Poison

by Megan Derr

  Noire laughed, sad and tired. "Haven't you noticed? Sadly, it took me nearly as long to figure it out. Everyone unaffected by the rage is a filthy half-breed. Harder to pick out the ones who are half-Pozhar or half-Kundou, but they're there. We fall under the Faerie Queen's influence, but not as absolutely, I think."

  "Mmm," Ivan said. "We need to figure out how to get back into the palace. The ceremony is in three days. I think if we do not tell everyone what we know and find a way to make them believe us, then the Tragedy will come to pass yet again."

  "I don't know how else to get in," Noire said. "The drawbridge really is the only way."

  "There is always another way," Ivan said. "Did I tell you that I have a castle? It's a relic from the sorcerer days like the palace, but not nearly as impressive. Very drafty, it took us most of a year to make it bearable. Anyway, it has a moat. Nothing as dramatic as yours. It's just a very big, very deep hole. Once, they drove in wooden spikes to impale the poor bastards who fell in. Now, it's just a hole. But my point is that the castle has a way down to the moat, a hidden door. How else were they able to get rid of bodies and replace the spikes and all? There is always a way. What is the source of the water?"

  Noire looked at him in surprise. "The ocean, of course. It comes in under the city; I'm surprised you have not seen the canals that cut through the city."

  "Haven't explored the city much," Ivan said. "So it's essentially piped to the palace?"

  "Yes, it reaches the palace on the west side and rushes around it, spilling back out on the east side and going back to the ocean. It's a marvel because there are all manner of contraptions to keep out fish and such. Every now and then, there is flooding, but the city engineers have fine-tuned everything over the years. I can't believe you did not know all this."

  Ivan laughed. "I've had other things on my mind; city engineering was not as interesting. I say we lay low for tonight, see if anyone else tries to come after us. Tomorrow we will sneak back to the palace and see if we can figure out another way in. There should be an access point, if only for maintenance purposes. We find that, we get back into the palace, and we will show the Faerie Queen why she should have done the deed herself instead of trusting others to do it for her."

  Noire nodded and prayed silently for Gael to hold on until he got back.

  Chapter Sixteen: The White Panther

  Ailill stared at the lost drawbridge, worry a heavy weight in his stomach. He had not seen Ivan all day, and the night was quickly rushing by. It was not like Ivan to vanish without a word. He knew Ailill was down in the kitchens and storerooms all day, and he always found him to say goodbye before he went anywhere.

  They were supposed to be having dinner together, just the two of them. The ceremony was just over two days away and it was a miracle that Ailill was not yet with his fellows. So where was Ivan? "Vanya, what are you doing?" he asked no one. What if Ivan had gone into the city, and could not get back because of the drawbridge?

  Who or what had burned down the bridge, anyway? What purpose did that serve? Had the intent been to trap them all inside?

  Ailill shook his head, tired of questions that had no answers. Right then, the only question that mattered to him was: where was Ivan?

  He stared down at the churning water of the moat below, occasionally catching glimpses of the fish that managed to get through the safeties meant to prevent it. The sound of footsteps drew him, and Ailill turned to see Freddie walking toward him. She swore loudly. "What happened to the bloody bridge? Who is responsible for this?"

  "I don't know," Ailill said. "I was working in the vegetable gardens with a few of the others when someone came to tell me about it. She was discreet about it, thankfully. I was going to come and find you and Gael in a moment, but I knew you were speaking with Etain and it's not like we can undo this ... I don't understand how someone managed to burn down the drawbridge without anyone noticing. You can practically fit a house on the bloody thing."

  Freddie said nothing, merely crouched to look more closely at what remained of the drawbridge, the places where it had burned and broken. "It must have been an exceptionally hot fire to burn so quickly. How did no one notice the smoke?"

  Ailill just shook his head.

  "I've reached out to Etain and Gael," Freddie said, standing up and brushing off her hands. "They should be here shortly. I don't know what we're going to do; rebuilding it will take resources we do not have."

  "Hopefully we'll last until after the ceremony. It's more or less two days away," Ailill said, trying not to think about the fact that he was still very much awake. Was he not going to be poisoned after all?

  They both turned when they heard footsteps, and Gael, Etain, and a half dozen or so other people come out of the palace and walk across the pavilion to join them.

  "What happened here?" Gael demanded. "How did it happen? Who burned down the bridge?"

  "I don't know," Ailill said. "One of the servants saw it and came to get me. I was on my way to get you when Freddie showed up. Whatever happened, it happened quickly."

  Gael shook his head. "But the bridge is enormous! It's as thick as a man is tall and wide enough to fit a modest townhouse! Long enough to fit several. And if the pieces fell into the moat, they should have jammed it up. But everything is gone. Even a fire child of impressive talent would not be able to burn down such an enormous bridge so quickly! I don't—" He cried out and gripped his head.

  "You must calm down, Gael," Etain soothed, lightly touching his arm. Her soft, sweet voice relaxed him, though he still looked strained as he stared at the scorched and broken remains of the bridge.

  "So we're trapped here," Gael said. "I hope nobody was in the city when it happened."

  Ailill felt sick. "I'm worried Ivan was," he said quietly. "He usually tells me when he's going out, but if he had reason to go suddenly ... and I cannot find him anywhere in the palace."

  "I can go out and look for him," Freddie said promptly. "But it does seem strange he would go without leaving word. If nothing else, he would have gotten Noire. Don't they always go into the city together? Where is Noire?"

  Gael went still—too still. "I don't know," he said quietly. "Normally this time of night he is my rooms with dinner. We've been so busy preparing for the ceremony and everything, I just assumed he was busy elsewhere. But I can't feel him. Etain, can you?"

  Etain closed her eyes, and Ailill could feel the soft brush of her mind, her power, as she reached out to all of her children. "No," she finally whispered, colorful eyes dark and sad as she looked at them. "I cannot feel Noire, nor the presence of Lord Ivan. I am sorry." She blinked back tears and bowed her head. "I admit I have lost all affection for the Voice in recent days, but I would never truly wish his demise."

  Pain tore through Ailill's body. "No. You can't mean that. He can't—they can't— No!" he screamed. "Vanya isn't dead!"

  "I'm sorry," Etain repeated.

  Ailill started to say more, but he was drowned out by the scream of agony that tore out of Gael. "No!" Gael bellowed. "I will find him. He's out there somewhere, and I'm not going to rest until I find him or see his body for myself. I always find his body! The nightmares wouldn't lie! He isn't dead! I will swim if I must!" He charged toward the edge, and snarling when Freddie tried to stop him. "Let me go!"

  "Stop, Gael," Freddie said, voice trembling with tears. "He's gone. You did your best!"

  "No!" Gael screamed, and the sound tore Ailill apart because he felt every fiber of Gael's agony, his heartbreak.

  Ivan was dead. Ailill hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye—mercy of the Oak, he was the one who was supposed to be close to death. Nowhere did it say that Ivan would die. "Vanya," he said quietly, closing his eyes and covering his ears to try to block out the awful sounds of Gael's mindless, raging grief.

  He jerked at the sound of flesh striking flesh and stared numbly at the blood pouring from Freddie's nose. "Let me go!" Gael snarled.

  Freddie just looked at him before she bu
rst forward and punched Gael, then struck him over the back of the head and caught him before he hit the ground. "When is it going to be enough?" she asked, tears falling to join the blood on her face. It dripped down, smearing along her throat, covering her clothes, and dripping onto Gael. Against all the white, the blood was horrifically bright and sharp.

  Ailill couldn't stand it. He stood, unable to move, and watched as Freddie carried Gael back into the palace, Etain at her side. The others scattered like startled mice, leaving Ailill alone on the bridge.

  He sank to his knees, then sat down completely and buried his face in his hands.

  Vanya was dead. Ailill was never going to see him again. But why had Ivan gone out? That was the part that troubled him the most. Ivan always told him, and not because they were lovers. He always told Ailill where he was going because he was smart, careful. He had not spent most of his life as the head of a band of mercenaries because he was an idiot. Ivan and his men were good because they were a solid team; they always knew where to find each other and what they all were up to. They kept track so they would know sooner that something was wrong.

  It wasn't like Ivan simply to vanish. The only other time he had was when the city first started succumbing to rage. He'd had good reason, then. But why now? What had happened? How had he and Noire both …

  Noire. A fresh wave of grief drowned Ailill. An old friend regained, a young man with so much life left to live, someone strong enough to be the Unicorn's lover—and so happy.

  Gone.

  What was the point of it all when, at the end of the ceremony, there would still be so many dead? Even if it worked and the gods were restored and the Beasts saved, thousands of others would never return. It would take years to rebuild the city and the palace. It would take lifetimes to regain the trust of the people.

  A century, to erase everything and set it on the proper path once more.

  The words were soft in his head, but cold, like an enemy leaning close from behind to whisper threats in his ear. Ailill began to shake, not liking the voice, the words, or what they seemed to indicate.

  Where had they come from?

  His head began to throb, first at the temples, then moving to encompass the whole.

  What have you done?

  It's your fault.

  You killed them.

  No, you killed them!

  Ailill felt scared, cold. He shoved the unwelcome thoughts—memories, he suspected—away and slowly stood up. He could not deal with it, with anything. It all seemed pointless when Vanya was gone. Ailill tried to think, tried to distract himself, but it was impossible. They hadn't made plans yet, but Ailill had stupidly hoped that maybe Ivan would stay with him a while longer. Help to get Verde back on its feet, and they could return to Pozhar ...

  Oh, Sacred Oak. Ailill buried his face in his hands again when he realized he would have to tell Ivan's men. They deserved to know, to be told directly by him—not to have to go in search of him and learn the hard way.

  Feeling more wretched than ever, Ailill dragged himself to his feet, but he could not quite turn away. He stared out over the moat at the city beyond. It seemed an unworthy death for Ivan, slain by beasts lost to a mindless rage. All the fights Ivan had won, all the jobs and adventures he'd survived, it didn't seem fair that he died far from home and because of a battle that had never been his to fight.

  Ailill knew, on some level, that it wasn't his fault. But he also knew knowing that was not enough to convince himself. Ivan had come to see him, had stayed for him ... and Ivan was dead.

  Finally tearing away before he did something stupid, Ailill trekked back into the palace and up to his room. He almost couldn't bear to go inside it, especially when he saw Ivan's leather armor still lying on the table waiting to be cleaned. His clothes were piled haphazardly around the bedroom because they never seemed capable of putting it all neatly away.

  Ivan's scent, the smell of sex, lingered in the sheets. It was far too much for Ailill to take. He went back out into the sitting room and dropped down onto the couch and stared up blindly at the ceiling as he started to cry.

  What was he supposed to do without Ivan? He'd always prided himself on his independence, that he could manage quite happily on his own. But the thought of spending the rest of his life—whether it lasted mere days or many decades—suddenly seemed unbearable. He didn't want to live without Ivan.

  "I won't live without you. You're mine! If I can't have you, no one will!"

  "Don't do this!"

  "I'm doing what's best for you—what's best for us. We are the Triad, we're meant always to be together. You've just forgotten. You've been distracted by those harlots. But I'll fix it. I'll take it all away and help you remember the way it should be. When you come back, you'll come back to me. You'll stay with me. Everything will be perfect again."

  "Holy Queen, don't!

  Ailill gasped and jerked, crying out in pain as he saw it all. The memories rushed through him like water through cracked glass, slowly at first, but then the glass shattered and threatened to drown him in memories.

  The world had not yet fallen apart, then. Alarming rumbles had resonated from Piedre, but nothing ominous. The skies were cloudy, but not black the way they would turn shortly.

  He'd been the first to enter the Sanctuary, there to attend as an honor guard while the Faerie Queen and Guardians poured life into the Sacred Oak, poured it into the world.

  He had walked in to a nightmare—just in time to see the Faerie Queen kill the Unicorn and Pegasus. The blood went everywhere and her screams of rage, the madness in her eyes, were carved into his mind.

  "Holy Queen, don't!" he begged.

  She turned on him, the knife she'd used caked in blood and gore, white dress soaked crimson. Still more bathed her arms, splashed her face and throat. He stood there, too horrified to move—and then it was too late, as she took his mind and bent him to her will.

  He had thought he was going to die, and he did eventually, but right then she only kept him from moving and laid him down a few paces from the tree. As the rest of his fellow Beasts appeared, one by one, save for the Hawk and the Owl who arrived together, she did to them what she'd done to him.

  He felt it when she delved back into him, took his power, his life energy, and used it to seal everything within the Sacred Oak. She bound them to it to make her control of them so absolute it would carry through all their reincarnations. She started with the weakest and worked her way around to the strongest, using their power to lock away all knowledge of her evil deeds. And as the spell slowly did its work, he felt his life leech away.

  Tears pricked his eyes, trailed down the sides of his face, but though he tried, he could not move.

  Then he heard it—the softest groan. Heard the Faerie Queen gasp, saw the Unicorn rise. He would not live much longer, but he lived long enough.

  By the time the Faerie Queen reached the Unicorn, it was too late to undo the way he had stolen her spell and managed to change it just enough, binding the souls of the Beasts to the Sacred Oak as the keys.

  Instead of stealing their power, their memories, and destroying them, she would need them if she ever hoped again to access the power of the Oak.

  And as she knelt to drive her knife into his stomach one last time, the Pegasus grabbed her from behind and shoved a dagger into her side. All three died there, a tangled, bloody heap in the Sanctuary. As the Faerie Queen's spell finished and closed, he succumbed and was the very last Beast to die.

  Ailill wanted to throw up. The Faerie Queen was behind it all. Ivan had tried to tell him and—

  He screamed as pain tore through his mind like claws raking his skin. When it finally stopped, he was curled up on the floor in a ball, gasping desperately for breath. Distantly he heard the door open, heard the soft swish of skirts.

  Knew it was all over. Etain knelt beside him and reached out to tenderly stroke his hair back from his face. She smiled at him, sweet and gentle. Her eyes whirled with a hundred
colors and a mixture of love and hate. "Time and again, I try to put everything back the way it should be. Always, always, you horrid Beasts start getting your memories back too soon, and I am forced to react, forced to spend too much time and energy keeping everything contained. You're always the most stubborn, my White Panther. The weakest in power, but the strongest in will, which is why you always break the last and so close to the ceremony."

  She stroked his cheek, and if he did not know better, he would have thought the gesture loving. Instead, it just made his skin crawl. He felt sick thinking of all the times he had thought her kind and nurturing. All the words and touches he'd lapped up, mistaking poison for honey.

  "You're evil," he whispered.

  Etain's nails bit into his skin. "I'm betrayed. But this time—this time I'll do it right, and they'll love me again, and the rest of you will stay dead forever."

  Ailill tried to speak again, but found he couldn't. All he could do was lie there and endure her touch, the sickly sweet smell ...

  Smell. Memories old and new shuffled in his mind, and he realized abruptly the poison had been in her flowers the whole time. No doubt tailored to each Beast, and the remains of it faded off shortly after. The two times he'd reacted badly, it had been because he'd entered the bedrooms of the victims very shortly after they'd fallen. The poison had lingered.

  It had been right there the whole time and he'd missed it—been forced to miss it because the Faerie Queen had controlled all of them so delicately they'd never noticed their minds were not wholly their own. But it must exhaust her to manipulate the entire country on top of everything else she did. No wonder she'd been so weak of late.

  "Your thoughts are spinning in that foolish head of yours," Etain said and pulled him up to lie in his lap. "You should relax; so much distress is not good for you, especially on top of your grief. Shall I tell you a story?"

  Why wouldn't she just put him out already? What was the point of drawing it out?

  "The point is that you, all of you, have made me suffer for nine hundred years. I think it is not too much to ask that you suffer a bit yourself." She stroked her fingers over his brow and down his cheek, like a parent soothing a sick child. "Once upon a time there were two men. One was a stupid, filthy half-breed from the mountains. The other was an arrogant fire child. They thought themselves noble, and oh so clever. But one day, while waiting for their equally worthless lovers, they heard a poor woman scream for help."