The Vial in the Shadows
But the door refused to budge.
Talia yanked the handle again and again before realizing the latch had been secured from within. She ground her teeth.
Damn that Ayla……
The fury she had smothered all night surged upward, threatening to erupt. Biting down on her scabbed lips, she glared at the sealed door, then turned away.
Perhaps it was for the best. Charging in unprepared and impulsive—if she failed, she would be the one left dead. She needed to prepare more thoroughly. The road ahead was still long; an opportunity would come soon enough.
She steadied her ragged breathing and slipped quickly down the corridor. As she descended the stairs toward her own room, a faint rattling sound reached her ears.
She darted behind a pillar.
A pale shadow stretched across the corridor where the first light of dawn was beginning to creep in.
Hidden in the gloom, Talia leaned out cautiously. A slender woman stood before the door of the room next to her own.
She narrowed her eyes. The figure was a middle-aged woman with dark brown hair and plain, unremarkable features. After a moment, Talia recognized her as one of the attendants her mother had assigned.
The woman eased the door shut, drew a deep brown hood over her head, and glided silently down the corridor. Talia watched her retreating back for a heartbeat, then followed.
The woman left the building and hurried along a muddy path dotted with puddles. Her movements were quick and precise—clearly the product of some manner of espionage training.
After glancing about, she halted near a small garden tucked behind the main hall. Talia pressed herself against an arcade pillar and peered out. The woman lingered before a pavilion as though waiting, then suddenly moved with purpose.
Talia followed her gaze and spotted a priest in a black robe emerging slowly from the shadows. The face was familiar; one of the monks who had attended the banquet.
The priest, perhaps forty years of age, drew a small vial from his robes and handed it to the woman. She accepted it, lifted the stopper to inspect the contents, then sealed it again and slipped the vial into her sleeve before turning back the way she had come.
Talia fled toward the lodging.
She scrambled up the stairs and into her bedroom, legs buckling beneath her. Leaning against the door, she fought to catch her breath and listened to the footsteps outside. A door opened and closed; then silence fell like a shroud.
Talia swallowed hard.
She could not decipher what she had just witnessed.
What was the priest? A hidden ally of her mother’s? If so, what had he delivered? A plot to poison someone?
She forced the saliva down her constricted throat.
If it were merely poison, it could be obtained without outside help. The fact that such elaborate measures were required suggested something that could not even be smuggled into the capital.
What in the world is she planning?
She turned the possibilities over in her mind, but no clear picture emerged.
One thing is certain—something enormous is about to happen.
Senebier always accomplished whatever she set her mind to. If she had resolved to remove her long-standing obstacles, the crown prince was already a dead man. With luck, Ayla would vanish as well.
Her heart hammered with a fierce, satisfied rhythm. A smile curved Talia’s lips.
* * *
The long, tedious journey resumed.
Hundreds of knights and foot soldiers moved in silence beneath a merciless sun. At this pace they would cross the old border of the Osiria Kingdom in ten days.
Edric Lubon, map in hand, glanced at the carriage that sat as still and silent as a coffin. The princess, as always, had drawn the heavy curtains and remained inside.
He guided his horse alongside and studied the faint shadow cast upon the fabric. Even the horses were panting in the oppressive heat. He wondered uneasily whether she might be found cooked alive within.
“Princess, perhaps a little air would help?”
“……Get lost.”
At least she was still breathing.
Edric exhaled softly and rode forward to the vanguard.
There, as usual, the crown prince sat astride his golden Norrenex stallion, berating Barcas with obvious irritation. From the fragments Edric caught, Gareth was demanding to know when they would rest.
This is going to be a difficult march.
The coming days would bring nothing but harsh plains and rugged mountains. Could the fastidious crown prince endure such hardship?
Edric shook his head and approached Barcas.
His commander listened to the prince’s complaints with one ear while scanning the road with cool, attentive eyes. The future ruler of the empire might as well have been invisible for all the attention Barcas paid him.
Edric felt a fresh surge of admiration. Carefully, he spoke.
“Sir Seorkan, the men are weary from the heat. It is early, but perhaps we should find a suitable place to rest?”
Barcas, who had been riding in silence, turned to look at him.
Edric felt his body tense of its own accord. He had never once seen this man grow excited or raise his voice, yet a strange pressure always settled over him in Barcas’s presence.
He swallowed and hurried on.
“If my suggestion is presumptuous, I beg your pardon. The rear guard keeps falling behind……”
“Half an hour more and we will reach a lake. We shall rest there.”
Barcas cut him off. Edric blinked, then nodded.
The crown prince, who had been watching with evident displeasure, raised his voice in complaint.
“When I speak, you pretend not to hear, yet you listen to that whelp?”
“Your Highness’s words require no reply, so I remained silent. I have, however, heard every word.”
“Who are you to decide whether my words require an answer?”
Gareth’s roar made Edric’s ears ring. He bit back the urge to click his tongue and rode back toward the rear. It was strange how the notoriously fiery prince became little more than a petulant child in Barcas’s presence.
……It will be troublesome once Sir Seorkan leaves the order.
Once Barcas departed for the east, no one would remain to curb Gareth’s excesses. The First Princess would accompany him, leaving only Gareth and Talia Roem Guerta in the capital. The thought of the knights having to endure two such troublesome royals made the future look bleak indeed.
Edric sighed heavily and guided his horse alongside Talia’s carriage.
Soon after, a whistle sounded from the front, signaling a halt.
Edric reined in and ordered his men to pitch tents on a level patch of ground. Simple field shelters rose quickly, casting welcome shade.
He stopped the carriage nearby and rapped lightly on the window.
“It is time to rest. Please come out.”
“……”
“How long do you intend to cling to this pointless stubbornness? You have been shut inside all day. If you continue like this, you will collapse.”
He had spoken roughly on purpose, prepared to drag her out even if it earned him a blow, yet no answer came from within.
Edric frowned.
Could she truly have fainted?
A chill of foreboding ran through him. He wrenched the door open with more force than necessary. A cloying sweetness—honey mingled with the scent of milk—washed over him along with a blast of air hot as a furnace.
Squinting into the dim interior, he saw the princess slumped limply on the floor and froze.