Poison

by Megan Derr

  "I hope so, kitten. Now, I need to finish dressing." He made to reach for a new strip of silk, and Noire gently knocked his hand away. "I need to dress—"

  "Your neck is still severely bruised, and that scratch will not heal properly smothered in fabric. Please, just leave it off. It is not as though anyone else is being terribly proper or formal right now. Stop fussing with your clothes and come eat; your breakfast is getting cold."

  Gael sighed, but then broke down and smiled. "Very well. I could use real food. I have had my fill of tonics and broths."

  Noire laughed and helped him into the sitting room. He piled Gael's porridge high with honey and cream and fixed his tea with plenty of sugar. After Gael was situated, he fixed his own and settled next to Gael to eat.

  "How are the remaining Beasts?" Gael asked.

  "Fine, last I saw them," Noire said. "Ivan and I spent all of yesterday in the city trying to find anyone in need of help. I think anyone who has escaped the rage has fled to the country. I hope they're safer there. The city ..." His eyes stung again, and he impatiently wiped at them.

  Gael reached out and took one of his hands, kissing the back of it. "Do not despair, kitten. If the Triad is what holds the last threads of the country, you are what holds me. As you said only moments ago, we will make it."

  Noire nodded and finally began to eat, trying to focus on nothing except the pleasure found in eating with Gael as though it was something they did every day. Gael looked up from his porridge and smiled, the warmth in his eyes saying that their thoughts were the same. Noire smiled back, forgetting all about food, perfectly content to just sit there staring and smiling.

  A sudden rapping at the connecting door to Etain's suites broke the mood. Noire dropped his gaze to his porridge as the door opened, tensing as he smelled Etain's sickly sweet perfume.

  "Gael," she said softly, and her voice tugged at Noire even as he wanted to avoid her. She walked slowly over to them as though she walked on glass and feared breaking it. Gael rose and accepted her embrace, making Noire's stomach knot, but when she leaned in to kiss him, he avoided it, letting the kiss glance off his cheek instead. The knots eased, and Noire drew a breath, letting it out slowly.

  "How are you feeling?" Etain asked, fussing with Gael's hair. Noire bit back an urge to growl and stabbed his spoon into his porridge.

  Gael withdrew and sat down, motioning for Etain to do the same. "Tired. In pain. Thankfully, our faithful Voice has been caring for me."

  "Yes, he has been steadfast," Etain said, lips pursed. She smiled at him, but Noire did not feel like smiling back. Something about her smiles of late made him nervous—which made him feel guilty. "Thank you for all that you have done, Voice."

  Noire dipped his head. "It's an honor to serve, your majesty. Always." Silence fell after he spoke, and he realized that she was waiting for him to leave. Noire finished his tea and smoothly rose, stepped back, and knelt. "If your majesty and your highness have no further need of me, then I am off to meet with Lord Ivan and return to the city to search for survivors."

  "You may go," Etain said, cutting off what Gael had been about to say.

  Gael frowned at her, then turned back to Noire. "Do not stay overlong. You said a short while ago that the city seems lost. I will not sacrifice one of our last cognizant citizens, our faithful Voice, for people who are probably not there. Return in time to attend me at lunch."

  "Yes, your highness," Noire said. He rose and left, stifling the frisson of anxiety that raced along his skin as he closed the door behind him and left the royal suites.

  When he reached Ailill's suite, he knocked on the door and waited. A couple of minutes later, the door was opened by Ivan. "Good morning, black cat."

  Noire rolled his eyes at the nickname. "I see you slept well."

  Ivan's smirk said sleeping was not necessarily what he'd done, but he had used the bed well. Noire rolled his eyes again and helped himself to the pot of tea still steaming on the table. "How is Ailill?"

  "Tired, and his head aches from the strain of the rage," Ivan replied. "How is his highness?"

  "Getting better," Noire murmured. "I saw her majesty as well."

  Ivan nodded and started to say something but then abruptly closed his mouth and shook his head, as though deciding against something. "Are we still headed back into the city today?"

  "Unless you have other ideas," Noire said, tracing the rim of his teacup, setting down with a soft sigh. "I admit I fear we are now needlessly putting ourselves at risk, but if there is even one person out there who might be saved ... "

  "I agree," Ivan said. "It's not a day anymore if I am not covered in grime from head to foot."

  Noire made a face. "Do not remind me."

  Ivan chuckled and picked up his own teacup, draining it in one long swallow. He set the cup back down with a clatter. "Ailill vanished to the kitchens to see what they needed by way of supplies, and to see if he could find guards willing and able to go with him. Let me go and tell him I am leaving. Shall I meet you in the front hall at say, half past the hour?"

  "That sounds perfect," Noire said and finishing his own tea, stood up as well. "I wanted to speak with Lady Verenne anyway, to see how she was doing. I will meet you at half past the hour."

  They left, parting in the hall. Noire hesitated a moment, uncertain if he would find Verenne with Freddie or in her own chambers, where she retreated to help with running the palace by doing what she could in the way of paperwork: finances, supplies, casualty lists, and far more besides. He finally decided she was likely in her rooms.

  On a normal day, he would pass dozens of people and be waylaid by at least half of them. The emptiness of the halls was hard to take. Triad Palace was not meant to be so devoid of life.

  Reaching Verenne's suit, he knocked on the door. When after a couple of minutes no one answered, he tried again. She must still be with Freddie. Noire turned and made his way slowly back to the royal suites. He knocked on Freddie's door and waited. He was just about to knock a second time to be certain when the door swung open to reveal a Freddie dressed in breeches and bandages and not much else.

  Noire flushed and dropped to one knee. "Your highness, I apologize. I was looking for Lady Verenne."

  Freddie laughed, though it was quiet so as not to cause her more pain. "Oh, stand up. My tits are covered, if only barely. I know you've seen them before anyway. You've just missed Verenne. She went off to her own room. Accuses me of being too whiny and distracting a patient to get anything done here."

  Cold fear sliced through Noire as he rose—and he could see by the way Freddie's eyes widened that she had seen his reaction and followed it. "No—"

  Noire swallowed. "I went to her rooms first. She didn't answer."

  "No!" Freddie screamed.

  Noire turned and ran, heart beating rapidly with fear pounding in his ears. When he reached Verenne's room, he grabbed the door handle—and snarled in frustration when he found the door locked. Shifting to his panther form, he screamed in fury and used his back legs to kick the door in. The door broke, opened, and Noire shoved through into Verenne's room.

  He growled when he saw her lying on the floor, the latest victim of the poison. There were papers scattered all around her, reading glasses nearby where they had clearly fallen off when she hit the floor. Her dressed was wet with spilled water where she had accidentally pulled a vase of flowers down with her when she fell.

  Noire growled at the sweet smell of them and finally shifted back. Throwing the flowers aside, he held her close and squeezed his eyes shut. Three Beasts left. Eleven days until the ceremony.

  What was the point when it seemed like everything had already been lost? He kept trying to believe all could be set to rights again, but that was getting increasingly difficult to believe.

  "Oh, Sacred Oak, Verenne ... "

  Noire turned and stared at Freddie—and jumped up in alarm to see that blood had soaked through her bandages. And she was still not wearing a shirt. "Highnes
s!" He stripped off his own jacket and gave it to her, scowling and forcing her arms into the sleeves when she ignored him. He barely had it on before she surged forward and dropped to her knees on the floor beside Verenne. Tears streamed down her face as she cradled Verenne in her arms.

  Feeling like an intruder, Noire packed out of the room and did his best to close the broken door. Footsteps drew his attention, and he frowned. "You shouldn't be out! Freddie should not be out! What will it take to make you two stay still long enough to heal properly?"

  Gael shook his head, hair long and loose all around him. Any other day, it would have been horribly distracting. Right then, it just drove home all over again how skewed everything had become. "I will not lie about when another of my Beasts has fallen. Any clues at all?"

  "No, it seems exactly like all the rest," Noire said. "Poor Freddie ... "

  Gael's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

  Noire stepped closer, needing suddenly to touch Gael, and he did not care about the risks. He rested his head against Gael's chest, for just a moment, then lifted it and said, "Freddie and Verenne are like you and I."

  "What?" Gael asked, mouth gaping. "How—" He broke off, shook his head. "I'll attend Freddie. Best you go for now, kitten, because I think, on top of everything else, this will lead to a discussion that I have been avoiding. Be careful. I love you."

  "I love you, too," Noire said softly and obediently slipped away.

  Downstairs, he waited in the great hall for Ivan. He busied himself scooping up papers and piling them back on the desks, though he knew there was little point to it all.

  Would anything ever be the same? What would happen to Verde if the ceremony failed? Had all the previous ceremonies been preceded by so much destruction? Question after question buzzed around in his mind until he finally had to shut them all away or risk his mild headache bursting into one much worse.

  "Sorry to take so long," Ivan called out, and Noire turned toward him. Ivan's smile faded. "What's wrong?"

  "I just found the White Bat," Noire said.

  Ivan's mouth tightened. "I see. Three Beasts left and too many days to go. If it is all the same to you, Noire, I am going to stay with Ailill. He has ordered me not to do any such thing, but I cannot focus on my battles when I am so worried."

  Noire nodded and waved him off. "Go. You should stay with him. We ... we don't know what these last days will bring. Best to appreciate the time we have."

  "Yes," Ivan said and gripped his shoulder, then turned and left.

  Noire went outside and stood on the steps, looking out across the drawbridge at the burned and ruined city on the other side. Eleven days left until their chance to restore the Lost Gods finally arrived.

  What would they do if the ceremony failed yet again? The country could not endure more death, more destruction. It desperately needed its gods of life, but Noire could not see how the ruin all around him could accomplish what the previous nine hundred years of trying could not.

  Turning away from it, he returned to the palace and headed for Gael's rooms, desperate to spend whatever time he could with the lover he was days away from possibly losing forever.

  Chapter Thirteen: Heart of Shadow

  The Sacred Oak had more life to it than the last time Ailill had seen it. It was petrified in places, but very much alive in others. The branches were still bare, but he knew they would stay that way unless the ceremony was successful.

  All the countries, all the gods, had temples that were the heart of their contribution to the world, their power and element. The Temple of the Three Storms, the Cathedral of Sacred Fires, the Temple of Solace, and the Sanctuary of the Oak. The Sanctuary was where the gods rejuvenated the world, kept life going. He wondered how much longer the world would last without the gods of life if the ceremony failed yet again.

  He was wasting his time checking over his fellows, but he no longer knew what else to do. What he was looking for. If any clues had been in the rooms of the latest victims, they were gone by the time he got to them.

  Nine days until the ceremony. It seemed entirely too much time for so many things still to go wrong. How many days did he have left? Why was the assailant poisoning them so slowly? So erratically? Would it not have been easier to take them all at once?

  But no, that might have slayed thousands of people outright. So many Beasts lost at once ... Ailill shuddered to think of the devastation. He gave Lyall one last glance, then rose and brushed grass from his clothes.

  He headed toward the entrance, but stopped when the doors opened and Freddie walked in—and he had never seen Freddie in such awful condition. She wore only breeches, boots, and a shirt, the laces of which were barely drawn enough to retain modesty. Her hair was disheveled and slightly longer than she normally kept it. There were shadows under her eyes, made all the worse by the paleness of her skin.

  Her eyes looked haunted, tormented by thoughts she could not outpace. "White Panther," she greeted tiredly. "Visiting your companions? I do not suppose anything new has come to light?"

  "No, your highness, I am sorry. I fear now I am only counting down the hours until I must face the same."

  Freddie's face twisted with pain and shame. "The apology is mine, White Panther. I feel the problem is mine—the Triad's—to fix, but I swear I cannot come upon a solution. We were so hopeful that the ceremony would succeed this time, especially with news that the gods have returned in Kundou, Pozhar, and Piedre, but already the Beasts fall ... and I wonder if this is how it happened every time. But never are records kept, or if they are kept, they are lost before we can hide them safely away."

  Ailill felt something crawling along the back of his neck. "What do you mean?"

  Bitterness curved Freddie's mouth into a sour smile. "What is the point in keeping the secret now? We did it for the good of everyone, but there seems no point in that now. We retain no history of the previous Tragedies, and some say that is because the lack of knowledge is itself part of the Tragedy. But the Triad does know that should the ceremony fail, the Beasts will die as well. We don't know the reason why, save that their part in the ceremony must cost them when it fails. But it's not supposed to be like this, I would vow it ..." She swept her arm to indicate the sleeping Beasts, laid out like the numbers on a clock around the tree.

  Only the spaces for eight, ten, and eleven o'clock remained empty. Ailill wondered which was the hour of his fall and thought he knew. "So we were going to die, no matter what, if the ceremony failed. To lose the Triad and the Beasts all at once ... I can understand why you never said anything. I think we had the right to know, but I understand."

  Freddie nodded once, slowly, in gratitude, then strode off to where Verenne was laid out at the seventh hour. She knelt and touched Verenne's cheek, brushed back her hair. The vines and flowers twined around Verenne, sustaining and protecting her, reached for Freddie. They twined around her fingers and her hand before Freddie chuckled softly and shook them off.

  Ailill left, feeling as though he was intruding, wondering if he had interpreted that little scene correctly, or if his imagination was getting carried away.

  He slowly made his way back to his suite. A few weeks ago, if someone had told him he would miss his ridiculous, overabundant townhouse, he would have laughed. Right then, he would have given anything to know he still had a home. The last time he had been out in the city—or what remained of it—his house had been a pile of rubble.

  Even if the ceremony succeeded, it would take years to rebuild everything. If the ceremony failed ...

  Ailill pushed the depressing thought aside and slipped into his rooms. Ivan looked up from tending his sword and smiled warmly. All the knots in Ailill's gut eased; the problems never went away, but they were easier to face with Ivan. "Going out again?" he asked.

  "No, just want to be prepared," Ivan replied and set his sword aside. He stood up and met Ailill halfway, sliding his arms around Ailill's waist and taking his mouth. "How are the others?"

 
"Still asleep," Ailill said with a sigh. "I wish I could figure out who is behind it. There are so few left now, it seems like the answer should be obvious. At the very least, I should have a list of suspects—but I have nothing." He leaned into Ivan, soaking up his warmth and strength. If he did not know better, he would swear the children of Pozhar simply ran hotter. "I think I am going to be the last to fall," he said quietly.

  Ivan tensed. "You're not going to fall."

  Ailill drew back enough to look at him and kissed him briefly before saying, "Yes, I am. Only three Beasts remain, and we are no closer to figuring out the culprit. The Beasts fall in order of power, from strongest to weakest. All my years abroad mean my abilities are not as honed as those of my fellows. I am the weakest, and so I will be the last to go."

  "I'm not just accepting that," Ivan snapped. "Why are you giving up? Don't you care—"

  "Of course I care," Ailill cut in. "I don't want to be poisoned. I don't want to go to sleep with the knowledge that I may never wake up again. I want to live. I want to see the ceremony succeed. I want to see Verde come back to life and all this horror of the past weeks turn into history. I want—"

  He wanted to go with Ivan, wanted to stop being a White Beast and just be Ailill. But if the ceremony worked, how could he leave his country behind to rebuild without him? He might not want to be a Beast, but he was and he could not ignore his responsibilities. "I want to live, Vanya. But I also know when to accept something. The poison will get me the same way it's taken the others."

  "It still sounds like giving up."

  Ailill shrugged. "I do not seeing it as giving up. I am going to fall, that is all there is to it. But I can accept it because I know that you'll catch me and pull me back."

  The lines of anger in Ivan's face smoothed away, and he smiled. "I still do not like it, but yes, of course. I will always catch you." Ivan traced Ailill's lips with his thumb and drew him back down into anther kiss. It was slow, easy, almost fragile; Ailill was half-afraid that if he moved too suddenly or spoke, something would break.