by TJ Nichols
Love was a poison Nikko had no cure for. Its burn was pleasing, its pain a torment that kept him awake. He wouldn’t wish it gone.
“I need you to make sure someone falls ill tonight. A slow death, nothing that would arouse suspicion.” The king met his gaze in the mirror. “Do you understand?”
“I do. What kind of illness? A fever? A gripping of the intestines? Blood poisoning? A bleeding that will not stop?” He could go on, but the ones he’d listed were the ones he had the ingredients for and could make quickly. He’d have to work fast if it were to be done that night. He didn’t stop to question if it was right or wrong or ask why the person needed to die. Those weren’t his problems.
“Nothing too undignified.” The king waved his hand. “I want him dead and no suspicion to land at my feet.”
A man. Last time it was a woman. The mother of a girl who’d refused to marry Fortin. Nikko didn’t blame her. Fortin was twenty years older and not the kind of prince noble girls dreamed off. After the girl’s mother died—her heart stopped in her sleep—their engagement went forward, and they would wed when she came of age.
“I understand. Did you have any other plans?” It was never a good idea to overstep, even though Nikko was already thinking of ways to make it happen.
“You are the poison master.”
“To avoid suspicion, I would suggest ingesting… however, a smaller affair would be better than a feast.” Getting close enough to deliver the poison would be hard. People didn’t want Nikko to touch their food, and with good reason. “I wouldn’t want the wrong person taking the poison.”
The king considered for a moment and nodded. “Very well. He will be attending my private celebration afterward.”
That meant the target was close to the king. Was he planning on killing his own son for putting on such a shocking performance during the fight? A chill swept over Nikko’s skin. No. The king wouldn’t, even though he was annoyed. Or would he? Rodas was more popular and would be next in line.
The king smiled as though he knew Nikko had worked it out. “I don’t want Rodas to be alive by the month’s end.”
Pain lanced through Nikko like a sword to the gut. With every breath, it twisted. He had to say something. The king expected a response.
“Your nephew?” he said like a halfwit. There wasn’t another Rodas at court.
The king adjusted the collar of his coat. “He has become a liability, a disobedient distraction. He made a mockery of Fortin’s win.”
Fortin had made a mockery of the fight. Nikko bowed to hide the panic that must have been etched as brightly on his face as his tattoos. His lover was marked for death—death by his hand. He curled his fingers, and his nails pressed into his palm. He’d be better off taking the poison himself. He wouldn’t be able to live with the wound Rodas’s death would cause.
The king turned to face him. “Go. Start your work and don’t fail me.”
If he failed, Nikko would be the one to die. And it wouldn’t be fast or pain-free.
He fled the king’s chambers. His own quarters were empty except for the scent of Rodas’s perfume—something laced with cloves. He breathed in, hoping to find calm and a solution, but panic raced through him and squeezed his heart as though to crush it. He couldn’t kill the man he loved.
Did the king know about their affair?
Or was it just about the fight?
All Rodas had needed to do was let Fortin appear to win. Everyone could see Rodas was the better swordsman. But there’d always been a rivalry between the cousins. While Fortin was once considered better-looking, smugness marred his features, laziness made few admire him, and too much liquor had stolen what was left.
Nikko rubbed a hand over his short hair.
He couldn’t poison Rodas without killing a part of himself. If he failed to do his job, he would be putting his head on the executioner’s block. No, that would be too quick. The king would more likely nail him to a tree to act as bait for a bear hunt.
He forced out another breath as he paced his chamber.
He was going to have to make the poison as though nothing were amiss. If the king suspected his loyalties were torn, someone must be watching and reporting. How much did the king know about the affair?
But if it was just about Rodas pointing out Fortin’s flaws in public, the king would trust Nikko to get on with the job. He stopped and exhaled. He’d best determine if he was being watched. Once he knew that, he’d be able to work out his next step.
Somehow he needed to warn Rodas. And what exactly was he going to say? “Sorry, lover, tonight you die”?
The angular lines of his tattoos glowed faintly on the back of his right hand. When he’d asked to be the poisoner’s apprentice, he’d known what he was volunteering for, but death had been a constant companion on the streets. It had happened frequently, and he’d stopped fearing it by the time he broke into the poison master’s house for an easy meal.
Nikko had been caught with cheese in his mouth and what was left of half a loaf of bread in his hand. He probably shouldn’t have stolen from the same person three days in a row, but he was six and onto a good thing and didn’t know any better. That day he tasted his first poison.
The master had prepared food for the thief.
Nikko threw up for the rest of the day until the poison master gave him the cure.
As a child he hadn’t recognized the sweet and tangy taste in the cheese. He knew it now. It wasn’t fatal, but it did induce a stomach ailment that could easily be passed off as the result of eating bad food.
That wasn’t his last taste of poison, and there were some he had become immune to. He could smell others before he even tasted the food. He knew hundreds of ways to kill and just as many to save. But there was nothing he could do to save Rodas or himself. His eyes burned.
What they had wasn’t perfect. It was ugly and best hidden in the shadows in case it harmed their positions at court. But it was pleasant to dream of a time when he could stand at Rodas’s side and no one would think ill of either of them for stepping beyond their stations in life.
The king had bought Nikko’s loyalty, but not his heart.
He blinked and gritted his teeth. He’d find a way for Rodas to live. Could they flee across the border? Not to the south. Rodas had too many enemies from the war. Rodas’s mother had kin to the north. Would they take them in? Perhaps they could find freedom and a life together. Hope glimmered like jewels in candlelight.
A temporary poison, then. Something so it appeared Rodas was dying. And then what?
If Nikko fled, the guild would bar him. It would be impossible to find a new position without guild support. He wouldn’t be able to legally open a shop or take an apprentice. Escaping the guild would mean fleeing much farther.
But he was thinking too far ahead. Rodas might not love him enough to leave.
Rodas probably had other lovers at his estate. But Nikko saw the desire in Rodas’s gaze, felt the heat of his kiss, and the hunger of his touch. Nikko curled his toes until he felt the bite of the gold ring. That wasn’t a cheap gift a man gave a passing interest. They’d been together three years, and each solstice, Rodas had given him something precious and far more expensive than Nikko could ever wear in public without raising questions.
This solstice he was giving his lover the gift of death.
He didn’t deserve to love or be loved.
He picked up one of his books—his most precious tomes he kept in his chambers, not in his laboratory—and made his way down the stairs. The man who’d taken him in saw he had far more potential than being an illiterate servant and had taught him to read and write. Nikko had realized the advantage to reading and immediately applied himself to the task. His master complained about the cost of the candles Nikko used as he studied late into the night, but the candles were never locked away, nor had his master stopped teaching.
Nikko had been ten when the man with the bright-green tattoos, which didn’t hide the pockmarks, a
sked him what trade he wanted to take on. It was an idea that never occurred to him. He hadn’t imagined that he’d be anything more than a servant, and he hadn’t wanted to leave the man who’d taken him in. So he became a poison master more out of chance than anything else. Most days he didn’t regret that choice. Today he did.
He should’ve been a cobbler or a scribe.
In his laboratory he threw open the shutters and the glass windows. Fresh air was important, but it also made it easier for him to see if anyone was watching him.
The waft of horses, shit, and hay swept into the room. Ah yes… the reason why no one used this wing of the palace. That and it was slowly falling apart. Nikko didn’t care if the shutters didn’t hang correctly or that the glass wasn’t smooth, thus warping the view. Or that the stones on the floor were worn with age, the stairs dipping in the center from the years of people stepping on them. It was his home. The first place he was truly able to call home.
He pressed his lips together as he scanned the courtyard. It was almost empty except for scurrying servants who were preparing for the feast. Some were putting wood together to build a bonfire in the courtyard. It would be lit when the king returned from first hunt of the new year. The first meal would be cooked out there—a celebration that the seasons had turned and spring was coming.
Nikko scanned his shelves. There were jars of herbs, venom from snakes, whole dead spiders, molds he carefully kept fed. Because it was the depth of winter, there were things he was missing, which limited his options for a poison that mimicked an illness. He would find something, but he didn’t want to start looking.
Chapter 3
NIKKO PULLED several bottles from his shelf. Dried white gill mushroom filled one—more than enough to kill several men when all he had to do was kill one. He glanced along the shelf, automatically looking for the antidote. The jar was empty and wouldn’t be refilled until summer, when he could get the seeds of farmer’s bane.
He hesitated. The dreamers mushroom would be the simplest…. His hand shook. He couldn’t—not without a cure. He put the bottle back on the shelf. Most poisons were simple, a solitary ingredient. The skill was in the dosage and the delivery. What could kill could also cure if used a little differently.
He stepped back.
He’d already discounted all the fast-acting poisons. They would be a clear indication something had been done to the food or drink, and the king wanted it to appear natural. He had to stop imagining Rodas taking the poison. If it were anyone else, it wouldn’t bother him. He couldn’t let his heart distract him—not if he wanted a poison that could be undone.
His gaze darted between a few other jars and bottles, and he discounted each one because of lack of time, lack of cure, or swiftness of death.
After the feast there was no guarantee that… that Rodas would eat. It would have to go into his drink. Or in the drinks of all who were there?
The king would use his amethyst goblet, believing it kept him safe from all poisons. The priests who claimed amethyst was a cure-all against all poisons had no idea, but it was useful to the guild to let people hold on to their misconceptions.
He stared at the shelf without seeing.
He could be poisoning the king tonight. They would all drink the same wine. A stomach complaint after a feast would be no surprise, and neither would a sore head or a deep sleep.
He turned and pulled another carefully stored plant off the shelf—dried leaves and seeds and roots. It was often used to treat a headache and wounds, but it could give a man a thorough purge, as though he had eaten something bad. It could also slow a man’s heart so he appeared to be almost dead. A little more and it would kill.
The cure was another poisonous plant. Again, used in the correct manner, it was perfectly safe and would soothe the stomach and the intestines. Used to excess, it was fatal. Even the leaves could irritate the skin.
He placed both jars on his workbench.
Much of what he did was simple. He’d already prepared some cures for the hunters who would want to clear their heads in the morning. The hangover cure was made with the purple flowers of dead man’s bells—the same plant he was thinking of using that night.
He tilted his head. It would cure no one if they imbibed the drink he’d tampered with. It would only make them worse. But those who hadn’t drunk the wine would feel better. Somehow he was going to have to slip the cure to some. If the whole room fell ill, all fingers would point to him.
Perhaps he could cure them all.
But Rodas was still marked for death, even if he survived the poison. The knife in Nikko’s heart twisted and dug deeper. Maybe he was marked too. He glanced out the window, but no one was watching him. There was no one at his door either.
He started the cure first before moving on to the poison. He was grinding dead man’s bell seeds when Fortin darkened the doorway. Nikko looked up, his hand still working. “How may I help you, Prince? Something to purge between courses?”
Fortin favored them, as they allowed him to eat and drink more.
Fortin smiled. He’d been handsome once. Beneath his fine shirt and well-cut coat, he was soft. A roll of flesh bulged above his waistband. The vivid puce of the jacket did nothing for his features.
Rodas wore a similar color the last time he was at the palace. The color made his eyes bluer and his dark hair shine. Next to Rodas, Nikko was a drab little peahen—brown eyes, brown hair, and dull clothing. If not for the tattoos, he’d vanish in a crowd, entirely forgettable.
“I want a love potion. Something that I can slip into my lady’s drink.”
Nikko doubted very much it was a love potion Fortin wanted. “Do you wish to determine if she loves you? You can put—”
“No, you fool.” Fortin walked into the laboratory, where expensive glassware and copper pipes created elaborate contraptions for distilling poisons. “I want her to fall in love with me.”
Nikko bit back a sigh. He was a poison master, not a miracle worker. “Is this lady love your betrothed?”
Fortin glared at him. “The lady in question is none of your concern.”
Nikko stopped grinding. The seeds had become powder several breaths earlier.
“I want her to desire me. I want to make sure my attention is not wasted.” Fortin slid his gaze over the collection of poisons with a little too much enthusiasm. Not that he could read the labels. They were written in the coded language of the poisoners’ guild. To reveal it was to suffer the most awful death.
Nikko didn’t want to drug some poor woman who would wake up horrified in Fortin’s bed. He pulled a little paper packet off the shelf along with several other powders.
On a little set of scales, he carefully measured the spices and added a sprinkle of headache-inducing star flower. Nothing there would do any permanent damage, but it would make the lady in question want to retire to her rooms before Fortin could have his way.
Nikko put the powder in a small twist of paper. “This should assist you. Put it in her wine. She will get a flush to her cheeks.” And elsewhere, not that Fortin would see beneath her skirts. “Do not give her too much. Gauge her interest carefully, or there will be side effects.”
“What kind of side effects?”
“No death.” Nikko laughed. “If her cheeks remain pale and her pupils don’t widen, then give her a little more.”
He was sure Fortin would give her the full dose right away, ensuring the headache. But Nikko had warned him.
The prince took it out of Nikko’s hand. “And a purge for between courses.”
“Of course.” Nikko added an extra little something to the potion, something that would enhance the effect of the dead man’s bells by stripping the lining of Fortin’s stomach instead of soothing it. “Enjoy the feast.”
“Oh, I will. And you?”
“I will be three steps behind the king, as always.”
Fortin studied him for a moment. “When I am king, there will be no place for you here. I will have men wi
th blades do my work. Poisons are for women.”
Nikko swallowed. He knew his position was delicate. He had to be seen as trustworthy, but his affair with Rodas had placed one of his feet in the enemy’s camp. He should never have let Rodas unlace his pants, yet it was impossible to say no to the handsome man who had the honor to match. Few men had a pretty face and a pretty heart.
It was so much better being with someone who cared about him, not just about satisfying a need. He’d experienced that too often—men who didn’t want to see his face and be reminded of who they were with. He shouldn’t have let himself fall in love.
If Fortin knew….
No. He didn’t know, or he’d already have used that against Nikko and Rodas. Fortin didn’t make long-term plans. He acted quickly and with little thought. He’d be an awful king.
Nikko smiled. “And the healing? Did I not give you medicine for your private sores?”
Fortin’s lips twisted. “Any hack can make an herbal poultice.”
True, but that didn’t mean that the poultices would work. Some did more harm.
“Yet you trust my purges and love potions.” As the words left his lips, Nikko knew he’d gone too far.
Fortin stepped closer. His breath was tinged with sourness. “I don’t trust you. But I trust my father to act in my interest.”
NIKKO MADE his way to the grand hall. In the newer part of the palace, the floors weren’t stone, but wood. The walls were painted, and the windows were large to let in as much light as possible during the day. At night candles reflected in the glass and in strategically placed mirrors. Braziers had been set in the formal gardens for guests who wished to escape the party or to meet a lover.
Unlike the pretty colors worn by the nobles, Nikko was dressed in black velvet. His clothing was unadorned, without fancy buttons or fine stitching. But he wasn’t on display. He was meant to watch and observe and make sure no one poisoned the king.
