Shewouldstop him.
JingYi had known, during that dreadful supper with Tedric, the kitchen might one day be her weapon. She hadn’t thought it would come to this. A healer’s hands were meant to save. Not to poison, nor betray.
Yet here she was, dragging herself along the corridor, her pulse hammering in her skull. Above, guards leaned over the gallery rail, their murmurs a careless hum. She kept to the wall, head bowed, willing herself unseen, just another shadow in the dim.
Footsteps approached. She lifted her gaze just enough to catch a wink of jade green. She didn’t pause.
As they neared, she spoke, her voice no louder than a breath, “Don’t eat the guards’ meal tonight.”
Haorán gave just the barest incline of his head. She slipped inside the kitchen, closing the door softly behind her.
Empty. Just as she’d left it.
The place smelled like old broth and charred stone. A pot sat on the hearth, the coals beneath it faintly glowing. She crossed the floor, her hand at the pouch on her hip. She drew a small twist of cloth—the sample she’d collected from the Wulfbane mine, sealed away and forgotten in the whirlwind of childbirth, flight, and fear. She’d meant to study it. There had never been time.
Unfolding the cloth, she stared at the dry fungus slivers within. They were unremarkable—dull grey, slightly shrivelled. Yet they held the property that transformed common limyerite into deadly things.
Her stomach clenched. Her fingers hovered over the pot as she stared at the cloudy broth. She was about to cross a line she couldn’t turn back from.
She thought of the guards leaning over the rails, laughing at every Omega moaning and coughing. Vials of purple limyerite solution, ready to be force-fed. Tedric, watching with cold interest, caring only that they served as fodder for his goals.
Even if the girls healed, how long before it began again?
The fungus crumbled like ash in her palm. She opened her fingers and let the pieces fall.
She stirred the pot—slowly, steadily—until the soup turned thick and glossy and as dark as her own resolve.
She would serve it hot. She would serve it herself.
And let them taste what they had fed.
CHAPTER 53
ALEXANDER
Darion was already on his way to the inn when Alexander intercepted him. They collected Krystoff at the rendezvous point. A dozen mounted men rode behind them, ready to swarm Bertrand’s manor the moment Alexander gave the word.
Bertrand was already standing when Alexander stormed the receiving hall, bathed in the hollow gleam of polished silver and vibrant banners as though opulence could bury his crimes. The man smiled as if nothing were amiss.
“Lord Wulfbane,” he drawled. “To what do I owe the honour?”
Alexander didn’t speak. He crossed the marble floor in two long strides and seized Bertrand by the front of his doublet, yanking him upright.
“Where is my wife?”
Bertrand smirked. “Shouldn’t she be—ah, that’s right. She left because of you?—”
Alexander struck him.
The slap cracked through the hall. Bertrand stumbled, hand clutching his face. Alexander watched him sway, felt the sting in his own palm, and realized he’d been wanting to do that sincehe read the letter.No. Longer.From the moment Bertrand first looked at JingYi and saw only a pawn.
“There are many things I’d enjoy beating out of you.” His blood was pounding, his fists aching. “But my wife takes priority.”
He seized Bertrand’s jaw and squeezed until his face twisted. “So I’ll ask again.Where. Is. She?”
Panic flickered behind the man’s eyes, quickly masked. “I don’t know,” he rasped. “I haven’t seen Lady Wulfbane since the king’s rider arrived. It must be the annulment?—”
“How do you know about the annulment?” Alexander growled, his hands shaking with the urge to shake the man. “You weren’t there when the messenger arrived. The only way you’d know the specifics is if you had a spy in my house. Someone like . . . Tedric.”