Behind us, Tain paced about, scowling. Hunger made him irritable. But my eyes were only for my brother. Even though I’d seen this a hundred times, my heart raced still. Always, always, at the forefront of my mind was that if Etan hadn’t detected the poison that killed him, Jov wouldn’t either.
“I’ve safe food at my apartments,” Jov said. “We can—” He broke off, looking at his hand. I drew closer as he rubbed grease between his fingers, smelled it, then licked it gingerly. He took a bite of the meat and chewed. Tain was looking between Jov and the food and back again. He started to say something but even as he opened his mouth Jov spat the meat into his hand.
“Slumberweed,” he said, stricken. “Honor-down, Tain, it’s poisoned.”
Praconis/slumberweed
DESCRIPTION: Long-living and hardy ground cover favoring exposed, dry conditions, used by physics as a sedative for centuries. Grows small thorny fruit containing hundreds of lightweight seeds. Green parts and seeds are toxic.
SYMPTOMS: Consumption of leaves will induce drowsiness, peaceful sleep, eventually coma, depending on quantity. Seeds are far more dangerous and cause slow reduction of motor control, lack of energy, heart irregularities, and eventual sudden heart failure.
PROOFING CUES: Taste of the leaves is bitter, astringent; smell is refreshing, reminiscent of rain. Seeds are distinctively oily and have a burn similar to pepper.
9
Jovan
I rinsed the oily taste of the slumberweed seeds from my mouth. I hadn’t swallowed any of the meat, and had an antidote on hand, but still my pulse pounded as I rinsed and spat a dozen times in the basin. Closing the secret cupboard containing antidotes and other supplies my Tashi had kept in Chancellor Caslav’s rooms, my hands shook. I had taken the seeds in small doses before, with Etan, but finding them in Tain’s food was different. Had he consumed the quantity in that portion of oku, his heart would have failed within the week.
Tain hadn’t said a word since we’d arrived at Caslav’s rooms—just helped me to the cupboard, handed me things, and refilled my cup after each rinse. His silence was unnerving and my nerves were frayed enough as it was. I wasn’t enjoying being proved right about his being in danger. Kalina went back to our apartments to fetch him some proofed food and Tain dropped bonelessly into a cushion, burying his hands in his armpits, hugging his chest. I helped myself to Caslav’s collection of kori, knowing it was probably a mistake—alcohol dulled the senses. I passed a cup to my friend and he accepted it in silence.
We put away the best part of a bottle together, more than I’d drunk in years, but finally setting my empty cup down, I had never felt more sober.
Tain looked up at me, haggard, his eyes years older than they’d been an hour ago. I didn’t want to have the conversation lurking there.
“We need to know who made that,” I said, blocking the topic before he could raise it. I knew the moment would come. I’d known since Caslav died, and probably before that, if I was honest, that Tain had reservations about my role. “We’ll need to go back to the ration station. We’ll need to know who was there, who had access to the food.…” I rubbed my forehead, conscious again of the headache the poison had temporarily made me forget. Our enemy was still here, targeting Tain, and he or she wasn’t familiar with only one poison.
“Jov, I’m sorry,” Tain said, voice croaky. “I should have listened to you. I just…” He trailed off.
“I know,” I said, heaving myself out of the chair, my stiff body and the alcohol making me awkward. “You stay here. I want to see where you got this.”
It was a mark of how shaken Tain was that he didn’t argue. I’d never seen him so unsettled, not even the day our Tashien had died. I left him sitting alone by the door, head in his hands.
Next I traced Tain’s steps to the lower city, wishing I’d not drunk so much. In a way, though, the queasiness distracted me from the throbbing headache, the bruised ribs, and the compulsions threatening to overcome me. The miserable on-and-off drizzle was a welcome sensation on my hot skin. I wanted to first investigate the station alone; bringing an Order Guard would just announce to the poisoner that we had caught the poison and were actively looking for our enemy.
Every season since childhood I’d sat at the tournament grounds with Tain and Kalina, cheering and betting on my favorite athletes. Now it was barely recognizable. Where once the mighty stands had enclosed obstacle courses, marked fields for games and running tracks, the soggy grass was now peppered with groups of men and women under the direction of a few uniformed instructors. One sodden group fired arrows into straw targets while another hacked at one another with cane swords and axes. Marco, directing the archery group, spotted me and waved.
I joined his group. “It’s been years since I’ve taken a martial class. Think I can still shoot a bow?”
He handed me one with a smile. “This shift is almost done, but join the line, Credo Jovan. I will soon have you in shape. Even in this weather.”
There were a variety of men and women in the line, their tattoos showing a mix of Guild membership and even the occasional Family sigil. The arrows were cane ends blunted with fat little sacks. The arrow that had protruded from the man’s neck on the wall had been bone. I made a note to ask Kalina if she could find out which countries used bone arrows.
My brain recalled the steps but my body fumbled through the old form: left foot in front, left index finger pointing toward the target, three fingers on my right hand drawing the string, arrow between them. It was harder to draw than I expected. The alcohol didn’t help my focus, either. My arrow sailed pitifully past the straw dummy; Marco’s face was a study in politeness. “Try again, Credo. No need to rush.”
By the tenth round my arm burned and my fingers ached, but I was hitting the target. Marco’s smile looked genuine as he passed by me. A shout came from the group working with cane swords farther along, and the Warrior-Guilder excused himself to deal with the scuffle that followed. I took the opportunity to fall away from the archers to look about.
Ectar and his servants were dotted around the field, obvious with their elegant movements and their pale skin exposed by training tunics. Marco had enlisted all of them to help teach. Squinting, I eventually identified Credo Pedrag, the Craft-Guilder, all but unrecognizable as he hacked away with a cane sword at a dummy, long hair tied back and plump form surprisingly powerful.
To have arrived at the ration station at which he’d been poisoned, Tain must have left the field there, through the gate, then gone left down the nearest street. Anyone at the grounds or watching them could have seen and followed him; no one was taking rolls and in the confusion of the different training groups it would have been easy to slip out unseen.
It took only a few minutes to reach the ration station, a converted dressmaker’s shop. A woman and a girl, official city sashes swung across their shoulders, sat half-hidden behind vats and baskets at the table in the store. Colored cloth fabric rolls stood like bright soldiers at attention in the corners.
Again, Kalina’s secret purse found a use. In an alley I bit into a lavabulb, then spat out the seeds, and my face beaded as the burn took over my mouth. I wiped sweat into my hair and rumpled my clothes, then trudged out of the alley and to the station. “Can I help, Credo?” the woman asked, her tone deferential as her eyes traveled over my tattoos. “Have you come for rations?”