by TJ Nichols
“A bottle of wolfsbane was taken.”
“Why should I care?” the king snapped, and he flicked his hand to dismiss Nikko.
Nikko risked ignoring the gesture. “It’s used to ensure a strike with a blade is deadly. Or a meal. Someone here plans murder.”
Red blossomed on the king’s cheeks, and his lips took on a petulant pout. He had ordered murder, but that was different. “So get a cure ready.”
“I do have a cure. But it must be delivered swiftly, or death will come first.” If the person had wanted it never to be known, he could’ve dipped his dagger in the bottle. Instead he took the whole lot. Perhaps there would be more than one blade dipped, or perhaps it was in the meal already.
More likely the man had no idea what he’d taken or how much to give. Who among the people there would take such a risk? Nikko scanned the nobles. There were always petty squabbles, and some became more serious over time. But no one had ever stolen from him before. Stealing from a poison master was a crime. He’d been lucky his master had taken pity on a starving child and only gave him a stomachache and then a job running errands.
The king drew in several breaths. “I find my appetite is gone.”
“A wise decision.”
“When I find the man responsible, he’ll be hanged.”
Nikko inclined his head. The more traditional punishment was to make the thief consume what they stole, but he kept his mouth closed. He stepped back to watch the feast. The hall shimmered in the candlelight, and the mirrors reflected the colors of the nobles’ clothes in a dizzying array. Another time he’d have appreciated the beauty.
He’d stood behind the king for many celebrations and five winter solstice nights. While there was plenty of talk and laughter in the hall, there was a different charge to the room—that taste before a thunderstorm.
Rodas talked to the man next to him as though he didn’t have a care in the world. The anger in his eyes at the mention of dying kings was something Nikko wouldn’t forget. He should’ve known Rodas wouldn’t want to hear whispers of treason.
He should’ve kept his mouth closed, but fear made him speak. He’d achieved more than he ever thought possible, but his life and position were precarious. He slid his gaze to Fortin. The prince’s words weren’t a warning. They were a threat. When Fortin was king, Nikko would have no place and possibly no life.
Eventually people finished eating. If anyone noticed the king had barely touched his food and didn’t even have Nikko taste it, it didn’t put them off their meal. The king got up to lead a few of the slower dances, but his weight and age were starting to show. Fortin and the unlucky lady seated near him joined in.
Nikko didn’t have to be there anymore. He could retire to his chambers and wait for the inevitable call that someone was ill. He wished he hadn’t eaten anything because it all sat uneasily in his stomach.
He slipped out of the hall with the music following him, but he didn’t go straight to his chambers. He couldn’t face his empty bed tonight, and he needed fresh air away from the perfumes and the candle smoke and the lingering scents of the meal.
The night was cold. Frost made the air sharp. It pinched his face and cut his lungs. He should’ve put on a cloak, but he wasn’t going to be there for long, just a few moments to get away from the noise and the press of people he couldn’t trust.
In the garden the braziers kept the paths free from ice and shed light for the adventurous so they didn’t trip and fall. He stopped at the first one to warm his hands. The palace was pale and proud against the starry sky. Light spilled from the windows. It was his home. He couldn’t walk away from the life he’d built there and go back to being nothing.
Gravel crunched as someone came down the path from the palace. A couple sneaking into the garden for a quick liaison? Nikko glanced without turning his head, not wanting the tattoos to give him away.
He recognized the man straightaway. The blue and gold of his coat was vibrant even in the dark. Nikko turned, knowing his black clothing made him little more than a shadow. He was the whisper of death that dwelled in the palace.
Rodas stopped. “I saw you leave the hall.”
“I needed some air.” Why had Rodas followed him? It seemed like they had nothing left to say.
“Me too.” Rodas looked up at the stars and sighed. “And to speak to you. I didn’t want my last words to be in anger.”
“They won’t be your last words, if you follow my instructions.” That Rodas had eaten the pumpkin seeds was a good start, though not enough.
“You can’t promise that. For all your knowledge, some things are in the hands of the gods.” He held up his hand. “I accept that. I have stepped onto the battlefield many times knowing that I might not walk off it. That’s how I live my life. Tonight is no different. I don’t blame you.” He stepped closer. “Dance with me, Nikko.” Rodas held out his hand.
He should turn away and protect himself from the hurt that would come if Rodas died. If he survived, the king would try again. He wouldn’t rest until Rodas was dead and people stopped comparing him to his cousin.
Laughter and music drifted out from the palace. Nikko’s breath formed small clouds. It was too cold to be outside, and neither of them was dressed for it, but they couldn’t dance in public. Nikko was a nobody, and Rodas had royal blood. It might be their only chance. Nikko accepted the offered hand, and Rodas led him around a corner so they were hidden from casual observers.
What would it be like to be able to hold hands in public and not cause eyebrows to rise?
Rodas drew him close. Nikko didn’t know where to put his hands. He’d seen people dance but never done it himself. Rodas slid his hand over Nikko’s hip and then gave his ass a squeeze.
“Stop acting like a plank of wood.” Rodas kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear. “This could be my last dance.”
Nikko pulled away, but Rodas didn’t release his hand. The tattoos glowed sickly green in the dark. Half his face would be illuminated, distorting his features and turning him to part man and part monster.
“How can you make light about death?”
“What other option do I have? I give you gifts of gold and gems, and you feed me poison.”
“I have no choice,” Nikko hissed.
“And I accept that. I’m used to death’s shadow crossing my path.”
“How? How do you not rage and hate those who seek your death?”
“Do you think I don’t know how much my cousin loathes me? I remind him of the man he should be but is too lazy to become.”
Nikko wanted to tell Rodas to be less, but he couldn’t. He was who he was, and that was why Nikko loved him. “Then what do we do? I don’t want to be standing by your pyre, pretending that I don’t care.”
“But you do care, so dance with me.” Rodas kissed the green-inked knuckles of Nikko’s hand.
He didn’t feel like dancing, but he let Rodas hold him and lead. Rodas kept the steps simple, but it was clear Nikko had never learned to dance the way Rodas had. “I’m sorry. My feet will not follow.”
Rodas didn’t let him go. He pulled him closer so their bodies were pressed together in a way that would be scandalous if they were in the hall. Nikko’s breath caught. He didn’t ever want to let Rodas go. He kissed him, desperate to hold on to what they had.
“We could leave tonight. Find somewhere else to live.” If they were together, it would be okay. They would get by. Rodas could fight, and Nikko could sell his poisons and cures. But the idea of scraping mold off the bread and counting every coin had no appeal. He knew hunger too well, and he’d become a lazy fat cat, happy to lie in front of the fire and lick cream rather than hunt.
“The thought has crossed my mind many a time.” Rodas still moved to the music, but there were no fancy steps, just a sway. “But I cannot abandon my duty. I lead the army.”
“And if you die?” But Nikko knew that, if Rodas died, another relative would step in. Fortin would never lead an army when he
could barely swing a sword in a mock fight. “What would be different from you leaving?”
Rodas sighed. “I know you say these things out of love, and I love that you say them.”
“But you don’t love me enough to leave,” Nikko said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Rodas cupped Nikko’s face with both hands. “I would love nothing more than to find a place where our status didn’t come between us at every opportunity. I love you. That’s one thing you don’t need to doubt.”
Rodas kissed him with a hunger that came close to burning away all doubt, but Nikko was used to the heat and desperation. He wanted to believe Rodas did indeed love him, and his words weren’t just a distraction.
“I have a frequent dream that I’m king and I don’t need to hide my affection for my poison master.” The words tumbled out in a treasonous whisper.
A lump formed in Nikko’s throat. “It’s only a dream.”
“It can only be a dream. I don’t want to rule.”
“Does your cousin know that?” Perhaps Rodas could make Fortin see reason.
“I told him I don’t want the throne when we rehearsed the fight. He doesn’t believe me. A liar thinks all men lie.” Rodas rested his cheek against Nikko’s. “I don’t want to drink poison with my uncle. My father, if he were alive, would be horrified.” He clung to Nikko as though he needed the strength, and Nikko felt the fear Rodas had been hiding. Rodas shuddered in his arms, but Nikko could give no comfort, no matter how tight the embrace. “It would’ve been better if I’d died in battle.”
Nikko had lain awake too many nights wondering if Rodas would come back. “Never say that.”
“It would’ve been honorable.”
“You aren’t going to die tonight. You have the cure.” He would do everything in his power to prevent it. What was the point in all that training if he couldn’t save someone he loved? The will of the gods be damned. They cared not for the lives and loves of those who worshiped them.
“My cousin wants me dead. When you fail, he’ll try again and again. Maybe it is for the best that we do not fight this.”
“If you die, the kingdom you love will fall to ruin.” Perhaps he could appeal to Rodas’s sense of duty and honor.
“What would you have me do? Put the cure to your poison in Fortin’s drink? Poison him first?”
That was a very good idea.
Rodas shook his head. “The king would suspect you or me, so either way, we’re undone. We are undone.”
Nikko became aware of the cold chewing through the layers of the formal clothing on his back and the heat of Rodas’s body against his front. He shivered, but he didn’t want to go back to the palace.
Rodas pulled something from his coat. A small silk pouch. “I planned on giving this to you tomorrow. A solstice gift to the one I love.” He pressed the silk into Nikko’s hand.
“Give it to me tomorrow.” But his fingers closed around the pouch and the hard object inside. Rodas wasn’t planning for a tomorrow.
“Every time I left to fight, I wrote you a letter. I left it with my sister. She was to open the first envelope to see who it was addressed to.”
“She never looked?”
“If she did, she never said anything. I trust her. You can trust her.”
“She doesn’t know me.” And while Rodas’s sister was no stranger to court, he couldn’t put his faith in her. Then he realized what Rodas was saying. “You’ve given her another letter.”
“She has instructions on what to do if I die. You will be looked after.”
Nikko looked away. How could he have doubted Rodas’s love? “And once again I have no gift for you.”
Rodas kissed him softly. “You’ve been enough. My joy at coming to court was not for the parties or the tournaments, but because of you. You made my duty a pleasure.” He rested his forehead against Nikko’s. “Now I must go before my courage deserts me. I will sup with my uncle and pretend I don’t know what’s coming.”
“Don’t go,” Nikko pleaded. He didn’t want to be summoned because Rodas was dying—or worse, not summoned because the king wanted Rodas to die.
“I must. I know my cousin.” Rodas stepped back, his smile replaced by grim determination. He placed his hand over his heart for a moment and then brushed at his clothing to flick away a mark.
Nikko repeated the gesture.
A silent I love you.
He hoped that wouldn’t be the last time he saw Rodas alive, but Rodas didn’t expect to see the dawn.
Chapter 6
BY THE time Nikko made his way back to the palace, his toes were numb and he was chilled to the bone. Had Rodas already gone to the king’s chambers?
Looking for Fortin, he passed through the hall, which was still full of gaudily dressed dancers. Could he break his vow to serve the king? Could he poison the prince? But Fortin wasn’t in the hall.
The nobles the king would typically invite to his rooms were no longer in attendance. Rodas could already be sipping brandy. Nikko wanted to be ill. How was Rodas going to bring the glass to his lips and drink? Would he take the cure as directed or let death come?
With leaden legs and a frozen heart, he made his way to his chambers to await the worst.
He didn’t undress. Instead he sat on the edge of the bed, his hand fisted around Rodas’s gift. It would be something expensive Nikko could never hope to have enough coin to buy.
Nikko had given Rodas things over the years. If he saw something he thought Rodas would appreciate, he bought it. The tooth, from a shark as long as four men, carved with sigils for good luck and good hunting. A flashy scarlet ribbon Rodas had worn to tie back his hair at court. Simple things, the kind Rodas could buy by the dozen and only had meaning because Nikko gave them to him. Nikko never waited for solstice, in part because he hadn’t grown up with solstice gifts. Rodas was the first person to ever give him one.
Hidden in a drawer was a silver-and-pearl pendant Nikko couldn’t wear because people would want to know how he acquired such an expensive piece. Would he be able to wear this latest gift? Or was it something else he’d have to hide away and keep secret?
He was tired of keeping secrets. Why couldn’t he have fallen for an unranked soldier or a stable hand, a silk merchant or someone more befitting his status?
He uncurled his fingers. The silk bag was black and simple. He stared at it, not sure if he wanted to know what was inside. He shouldn’t look until tomorrow, when the world would be a little colder and darker without Rodas in it, even if the days were shortening and warming. He wasn’t sure he’d ever feel warm again.
A lump formed in his throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
Rodas was a warrior—a fighter. He wouldn’t lie down and die. His duty to the kingdom had always come first. The kingdom.
I know my cousin, Rodas had said.
Fortin wanted the throne.
Nikko opened his eyes. He knew exactly where the stolen poison would end—in the king’s goblet. But he couldn’t rush up there. He couldn’t accuse Fortin of trying to kill his father and his father’s loyal friends. No, but he could be prepared.
The cure was already in the brandy—dead man’s bells. But anyone who was poisoned would need to throw up. They would need a tonic to soothe the stomach after purging and then something to purge again before they took the cure.
He slipped the gift inside his shirt where it would be safe and close to his heart and grabbed a cloak—because it would be cold in his laboratory—and his book of potions and poisons. Then he raced down the stairs with only the stubby candle to guide him. In the laboratory he lit a few lanterns. He prepared a couple of gentle purgatives. He’d also need buttery water and milk, but that could be summoned from the kitchen when the time came.
If the time came.
Maybe he was imagining conspiracies because he wanted Rodas to live.
With cold, cramped fingers, he turned the pages and searched for other potions that could strengthen a poisoned m
an. He’d created the book while he was a student and added more as he worked on his own—all of it in the special coded language of the guild.
He’d had to present his poison book to the guild for examination and then answer a litany of questions about poisons before he was allowed to complete the tattoos on his face. The back of his hand was tattooed when he was accepted as an apprentice. It hurt, and he was sick for three days as his body battled the poison in the ink. But by the time the design on his face was done, it was a minor discomfort with each needle prick, but no illness.
As much as he hated the marks that made him an outsider, he’d have never met Rodas without them. He was never much for prayer, and the gods never listened to him. But fickle fate always favored him and turned him in the right direction at the right time.
He shut the book.
How much had they drunk, and how long had it been? Long enough that the first symptoms had started to show?
It would start with nausea, which some would mistake for overindulgence in rich food. Then would come vomiting. Hopefully he’d be summoned then. If it was left longer and the dose had been large? By the time there was a numbness in the face and lips, it might be too late.
“Guide me tonight.” He brushed his fingers over Rodas’s gift.
Damn tradition. He pulled the pouch out and undid the black ribbon before he could consider what he was doing. Out tumbled a pin with an emerald the size of his thumbnail. Entwined gold snakes looped around the stone. Even though he was no expert on gems, he knew enough to know when something cost more than he cared to imagine. He studied the delicate craftsmanship—the emerald, the scales on the snakes and their tiny tongues, and the way they coiled around each other. He could never wear it publicly, but he slipped it back into the bag and then inside his shirt, not trusting his pocket.
Footsteps pounded down the corridor, and a guard burst into his laboratory. “We’ve been searching for you.”
“I’ve been here.” His heart beat faster. Was this where he was accused of poisoning the king? It would be the kind of thing Fortin would do.
