Even Childress bought it. He smiled at her graciously, even raising his cup to her before drinking. None of them seemed to notice when she lowered her own glass to the table without taking a sip.
From there, it was a simple matter of standing back and watching as one by one the realization dawned in their eyes. By then, it was far too late.
Jocasta had learned many things in her years on the high seas and visiting other lands. One of those was this particular poison. Odorless, tasteless, and colorless, it was perfect for something like this. If there was an antidote, it remained in far off Lang. It wasn’t anything she ever thought she would have a need for.
In truth, she never thought she would have a use for the poison itself, either. She bought it from a back-alley shop more as a curiosity than anything else. The shop was small and seedy, and she wasn’t sure it would even work. It was only a curiosity that caught her fancy; although if it did work, and she needed to rid herself of a troublesome crew member…better to use something that would make it appear an illness had taken them than risk mutiny.
Now, looking over the table as head after head collapsed onto it with a satisfying thunk, her doubts about the poison’s efficacy were gone. It worked well. If she ever got back to Lang, which looked increasingly unlikely now, she’d have to get some more. Perhaps when all was said and done, she’d send Darius, assuming he ever returned.
She took a seat and watched as Childress breathed his last. The poison wasn’t kind. It broke down whatever was inside, lungs, heart, other organs. Jocasta didn’t know, it was never a branch of knowledge that interested her. There were no painkillers associated with it, either. As the organs turned to so much gunk, the victim felt every bit of it.
“I am sorry,” she said, reaching over to hold the old man’s hand. His eyes were wild, and he grasped on to her with all the strength left in him. “If you only could have seen it my way, we could have avoided this.”
Childress made a hacking sound, his throat working furiously. Down at the end of the table, Lord Jerome, that fat sanctimonious fool, finally succumbed, slipping from his chair to sprawl on the floor.
For the first time, Jocasta felt something and allowed herself a slight giggle. That one made her happy.
She sobered as she turned back to Childress. His face was a deep red now, shading into purple. It would only be moments.
“Goodbye old friend,” she whispered as he slumped down into his seat.
Huh. She would have thought his death would make her sad.
She picked up her own cup and drank, lowering it after a few sips and letting it spill onto the floor. No, you really couldn’t taste it.
♦ ♦ ♦
Clean up was easy. At first, Jocasta had been afraid of the reactions of the rest of the House. Then, she realized that horrible accidents befall others, much as she was thinking would await Celia. More than that, there was a secret House out there somewhere. Assassins and spies, hidden in the shadows deeper than Whispering Pines ever was, and answerable only to Jamshir.
One of them must have infiltrated the House and poisoned the wine. Who knew why she only sickened and wasn’t dead like the rest? Out of them all, she was the only one who lived away from the Greenweald for so long. Perhaps something in her foreign diet, or something that she had been exposed to. Maybe she hadn’t drunk as much. Or maybe it was simply a stronger constitution.
Regardless, she was deathly ill for two days. Vomiting, sweating, convulsions. When she recovered, she was weak and barely able to stand on her own.
But yes, she could still assume her duties as Head of House.
Her new council was younger than the old. And now they weren’t only furious at the past actions of Jamshir. Now, he had reached into their own House and attacked them here.
“We must attack them at once!” This from Lord Jerome’s oldest son, a man named Jeffery.
“We can’t,” Jocasta said. She sat at the head of the table in her appropriate seat, wrapped in a heavy blanket even though the day was warm. “We’re not strong enough on our own. Especially now.”
Funny thing. Now that he was gone, Jocasta saw the wisdom of Childress’s advice more clearly. He was right. Allying with Jamshir was madness.
Instead, she would get Towering Oaks to attack Glittering Birch. House Whispering Pines could still play the same role, standing by in support that would never come, ready to step into the power vacuum as soon as it opened.
“Towering Oaks?” One of the other council members, a young woman, timid and unsure of her place here, regardless of who her grandmother had been.
“Perhaps,” Jocasta mused. “Maybe when they get word of what has happened here.”
There were sage nods all around.
“Still,” she continued, “the relationship between our Houses is not what it once was. Lords Florian and Jediah were long-time friends, while I hardly know their new Head at all.”
“Surely that can change,” Jeffery said.
“In time.”
“We don’t have time. What if they try again?”
There were dubious glances at the wine in front of each of them, wine that hadn’t been touched.
“We’ll weed out the infiltrator,” Jocasta said. “Don’t forget, the secret House may be devious, but we are Whispering Pines. Our stock in trade is secrets. We’ll find him or her and eliminate the threat. We’ll be more cautious going forward, but we will not be ruled by fear.”
As if to illustrate her point, she picked up her glass and took a long drink. The taste of the wine reminded her of the poison she voluntarily ingested, and it took all her control to suppress a shudder.
“Now, if you’ll all forgive me, I am tired. I’m still recovering from Jamshir’s treacherous attack, I’m afraid. Can we reconvene tomorrow?”
The council members rose, wishing her well and talking quietly as they left the room.
“Nicely played,” a voice said.
She turned and found Darius entering from a side door.
“You’re back,” she said. “It’s about time.”
Her aide shrugged. “I ran into a complication.”
“I can see that. You’re a mess.”
“You should see the other guy.”
“Did someone at Towering Oaks do that to you?”
“No.” Darius sat and picked up one of the untouched glasses of wine. He took a deep drink, then looked directly at her. “It was a Soul Gaunt. It attacked both me and the aide to Shireen. Unfortunate for me, but lucky for you.”
“How is that?” Jocasta asked.
“Because the other aide is still gone, and from the looks of it, Shireen’s come to depend greatly on him. Much as you have me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” She sat back and regarded her aide.
He was sitting uncomfortably, his color horrible. A partially healed wound poked above the collar of his shirt and while she was wrapped against a nonexistent chill, he was sweating.
“You really are hurt, aren’t you?”
“Willow said that Soul Gaunt injuries can take a while to get over. She’s still dealing with several at Towering Oaks. But it’s nothing I can’t handle. How are things here? Has Childress come around?”
Jocasta felt her lips twitch upwards. “I have the House under control.”
Chapter 31
Shireen had only been to House Glittering Birch once before, when she and Orlando accompanied Jediah and Florian here to warn Jamshir about the danger of the Soul Gaunts and ask for his help in retrieving Solomon from his exile. Then, she had been impressed by the gardens and grandeur of the place, even if it was a little much for her.
Now, though, everything had changed.
There were guards at the gate, where before there was hardly a formal entrance at all. Last time the road had led through the forest, coming into the compound with a few Glittering Birch soldiers stationed nearby. The low fences that ringed most other compounds in the Greenweald had been here, too. A barrier of so
rts, but not one that would stop a determined force.
Now, there were actual low walls. Nothing that would prevent someone from climbing them, yet high enough to stop most horses and slow an intruder down. They were built of a mixture of wood and stone, earth used to chink the gaps. In front of the wall were shallow ditches from where that earth had been dug and then left. Construction of this type was almost unheard of in the Greenweald.
Guards stood before the gate in the silver and purple of their House, but the crispness that once marked them was gone. At one point, Glittering Birch soldiers were almost as disciplined as those of Towering Oaks, but the slovenly appearance of those she saw now told her those days were long gone.
“Halt.” The guard was sitting on a low stool, leaning back against the wall, his helmet off and tossed on the ground next to him. Four others sat on the ground, their backs also against the wall and legs stuck out in front of them. One of them was snoring loudly.
Shireen reigned in her horse and held up her hand for the others to do the same. There were twenty in her party, all in armor, all armed with swords or bows. Enough of a force to show that she wasn’t to be trifled with, but not enough to indicate a full-scale invasion.
The guard looked up at her, turned his head and spat, then turned back again.
“Why are you here?”
“I need to speak with Jamshir.”
“That’s Lord Jamshir to you, isn’t it?” Near the wall, there was a snort of laughter.
“Will you announce us, or should I simply ride in?”
“Heh. Nah. Go ahead. It’ll be a nice surprise for him.” The guard leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Other than the one burst of merriment, the others hadn’t reacted to the presence of the Towering Oaks soldiers in the least.
Shireen narrowed her eyes, then spurred her horse forward, passing between the low walls and the gate that hung open between them.
Her troops, unlike the ones from Glittering Birch, kept discipline and rode in formation, keeping their eyes moving and not reacting to anything they saw.
Shireen wasn’t so sure her face was as impassive, however. Everywhere she saw signs of neglect. The once proud gardens had been allowed to run rampant, overflowing their beds with weeds and trailers. Flowers struggled here and there to raise their heads out of the surrounding tangle, and the fountains stood empty.
A scattering of Folk wandered aimlessly about, some in the uniform of Glittering Birch, others in the robes of servants, and some in a mixture of both. None paid them any attention or even seemed to be talking to one another.
“What is going on here?” Shireen whispered to herself.
The road ran straight to the main tree of the compound, a mighty specimen that grew taller than any other tree in the Greenweald. Given the condition of everything else, Shireen half expected to find another central tree rotting, like at Rustling Elm.
But the tree was healthy, the leaves in full bloom and the bark solid.
That made sense, really. It wasn’t that the compound was unhealthy, it was more that it was being ignored.
She dismounted before the wide steps leading to the huge double doors of the tree. The rest of her party stayed mounted, formed into ranks.
There was no one who appeared interested in announcing their arrival to Jamshir.
She climbed the steps, waiting for someone to come out. When no one did, she approached the doors and knocked. This wasn’t what she envisioned happening. She expected to be stopped at the entrance to the compound, a messenger to be sent and a mouthpiece for Jamshir to come out.
This? This was unseemly. It was beneath the dignity of the Head of House, to say nothing of that of the ruler of the Greenweald.
After a few moments of no answer, she pushed on the doors, but they didn’t budge. Then she banged on them harder and stepped away, tilting her head back at the windows and balconies spaced along the trunk.
“Jamshir!” She was breaking protocol by not adding his title. Good.
Still no answer.
“Jamshir!” She tried again, raising her voice louder.
She was seriously considering calling for rope to tie the doors to a couple of horses and pull them open when she heard the noise of a bar falling to the floor inside the tree. A moment later and the doors cracked, allowing two figures to slip through.
One of them was very large. Tall, even for one of the Folk, he was also wide and well-muscled. Shireen recognized him from the tent in front of her own compound. General Bragnold. Like his men, his uniform was disheveled and unkempt. His eyes were on her but appeared to be unfocused.
The other man was no less than Jamshir himself, who was apparently wearing a nightshirt, his bony knees poking out from underneath it. His hair had grown long and greasy, and his beard ratty. Even from several feet away, Shireen could smell the sour odor of a body that hadn’t washed in several days.
“Who are you to come banging on my door?” he hissed.
“You know who I am, Jamshir,” Shireen said.
“LORD Jamshir! It’s LORD Jamshir!” Spittle flew from his lips and his eyes bulged.
Now Shireen knew what the snort of laughter from the guard at the gate had been about.
“If you are worthy of the title, I’ll use it,” she said calmly. “But when you attack a member of my House, you lose that respect.”
“Your House? Where is that Solomon? The one that you would see supplant me?”
Was he acting? Surely, he knew that Solomon was away, which was why he dared to move against them.
“Don’t play games with me, Jamshir. What have you done with Samuel? Is he still alive? And where is that Soul Gaunt?”
She already saw that she wasn’t getting through to him. His eyes widened and his breathing increased.
“I told you it’s Lord Jamshir,” he growled. He drew himself up and puffed his chest out. “General. Teach her respect.”
General Bragnold surged forward, drawing his sword. Shireen heard her own soldiers draw their weapons and motioned for them to hold. She didn’t bother drawing hers.
The General was huge and had a reputation as a fierce and capable fighter. But she saw the way he was moving. He was awkward, his movements not smooth or practiced.
She stepped to the side as he neared, and he stumbled past her. Putting out a foot, she grabbed his arm, spun him in a circle and tripped him. It was a move that a child at play could have countered, but Bragnold went down with a crash.
Before he could recover, Shireen reached down and yanked the sword from his grip. He hardly offered any resistance at all. She tossed it down the steps to land in the dirt near her troops. Bragnold lay at her feet, unmoving.
“Hah, there, now let that be a lesson to you!”
Shireen turned back to Jamshir in surprise. The ruler of the Greenweald was chuckling, a thin line of drool hanging from his bottom lip.
“Now you know. It’s Lord Jamshir. Always Lord Jamshir.”
The man was utterly mad. More than he had been when he attacked Towering Oaks and brought the Soul Gaunts. His mind was gone and reality had no bearing on him.
She was beginning to doubt that he was capable of being responsible for anything.
Maybe if she gave him what he was demanding he could focus enough to answer. “Did the Secret House do it, Lord Jamshir?”
“The Secret House? Oh, not so secret anymore, are they? No, everyone knows of Subtle Hemlock now. But I have others. Others who will do what I want. Others who will obey Lord Jamshir.”
Shireen doubted that. From the condition of the compound, Jamshir had been driven mad and then abandoned. But that other House, this Subtle Hemlock, was devious. They could very well be playing a whole new game.
“Lord Jamshir,” she tried. “I came here once before, with your old friends Lords Jediah and Florian. Do you remember?”
“I remember. I remember Jediah stealing my father from me….” He trailed off, muttering to himself.
“I was enam
ored by the greatness of your House,” Shireen continued. “And ever since, I’ve been dying to see it again, and telling everyone how wonderful it was. Would it be possible to see more of it?”
In truth, she was going inside whether it was with Jamshir or over him. Maybe he wasn’t responsible for what happened to Samuel, but she didn’t know that. She wouldn’t leave until she searched the place top to bottom for signs of him.
If she could do that without using force, all the better.
None of this was going the way she’d expected it to. She never thought of forcing her way into the tree when she rode here. But if that was what she needed to do, she would.
“You wish to see? It’s not as nice as it…” Jamshir appeared confused for a moment, looking about the compound. Then, he shook his head.
“Yes, of course. It’s only right for a ruler to be magnanimous to his subjects. Bragnold, show our guests inside.”
The General hadn’t moved since Shireen tripped him. Now he lumbered to his feet and shuffled to the double doors, thrusting them open and standing aside.
Jamshir offered his arm to Shireen. Swallowing her disgust she took it, and motioned behind her for the rest of her troops to follow.
Chapter 32
Gentle light spilled into the room from the slowly opening door behind her. Celia turned as it creaked further open, readying herself for whatever came out. If it was one hunter, maybe she’d have a chance. If it was more than one, well, she wouldn’t surrender easily.
Nothing emerged. The door opened fully and beyond that was a hall stretching toward the back of the manor. Candles flickered in sconces along the wall. There were two doors on the right, one on the left, and one at the far end, all closed.
Celia waited, her heart beating in her ears, but everything was deathly still except for the dancing of the flames.
Keeping her eyes on the exposed hallway, she slowly reached back and tried the handle behind her once more. As she expected, it was still locked.
Solomon's Journey Page 16
