People expected him to die. She tried to reassure herself: if Elban wanted Theron dead, he would do it publicly, with lots of blood and lots of witnesses. Not behind a closed door. Not in secret.
“I apologize. I’m afraid I’m not very organized,” the apprentice said. He put his satchel down on the narrow end table. It blocked her view of everybody else in the room.
But maybe somebody else wanted Theron dead, someone who did not want Amie of Porterfield to be Lady of the City or anything close to it. To the dismay of some, Firo had said about Theron being alive. To the rejoicing of others. Judah had no doubt Arkady could be bought. She had no doubt that he couldn’t be trusted.
Without warning, something fell into Judah’s lap: a tiny brown bottle, the length of her finger and twice as big around. “Hide that,” the apprentice said in an undertone, and suddenly the apprentice had Judah’s full attention. She moved her hand over the vial to cover it.
“Arkady Magus is always telling me how unprofessional it is, all this rummaging. And he’s right. Ah, here it is,” the apprentice said, speaking normally now. He bent down in front of her, a small ceramic pot in his hand. His eyelashes were the darkest she’d ever seen. “This will feel cold,” he said, and with two shaking fingers—he almost seemed afraid to touch her—he began to spread the salve from the pot onto the part of her cheek that felt too thick. His eyes darted down to the vial in her lap and, in the same undertone he’d used before, he said, “Give that to Lord Theron. All of it. The moment we leave.”
Her fingers curled around the vial. “What is it?”
“Antidote.” His lips barely moved.
Antidote. Poison. Her lungs seized. She couldn’t breathe.
Then, in his regular voice: “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it? The swelling and bruising will be gone by morning. Your skin might feel a little irritated, but that will pass.”
He was odd-looking, even beyond the eyelashes. It was almost as if his skin was the wrong color for his hair—pale, but the wrong color pale, somehow. His eyes were blue, like everyone else in Highfall’s, but intense. Like a sky brewing a storm. The way they were fixed on her was almost alarming. “Why are you giving this to me?” she said as quietly as she could.
“Because I’m a friend.” Quiet, loud. “A magus heals.” He snapped his satchel shut and walked back to his place by the bedroom door.
Judah clutched the bottle in her fist. Theron was being poisoned. But poison felt wrong for Elban, not brutal enough. Unless, maybe, it was a particularly ugly poison. Agonizing. Long.
Or—maybe the poison lay in her lap. Her brain spun. Maybe whatever filled the brown bottle wasn’t even fatal. Maybe it was just dangerous enough to make Theron sick. If she gave it to him—if she were seen giving it to him—the House was already against her, as far as it cared about her at all, but she was popular in Highfall. Firo had told her so. She wouldn’t be, if she were a suspected poisoner. She would be a traitor. Easy to get rid of. Easy to wall up in an unused tower. Easy to execute.
Amie wouldn’t mind seeing her executed, or so she’d been told. And Amie had connections in the city. She could have started the rumors.
The bedroom door opened and out came Theron. Did he seem paler? She couldn’t tell. He’d been so pale to start with. Was he breathing hard? Were his eyes unfocused?
“He’s well enough,” Arkady said to the Seneschal. Theron himself showed only vague interest. He knew Judah loved him, knew she respected the lightning-quick connections his mind made. But he knew she loved Gavin and Elly, as well, and he was all too accustomed to thinking of himself as less-than. If someone told him that Judah had tried to poison him, to make things easier for the others, would he believe it?
“His blood seems weak, though,” the magus continued. “And I’m not happy with his lungs.”
Would Gavin believe it? Remembering the study, knowing what his father was capable of, knowing that she also remembered and also knew—would he think her capable of making the choice he couldn’t, to spare him the consequences? The bottle was cold despite the heat of her hand, as cold as if the apprentice had drawn it from the bottom of the aquifer instead of