DAVID COE - Seeds of Betrayal

The master surgeon hurried to the queen, but the other surgeons and the Qirsi began to move among those lying on the chamber floor. One of them, a young Qirsi wearing ministerial robes, knelt beside Evanthya and looked down at Fetnalla.

“Are you a healer?”

“Not by trade, but I have the power. How is she?”

“She’s having trouble breathing. She’s barely moved in some time.” Evanthya started to say more, but then began to cry.

“All right,” he said. “Let me see what I can do.”

She made room for the man and watched as he closed his eyes and laid his hands on Fetnalla’s chest and stomach.

One of the Eandi surgeons was kneeling beside Brail, a deep frown on his face. But he wasn’t giving up on the duke, and Evanthya took that as a good sign.

“What was it?” the master surgeon called out.

Looking up, Evanthya saw the herbmaster sniffing at one of the goblets.

“I can’t be certain,” the old man said. “But if I had to guess, I’d say it was oleander.”

“Oleander? That doesn’t even grow here. You’d have to go south of Noltierre to find any in Aneira.”

“Not today, you wouldn’t,” Evanthya heard herself say.

Both men stared at her.

“The funeral. It was all over the great hall and the cloister.”

The herbmaster nodded. “Of course.”

Oleander was also known as Bian’s Rose because it was used so often in funeral settings for kings and queens. Despite its noxious qualities, it was a beautiful shrub that remained green throughout the year and could be made to bloom even during the snows if taken inside and cared for properly.

“In that case, herbmaster,” the surgeon said, “bring me all the pink madder you have. That may be the only way to keep the palsy from their lungs.”

The old man nodded and rushed away. The surgeon turned to one of the servants. “Bring tea. Uulranni, if you have it. Otherwise Caerissan will do. Make it strong and make a lot of it.”

This man too offered a quick nod and then left to do the surgeon’s bidding.

Evanthya turned back to the young Qirsi healer kneeling beside Fetnalla. “Is she going to…?” She stopped, unsure of what she wanted to say, and almost afraid to hear his reply to any question she might ask.

He shook his head, his eyes still closed. “I don’t know yet. A healer’s touch only goes so deep. She’ll probably need the madder and tea, just like the others.”

Evanthya began to nod, then stopped herself, realizing that he couldn’t see her anyway. As she continued to kneel there, watching the healer, Pronjed walked past her to where Grigor still stood, surrounded by the guards.

The duke of Solkara’s face had regained little of its color, but he held himself straight-backed and proud, as befitted a man seeking the throne.

“You honestly believed you could do this and go unpunished?” Pronjed said, stopping just beside him. “You thought you could poison the queen?”

“I’ve poisoned no one,” Grigor said, gazing straight ahead.

“Come now, Lord Solkara. You want us to believe that you came through this ordeal unharmed by sheer good fortune?”

He did turn at that, a sneer on his fine features. “You’re fine, Archminister.” He gestured at Evanthya. “So is she. Several Qirsi survived this,” he went on, looking around the chamber. “I don’t hear you accusing them.”

“None of the Qirsi in this room seek to take the throne from the queen and her child. None of us has sworn to defy this council.”

“Perhaps not, but all of us know of the conspiracy. And all of us know that poison in the weapon of a Qirsi. An Eandi uses his sword and his strength. I have no need for magic and potions.”

Evanthya saw at least one of the guards waver.

“Hold your place!” Pronjed commanded, seeing it as well. “You serve the queen, not this man!” He lifted Grigor’s goblet and sniffed it. Then he held it out to the duke. “Drink this.”

“Are you mad?” the surgeon said from across the room. “I’ve already got more patients than I can handle. I won’t allow you to poison another man, no matter what you think he’s done.”

A cold smile touched Pronjed’s lips. “He won’t be poisoned, you fool. That’s the whole point. There is no poison in this cup.”

“Then you drink it,” Grigor said.

Pronjed raised an eyebrow. “Very well.” Throwing back his head, he drained the goblet, wiped a drop of wine from the corner of his mouth, and returned the cup to the table. “You see?” he said. “No poison.”

“How did you know?” the surgeon asked, his voice low.

Pronjed didn’t take his eyes off the duke. “I saw him drink with the others just after the toast.” He stared at Grigor briefly. “Tell me, Lord Solkara. You’re so convinced that a Qirsi is behind this. Are you willing to drink from my cup as I just have from yours?” He gestured toward Evanthya. “Will you drink from this woman’s, or from any of the others meant for Qirsi lips?”

Grigor swallowed and looked away. “No,” he whispered.

“I see.”

“But I’m telling you,” the duke said a moment later, raising his eyes again, “I didn’t poison anyone. I had no need. A majority of the Council was prepared to support me.”

“But if they hadn’t been, then you would have killed them. Is that what you mean?”

“Of course not. I’m just saying-”

“I’ve heard enough,” Pronjed said, turning his back on the duke and returning to the queen. “Take him to the prison tower. He’s a duke, and should be treated as such. Don’t put him in the dungeon, but be certain to chain him to the wall, feet and hands. He has allies in this castle, and I don’t want them winning his freedom.”

Two of the guards sheathed their weapons, grabbed the duke’s arms, and started dragging him toward the door.

“Release me!” Grigor shouted, struggling to break free. “I didn’t poison anyone!”

Pronjed didn’t even look at him again. None of them did.

“Let go of me!” he yelled, as the soldiers pulled him into the corridor. “I didn’t do this! I swear it on the memory of my brother!”

“The man knows no shame,” the archminister said in a low voice, as the duke’s cries continued to echo through the castle halls. “He’ll hang before long.”

Evanthya had little sympathy for Grigor, but she couldn’t help feeling that his denials had the ring of truth to them. Again she found herself wondering if there might have been more to Pronjed’s escape than mere good fortune.

In the next instant, the herbmaster returned bearing several vials of ground madder root, and almost immediately after, several servants arrived with steaming pots of tea. The surgeon had the herbmaster mix the root right into the tea, and then directed the servants and healers to administer the tea to all who had ingested the poison.

Evanthya helped the young Qirsi lift Fetnalla into a sitting position and held her there as the man gently spooned tea into her mouth. At first the tea just dribbled down the woman’s chin, staining her ministerial robes. She felt cold to the touch, and Evanthya feared that they had lost her already. Finally, though, Fetnalla seemed to swallow a small amount. A moment later she began to cough and retch. But her eyes fluttered open briefly, and when the healer offered more tea, she swallowed.

“Gods be praised,” Evanthya whispered.

The healer glanced at her. “Indeed.”

An Eandi surgeon tending to Brail called for assistance, and the healer handed the spoon to Evanthya.

“But I don’t know-”

“There’s no secret to it. Just keep giving the tea to her. As much as you can make her drink.” He smiled kindly. “You’ll do fine.”