“I smell it,” she said. “Do you? The odor of sweetness?”
Xander leaned forward. “Yes,” he said. “But he had wine.”
“No, no,” she said. “This is a different kind of sweetness, undetectable to most. But I know it well. It’s baneflower.” She turned to the king. “We need wortroot, and quickly.”
“Wortroot?” The physician stepped forward. “That he’s been poisoned, I have no doubt. But wortroot? That is a hag’s treatment. This man needs to be bled.”
“Baneflower thins the blood,” Avin said knowingly. “Bleeding will only hasten his death.” She turned back to the king. “Do you remember when I went into the ash groves of Ravenswood? It’s where I found wortroot. There’s an ash grove by the river here in Windbourne. I will need to go. I know this plant; I must fetch it. Anyone else may bring the wrong one.”
“We will go together,” he said.
Xander stationed his most trusted guards at the entrance to his advisor’s room. They were in a race against time, and Avin led the way now, using a secret passage out of the castle that allowed them to depart undetected through a tunnel to the stables where Xander hastily saddled their horses.
The moon was high over the lane they took, and as they rode Avin knew she could easily slip into one of the well-trod side paths so unfamiliar to her king and be rid of him, of his spiteful father, of Lady Fleur, of the whole of Windbourne. But she stayed on the path, Xander pushing his mount as Avin pressed her horse ahead of his.
And there it was, the patch of woods she sought. Avin hauled her horse up harshly, dismounting before the animal had come to a complete stop.
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“Avin, wait!” She could hear his voice, and a memory surfaced of happier times when she’d run from him in search of herbs. But the stakes were not urgent then, and she knew her ignoring him this time would be excused.
The moon was waning, but still cast enough light for her to see the telltale heart-shaped leaves of the plant whose root she needed to save the advisor’s life.
“Your knife!” she called, holding out her hand. A moment later, the king was at her side, pressing the blade trustingly into her slender white hand. Avin had sunk down into the moist dirt at the base of the tree, not caring that she was getting soiled as she extracted the root.
Avin said nothing as she clutched the root and ran back to her horse and mounted gracefully. Pushing the mare to a gallop, she prayed there would be time to save Cynric.
She would need a bowl, a mortar and pestle, and hot water. When they arrived back at the castle, the physician already had most of what she needed. He told her that Cynric had vomited several times.
“Good,” Avin said. “His body is telling him to be rid of it.”
“He’s very weak.” Xander was by his bedside when she turned with the bowl of cooling antidote. Both men moved aside as she took a seat at the side of Cynric’s bed, blowing on the mixture until it was cool. Once it was, she positioned the advisor’s head between two pillows so she could spoon the infusion into his mouth.
It went painstakingly slow, but bit by bit, Cynric swallowed. Xander sat on the bedside, watching with Avin as the portly man’s color slowly returned and his eyelids fluttered to consciousness.
The antidote worked quickly. Avin looked up to see relief flooding the king’s face when it became clear that he was recovering.
“Can he speak?” he asked.
Avin leaned over. “Cynric,” she asked. “Can you talk? If you can, try.”
The first two words he spoke were addressed to Avin. “Thank you,” he said weakly. “I knew, my dear, as soon as I fell that only you could save me.” Then he looked at Xander. “I know who did this,” he said. “And I know why.”
Chapter Seventeen
The king was gone again, leaving Avin alone with Cynric. The advisor was sitting up on his own now, finishing a cup of broth with the help of the deposed queen.
“He loves you, my dear. He never stopped.”
“Cynric, don’t…”
“He does. And if I know this man he’s gone to set wrong to right even as we speak.”
“He should,” Avin said. “Poisoning a man is a crime.”
Cynric chuckled. “Oh, it is. But I believe there is a score he settles equal to what was done to me.” He paused. “I know about the necklace. I followed Lord Reginald and Lady Fleur after the feast tonight. I caught them alone. It seems your trusted maid has been relaying your conversations. Xander did not give her that necklace; his father did. But they wanted you to think it was a gift from the king. They wanted to break you.”
Avin put her face in her hands. “And I believed the worst.” A tear slipped from her eye as she looked back up. “How could I have been so easily misled?”
“He was easily misled once, and like you chose to think the worst despite knowing in his heart that it could not be so. It is human to err.”
Avin wiped away a tear. “All these misjudgments,” she said. “And now all is ruined. He is king and I am still a slave at the end of the day.”
“This is true,” the advisor said. “You are no longer a queen. And yes, you are a slave. But it is not impossible for a slave to rise above her station.” He cast her a sly grin. “I was a slave once, you know.”
She looked at him, surprise on her pretty face. “You were?”
“Oh, yes,” Cynric revealed. “Purchased from parents who couldn’t feed me by a wealthy white-haired merchant who knew what I was before I did. To his credit, he waited until I was old enough to consent before taking me as a lover. From him I learned how to make money, and what mistakes lead to its loss. He died in debt, and I became payment on that debt to another man, a cruel man, who beat me, among other things. But I bore up—oh, yes, I did—and I learned from him how to find information on friends and enemies alike. He was good at it, but not good enough. He was eventually slain, but by then I knew all the secrets he did, and was able to parlay my knowledge into freedom. People will give you anything you wish to keep from being exposed. The trick with information is to avoid being killed before you use it, as you well know. We all have our gifts. Mine are cunning and patience. Yours is strength. You are the strongest woman I have ever met, and you have inspired your king to be the leader he was born to be, at long last.”
“To what end?” asked Avin.
“I’m an advisor, not a fortune teller,” he said. “All I can tell you is to hang on, and take heart. You have more than your measure of that, my dear.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Everything you are, you owe to me. To me! I made you king! I did!”
Flecks of spittle flew from the mouth of the enraged Lord Reginald as he faced his son, and he reached out a wildly grasping hand. But he could not touch the king. Dungeon bars prevented that.
In the adjoining cell, three women sat softly sobbing. Lady Fleur, her lady-in-waiting, and the faithless Sal had all been imprisoned less than an hour after the king’s father was dragged, kicking and cursing, to the dungeon.
Xander eyed the older man, wondering why he didn’t feel more remorse. This was his father, after all.
“You’re right, Father,” he said. “I would not be on the throne without you. But without me, you’d not be this close to it. And isn’t that what you wanted all along? To rule through me?”
Lord Reginald’s face reddened. “It’s that bitch. She’s the one turning you against me.”
Xander shook his head. “That bitch, as you call her, is the reason your head won’t be on a pike come tomorrow. As it stands now, you’ve been charged with just poisoning, rather than murder. If you wanted to run the kingdom, you should have put yourself on the throne,” Xander said. “But you knew that wealth and scheming weren’t enough. Say what you want about your contribution, Father. You could not have done it without me. It took an army, and bloodshed, to take Windbourne. It took bravery. But you were never good at that, were you? Lies. Poisoning. Those are a coward’s tools. The realm deserves better than a coward. I’ll not have one in my house.”
It had not been difficult to extract the truth. On Cynric’s advice, Xander had first confronted Sal, the maidservant he’d trusted to care for Avin. Terrified, Sal had told him how Lord Reginald had enlisted her to eavesdrop through the walls of the tower. She’d told the old lord everything, from the king’s sexual liaisons with the queen to the conversation they’d had about the necklace.
It had also been Lord Reginald who’d ordered Sal to fetch the tincture of baneflower from the apothecary. Both Xander’s father and Lady Fleur tried to pin the actual poisoning on the maid, who had tearfully denied it. She had, she swore, given the bottle to the old lord as he sat in an alcove talking to Lady Fleur.
Xander did not doubt this. Sal did not have access to the wine, and another maid reported seeing an odd sight prior to Cynric’s poisoning—Lady Fleur’s lady-in-waiting walking through the upper halls with a tray holding a tankard of wine. She’d thought perhaps the wine had been for Lady Fleur, but later in the dining hall she’d seen the young woman making merry with the other guests. Still, she thought no more of it until questioned.
Now Xander was faced with a hard decision. His father had tried to kill the trusted advisor, and had colluded to put his beautiful young lover on the throne as queen.
“You’re making a mistake.” From the adjoining cell, Lady Fleur’s voice seethed with indignation. “My father is a man of wealth. He sent me here expecting me to become queen!”
“I’m sure Lord Breton did not instruct you to pave the way to the throne with lies and poison, Lady Fleur,” Xander replied. “You both stand to be charged with treas
on. That’s just what I intend to do.”
“You can’t! You won’t!” Lady Fleur reached through the bars, clawing desperately at the king. “My father will rise up against you!”
“With what? The army he doesn’t have?” He looked back at Lord Reginald. “Even my father will tell you that it takes more than money to conquer a kingdom. And Lord Breton is too smart to rally forces to defend a treasonous daughter.”
Xander decided the time had come to divulge the information he’d been waiting to deliver to them both. “Your lady-in-waiting has been questioned, Lady Fleur. She admits to taking the wine to Cynric’s room at your request. She also admits to receiving the necklace from my father and then returning it to him after your visit to Avin. You are a liar who tried to deceive a king, and I believe a medical examination by the Breton physician—which I will advise your father to conduct should I allow you to live—will reveal you to be something other than the virgin you claim to be. So tell me again why a man like your father—a man seeking powerful connections—would risk those in defense of a daughter no decent man would want?”
The beautiful face on the other side of the bars was twisted in rage as the king leveled the same taunt she’d had used against Avin.
“You’ll rue the day you overlooked me for a faithless woman,” Lady Fleur spat.
“She’s right.” Lord Reginald was shaking with rage as he spoke. “Avin of Windbourne has cast a spell on you! She’s made you weak!”
Xander shook his head. “You’re wrong, Father. Avin made me strong. In fact, I don’t think I really understood the nature of true power until I watched her submit to me, until I exercised the true strength it took to earn that submission. It took more strength for her to yield to my will than it’s ever taken for you to force yours on others.”
Their protests trailed Xander as he turned his back on them.
