For a long while, no one said anything, and now the room was less populated she could hear the faint crackling of the fire in the hearth and faint voices beyond the doors. Soon after, the voices faded and she heard the sound of gentle, but unmistakable snoring. The woman at the other side of the bed sat slumped in her chair, her head bowed.

  Kaddie frowned. The lack of concern she had seen thus far had come as a surprise. The girl was, after all, quite ill, and her mother’s earlier tone had reeked of inconvenience.

  Nianne had yet to reopen her eyes, so she took the opportunity to study the girl further. Earlier, she’d noticed a dark ring around the edges of her irises. The last time she had seen anything like that was during one of endless field trips with her grandmother onto the high plains, something she had duly mentioned in her notes.

  On that particular occasion, the man she had witnessed had died soon after their arrival. They’d been too late, and their dealings with that particular community had changed thereafter, and not for the better. As for her own suggestions regarding diagnosis and remedy, also in her notes, hopefully she’d covered a number of points and not jumped to any obvious and misleading conclusions.

  Subconsciously, her hand began to retract, and that’s when she realized the girl’s grip had surreptitiously strengthened. Was she awake? Kaddie regarded the sleeping woman in the chair opposite, whose snoring had gotten worse. She then focused on the dryness of the girl’s fingertips and how the taint on her skin appeared slightly patchy. The yellow color suggested an attack on the liver, and yet…

  A heavy snort announced the awakening of the old woman, who appeared bewildered for a moment before lurching to her feet.

  “I’ll go make us some tea,” she said, and hobbled out of the room.

  No sooner had the doors closed, the girl opened her eyes. “Is it poison?”

  Kaddie hesitated. “We’re not sure yet.”

  “There’ll be no wedding,” the girl said after a long bout of coughing, "not after this.”

  A commotion at the doors announced the return of the other woman. She carried a small tray bearing a kettle, which she placed on the nearby dresser. Steam curled lazily from its spout.

  Kaddie unthreaded her fingers from those of Nianne’s and rose. “What’s in the tea?”

  The woman frowned. “It’s sweet sorrel. Her favorite.” Her eyes narrowed as Kaddie approached and reached for the strainer before she could pour. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Ignoring the woman’s objection, she took the strainer to the window and pushed aside one of the heavy curtains, enabling her to examine the dark leaf fragments in daylight. She sniffed, shrugged, and returned the strainer to its cradle. “Pour,” she instructed.

  “Like I said, it’s her favorite, and I’ve also been this girl’s nanny since she was born.”

  Kaddie nodded and ignored the admonition while her olfactory senses were still at work. All manner of tea leaves could be dipped in poisons and re-dried. Occasionally, a good sense of smell could detect something, but not always, and not in this particular instance. However, she couldn’t think of anything odorless and colorless that could wreak such havoc on the girl.

  She backed off and returned to the bed, staying silent as the other woman muttered and clattered among cups and saucers while waiting for the tea to brew. You might be the girl’s nanny, she thought, but she had no wish to talk while you were in the room.

  “I assume you won’t be wanting a cup?”

  Kaddie grinned at the hostility. “Thank you, no.”

  When the tea was brewed she helped raise Nianne into a sitting position. The girl’s chemise was damp with sweat and she could barely hold her teacup. Still, she appeared to gain strength after ingesting two cups of the pale brown liquid, and during the excruciating period of silence that followed, the old nanny fell asleep once more and Nianne kept hold of Kaddie’s hand as if her life depended on it.

  Finally, the doors were opened and two men entered. One, a stranger, was carrying wood and walked directly to the hearth. The other, to Kaddie’s eternal relief, was Torrell.

  ##

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  Back outside, after retracing their steps through the kitchen, they stood close to the palace’s high outer wall in an attempt to avoid a heavy downpour. Water was swirling along a nearby gutter, carrying with it an assortment of leaves and other detritus.

  “No carriage?”

  Torrell laughed. “Not for the likes of us. Quickly, follow me.” He dashed across the street, leaping over the gutter, and hurried along the foot of a high wall in the direction of the castle’s front gate. We’re like rats, Kaddie thought as she followed, scurrying in the wall’s shadow. After the carriage ride and glamour of the castle’s interior, this latest turn of events did nothing to improve her mood.

  Fifty paces ahead, Torrell abruptly disappeared from view. There was a break in the wall, and turning the corner she saw a narrow alley leading directly away from the palace, back toward the square. Street lamps struggled to compete with the gloom. Partial shelter was offered by waxed cloth canopies hanging over a row of impressive metal-latticed doors.

  Torrell had gained some distance. She had to run like the wind in order to catch up. “Here,” he said, “and watch your step over the flood sill.” He pushed open a scuffed wooden door. Immediately, her senses were assailed with the subterranean sounds and scents of the second city.

  Both paused before descending the stairs in order to shake the rain off their coats. “It’ll be quicker this way,” he said, “and at the very least we’ll keep dry. Just don’t go brandishing that knife.”

  “I don’t have it with me,” she lied, and was forced to endure his exaggerated gasp of relief as they began their descent, accompanied by a robust fall of water that ran down a narrow chute built into the stairwell.

  “One day I’ll take you to look at the reservoirs. They’re immense.”

  “How far down?”

  “Not too far. They collect from the rivers at the north and run out beneath the city’s western and southern walls.”

  “We need to get back. I need to talk to Robles, and quickly.”

  “Elspeth said she could die. Is it true?”

  “Not if we can help it.”

  The implied urgency silenced her companion and quickened his pace. Having no idea where she was, or how to get home, she followed as they dashed along cobbled tunnels littered with paper and rotten fruit; across thoroughfares crowded with people pulling handcarts and carrying baskets.

  Gangs of young children dashed in all directions. Doorways and windows offered her a glimpse of industries such as knitting and shoe-making. The cloying smell of blood preceded a butcher’s shop and she was glad when they had passed it by. The surrounding atmosphere was clogged with moisture which sank heavy and oppressive into her clothes.

  When they reached the dispensary, Kaddie was prepared to dash up to the second floor as soon as she had removed her sodden coat. Instead, she and Torrell discovered Robles in the kitchen with Elspeth and Marla. Two cauldrons were bubbling over the hearth. Marla was busy at the distiller, while Robles and Elspeth were pounding ingredients to powder in their respective mortars.

  “Ah, the nursemaid returns.” Robles was jacketless, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “I need infusions of—”

  “Netherwort, and flayer’s knot,” Kaddie said.

  “Yes, yes. Quickly, now.”

  His coat dripping, Torrell stood by the door. “What can I do?”

  “Brain weed. There’s half a pound in the storeroom. Middle shelf. Far wall. It’ll disguise the taste.”

  Kaddie pulled off her coat and grabbed her apron from a nearby hook. “She talked to me.”

  Robles stopped pounding. “And?”

  “Not much. Something about a wedding and how it won’t happen.”

  Elspeth regarded her colleague. “Told you, didn’t I?”

  Marla nodded. “And that won’t bode well for the rest of them.”

  “Ladies, how do you know all this?” Robles shook his head. “Never mind.”

  Both women smiled at one another.

  Torrell returned from the storeroom carrying a small sack of tea. “Told us what?” he asked.

  “It’s supposed to be a secret,” Elspeth said. “Stefan Theed was marrying Lassing’s youngest daughter.”

  “Only the Theeds recently reneged on a major trade agreement between the two,” Marla added, “so maybe they don’t want the marriage to take place any more.”

  Robles was shaking his head again. “The bitter edge of politics. Although, I can’t imagine Arben Theed resorting to poison. It’s far too sophisticated for him. My money’s still on Harrow. He and Theed do a lot of business together, he’s Enthas through and through, and a consummate weasel. Maybe he was hoping for a different bride for Stefan Theed, one of his relatives, perhaps.”

  “Harrow poisoned the girl?” Kaddie was outraged.

  “How did he poison the girl?” Torrell asked.

  “If we knew,” Robles said, “we’d have a better idea of how to treat her. This,” he gestured toward the hearth, followed by the bubbling distiller, “is an educated guess. Right, Kaddie?”

  She frowned and pulled a clear jar of acathum berries from a nearby shelf. “The ring around the iris suggests a high plains poison.”

  “But we’re not altogether sure which one. And if we get it wrong—”

  “What about gifts?” Marla said.

  Robles dropped his pestle dramatically on the table, where it rolled in a lazy semicircle before coming to rest against the mortar. He stared at her, his eyebrows raised.

  “Well?” she continued. “Girls about to be married receive gifts, don’t they?”

  “My cousin’s wife received a bracelet from my father.” Torrell was pouring flakes of brain weed into a small container. “There was cake, too, I seem to remember.”

  “Well, we can hardly go rummaging through the palace, looking for gifts on a whim. Or can we?” Robles regarded Kaddie with a mischievous expression.

  “If I could talk to her some more. I didn’t exactly make friends with her nanny, though.”

  Robles snorted. “I’d have been better off sending Torrell to sit with her.”

  “I don’t think they would have let me,” Torrell began.

  “Sarcasm, lad. Honestly, I’m surrounded by tittle-tattlers and n’er do wells.” Robles wiped his hands on a nearby linen cloth and stormed out of the kitchen.

  With narrowed eyes, Kaddie watched him go.

  “His job isn’t here,” Elspeth said, taking charge. “His job is to convince Poisoner Poole to let us back into the palace. Now, let’s get to work. Torrell, hand me that strainer.”