Poison Study
Maria V. Snyder

www.miraink.co.uk

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Without the support from my husband, Rodney, this book wouldn’t exist. Thanks, dear, for all the printing, the copying, the critiquing, the willingness to be a single parent from time to time, for not complaining about conference fees, for being there when the rejections came in, and the million other things that I don’t have room to list! To my children, Luke and Jenna, for understanding (most of the time) that I’m not playing on the computer (really, I’m not).To my parents, James and Vincenza McGinnis, thank you for always believing in me. To my sister, Karen Phillips, for reading the book and for giving me the support that only a sister can give. To Chris Phillips for his good ideas, and for putting up with all of us. And I can’t forget the babysitters: Sam and Carole Snyder, Becky and Randy Greenly,Amy Snyder, Gregory Snyder, Melissa Read and Julie Read—without you I would still be on Chapter Two.

Many thanks go to my fellow Muse and Schmooze critique group members: Shawn Downs, Laurie Edwards, Julie Good, Lisa Hess,Anne Kline, Steve Klotz, Maggie Martz, Lori Myers, Kim Stanford, Jackie Werth, Michael Wertz, Judy Wolfman and Nancy Yeager. Without your help and support this book wouldn’t have made it this far.

A heartfelt thanks to Helen French. She made the call I had been dreaming of, and her enthusiasm for this project has been wonderful. Thanks to Mary-Theresa Hussey, who has been an excellent editor. Thanks to my agents, Sally Wecksler and Joann Amparan-Close, for helping with the contract.

Very special thanks go to Alis Rasmussen, who took the time to read and critique my manuscript. Your advice was truly invaluable.

To my husband, Rodney, for all the support he has given,

is giving and will give. I’m spoiled rotten.

In loving memory of Frances Snyder, Jeanette

and Joseph Scirrotto.

“They would talk to you and make jokes while

they were feeding you poison.”

—Kathy Brandt on chemotherapy; a good friend

who lost the battle.

1

LOCKED IN DARKNESS that surrounded me like a coffin, I had nothing to distract me from my memories. Vivid recollections waited to ambush me whenever my mind wandered.

Encompassed by the blackness, I remembered white-hot flames stabbing at my face. Though my hands had been tied to a post that dug sharply into my back, I had recoiled from the onslaught. The fire had pulled away just before blistering my skin, but my eyebrows and eyelashes had long since been singed off.

“Put the flames out!” a man’s rough voice had ordered. I blew at the blaze through cracked lips. Dried by fire and fear, the moisture in my mouth had gone and my teeth radiated heat as if they had been baked in an oven.

“Idiot,” he cursed. “Not with your mouth. Use your mind. Put the flames out with your mind.”

Closing my eyes, I attempted to focus my thoughts on making the inferno disappear. I was willing to do anything, no matter how irrational, to persuade the man to stop.

“Try harder.” Once again the heat swung near my face, the bright light blinding me in spite of my closed eyelids.

“Set her hair on fire,” a different voice instructed. He sounded younger and more eager than the other man. “That should encourage her. Here, Father, let me.”

My body jerked with intense fear as I recognized the voice. I twisted to loosen the bonds that held me as my thoughts scattered into a mindless buzzing. A droning noise had echoed from my throat and grew louder until it had pervaded the room and quenched the flames.

The loud metallic clank of the lock startled me from my nightmarish memory. A wedge of pale yellow light sliced the darkness, then traveled along the stone wall as the heavy cell door opened. Caught in the lantern’s glow, my eyes were seared by the brightness. I squeezed them shut as I cowered in the corner.

“Move it, rat, or we’ll get the whip!” Two dungeon guards attached a chain to the metal collar on my neck and hauled me to my feet. I stumbled forward, pain blazing around my throat. As I stood on trembling legs, the guards efficiently chained my hands behind me and manacled my feet.

I averted my eyes from the flickering light as they led me down the main corridor of the dungeon. Thick rancid air puffed in my face. My bare feet shuffled through puddles of unidentifiable muck.

Ignoring the calls and moans of the other prisoners, the guards never missed a step, but my heart lurched with every word.

“Ho, ho, ho…someone’s gonna swing.”

“Snap! Crack! Then your last meal slides down your legs!”

“One less rat to feed.”

“Take me! Take me! I wanna die too!”

We stopped. Through squinted eyes I saw a staircase. In an effort to get my foot onto the first step, I tripped over the chains and fell. The guards dragged me up. The rough edges of the stone steps dug into my skin, peeling away exposed flesh on my arms and legs. After being pulled through two sets of thick metal doors, I was dumped onto the floor. Sunlight stabbed between my eyes. I shut them tight as tears spilled down my cheeks. It was the first time that I had seen daylight in seasons.

This is it, I thought, starting to panic. But the knowledge that my execution would end my miserable existence in the dungeon calmed me.

Yanked to my feet again, I followed the guards blindly. My body itched from insect bites and from sleeping on dirty straw. I stunk of rat. Given only a small ration of water, I didn’t waste it on baths.

Once my eyes adjusted to the light, I looked around. The walls were bare, without the fabled gold sconces and elaborate tapestries I had been told once decorated the castle’s main hallways. The cold stone floor was worn smooth in the middle. We were probably traveling along the hidden corridors used solely by the servants and guards. As we passed two open windows, I glanced out with a hunger that no food could satisfy.

The bright emerald of the grass made my eyes ache. Trees wore cloaks of leaves. Flowers laced the footpaths and over-flowed from barrels. The fresh breeze smelled like an expensive perfume, and I breathed deeply. After the acidic smells of excrement and body odor, the taste of the air was like drinking a fine wine. Warmth caressed my skin. A soothing touch compared to the constantly damp and chilly dungeon.

I guessed it was the beginning of the hot season, which meant that I had been locked in the cell for five seasons, one season shy of a full year. It seemed an excessively long time for someone scheduled for execution.

Winded from the effort of marching with my feet chained, I was led into a spacious office. Maps of the Territory of Ixia and the lands beyond covered the walls. Piles of books on the floor made walking a straight line difficult. Candles in various stages of use littered the room, singe marks evident on several papers that had gotten too close to the candle’s flame. A large wooden table, strewn with documents and ringed by half a dozen chairs, occupied the center of the room. At the back of the office a man sat at a desk. Behind him a square window gaped open, permitting a breeze to blow through his shoulder-length hair.

I shuddered, causing the chains to clatter. From the whispered conversations between prison cells, I had determined that condemned prisoners were taken to an official to confess their crimes before being hanged.

Wearing black pants and a black shirt with two red diamonds stitched on the collar, the man at the desk wore the uniform of an adviser to the Commander. His pallid face held no expression. As his sapphire-blue eyes scanned me, they widened in surprise.

Suddenly conscious of my appearance, I glanced down at my tattered red prison gown and dirty bare feet roughened with yellow calluses. Dirt-streaked skin showed through the rips in the thin fabric. My long black hair hung in greasy clumps. Sweat-soaked, I swayed under the weight of the chains.

“A woman? The next prisoner to be executed is a woman?” His voice was icy. My body trembled on hearing the word executed aloud. The calm I’d established earlier fled me. I would have sunk sobbing to the floor if the guards weren’t with me. The guards tormented anyone who showed any weakness.

The man tugged at the black ringlets of his hair. “I should have taken the time to reread your dossier.” He shooed the guards away. “You’re dismissed.”

When they were gone, he motioned me to the chair in front of his desk. The chains clanged as I perched on the edge.

He opened a folder on his desk and scanned the pages. “Yelena, today may be your lucky day,” he said.

I swallowed a sarcastic reply. An important lesson I had mastered during my dungeon stay was never to talk back. I bowed my head instead, avoiding eye contact.

The man was quiet for a while. “Well-behaved and respectful. You’re starting to look like a good candidate.”

Despite the clutter of the room, the desk was neat. In addition to my folder and some writing implements, the only other items on the desk were two small, black statues glittering with streaks of silver—a set of panthers carved to lifelike perfection.

“You’ve been tried and found guilty of murdering General Brazell’s only son, Reyad.” He paused, stroking his temple with his fingers. “That explains why Brazell’s here this week, and why he has been unusually interested in the execution schedule.” The man spoke more to himself than to me.

Upon hearing Brazell’s name, fear coiled in my stomach. I steadied myself with a reminder that I was soon to be out of his reach forever.

The Territory of Ixia’s military had come to power only a generation ago, but the rule had produced strict laws called the Code of Behavior. During peacetime—most of the time, strangely enough for the military—proper conduct didn’t allow the taking of a human life. If someone committed murder, the punishment was execution. Self-preservation or an accidental death were not considered acceptable excuses. Once found guilty, the murderer was sent to the Commander’s dungeon to await a public hanging.

“I suppose you’re going to protest the conviction. Say you were framed or you killed out of self-defense.” He leaned back in his chair, waiting with a weary patience.

“No, sir,” I whispered, all I could manage from unused vocal cords. “I killed him.”

The man in black straightened in his chair, shooting me a hard look. Then he laughed aloud. “This may work out better than I’d planned. Yelena, I’m offering you a choice. You can either be executed, or you can be Commander Ambrose’s new food taster. His last taster died recently, and we need to fill the position.”

I gaped at him, my heart dancing. He had to be joking. He was probably amusing himself. Great way to get a laugh. Watch hope and joy shine on the prisoner’s face, then smash it by sending the accused to the noose.

I played along. “A fool would refuse the job.” My voice rasped louder this time.

“Well, it’s a lifetime position. The training can be lethal. After all, how can you identify poisons in the Commander’s food if you don’t know what they taste like?” He tidied the papers in the folder.

“You’ll get a room in the castle to sleep, but most of the day you’ll be with the Commander. No days off. No husband or children. Some prisoners have chosen execution instead. At least then they know exactly when they’re going to die, rather than guessing if it’s going to come with the next bite.” He clicked his teeth together, a feral grin on his face.

He was serious. My whole body shook. A chance to live! Service to the Commander was better than the dungeon and infinitely better than the noose. Questions raced through my mind: I’m a convicted killer, how can they trust me? What would prevent me from killing the Commander or escaping?

“Who tastes the Commander’s food now?” I asked instead, afraid if I asked the other questions he’d realize his mistake and send me to the gallows.

“I do. So I’m anxious to find a replacement. Also the Code of Behavior states that someone whose life is forfeit must be offered the job.”

No longer able to sit still, I stood and paced around the room, dragging my chains with me. The maps on the walls showed strategic military positions. Book titles dealt with security and spying techniques. The condition and amount of candles suggested someone who worked late into the night.

I looked back at the man in the adviser’s uniform. He had to be Valek, the Commander’s personal security chief and leader of the vast intelligence network for the Territory of Ixia.

“What shall I tell the executioner?” Valek asked.

“I am not a fool.”

2

VALEK SNAPPED THE folder closed. He walked to the door; his stride as graceful and light as a snow cat traversing thin ice. The guards waiting in the hall snapped to attention when the door opened. Valek spoke to them, and they nodded. One guard came toward me. I stared at him, going back to the dungeon had not been part of Valek’s offer. Could I escape? I scanned the room. The guard spun me around and removed the manacles and chains that had been draped around me since I’d been arrested.

Raw bands of flesh circled my bloody wrists. I touched my neck, feeling skin where there used to be metal. My fingers came away sticky with blood. I groped for the chair. Being freed of the weight of the chains caused a strange sensation to sweep over me; I felt as if I were either going to float away or pass out. I inhaled until the faintness passed.

When I regained my composure, I noticed Valek now stood beside his desk pouring two drinks. An opened wooden cabinet revealed rows of odd-shaped bottles and multicolored jars stacked inside. Valek placed the bottle he was holding into the cabinet and locked the door.

“While we’re waiting for Margg, I thought maybe you could use a drink.” He handed me a tall pewter goblet filled with an amber liquid. Raising his own goblet, he made a toast. “To Yelena, our newest food taster. May you last longer than your predecessor.”

My goblet stopped short of my lips.

“Relax,” he said, “it’s a standard toast.”

I took a long swig. The smooth liquid burned slightly as it slid down my throat. For a moment, I thought my stomach was going to rebel. This was the first time I had taken something other than water. Then it settled.

Before I could question him as to what exactly had happened to the previous food taster, Valek asked me to identify the ingredients of the drink. Taking a smaller portion, I replied, “Peaches sweetened with honey.”

“Good. Now take another sip. This time roll the liquid around your tongue before swallowing.”

I complied and was surprised to taste a faint citrus flavor. “Orange?”

“That’s right. Now gargle it.”

“Gargle?” I asked. He nodded. Feeling foolish, I gargled the rest of my drink and almost spat it out. “Rotten oranges!”

The skin around Valek’s eyes crinkled as he laughed. He had a strong, angular face, as if someone had stamped it from a sheet of metal, but it softened when he smiled. Handing me his drink, he asked me to repeat the experiment.

With some trepidation, I took a sip, again detecting the faint orange taste. Bracing myself for the rancid flavor, I gargled Valek’s drink and was relieved that gargling only enhanced the orange essence.

“Better?” Valek asked as he took back the empty cup.

“Yes.”

Valek sat down behind his desk, opening my folder once more. Picking up his quill, he talked to me while writing. “You just had your first lesson in food tasting. Your drink was laced with a poison called Butterfly’s Dust. Mine wasn’t. The only way to detect Butterfly’s Dust in a liquid is to gargle it. That rotten-orange flavor you tasted was the poison.”

I rose, my head spinning. “Is it lethal?”

“A big enough dose will kill you in two days. The symptoms don’t arrive until the second day, but by then it’s too late.”

“Did I have a lethal dose?” I held my breath.

“Of course. Anything less and you wouldn’t have tasted the poison.”

My stomach rebelled and I started to gag. I forced down the bile in my throat, trying hard to avoid the indignity of vomiting all over Valek’s desk.

Valek looked up from the stack of papers. He studied my face. “I warned you the training would be dangerous. But I would hardly give you a poison your body had to fight while you suffered from malnutrition. There is an antidote to Butterfly’s Dust.” He showed me a small vial containing a white liquid.

Collapsing back into my chair, I sighed. Valek’s metal face had returned; I realized he hadn’t offered the antidote to me.

“In answer to the question you didn’t ask but should have, this—” Valek raised the small vial and shook it “—is how we keep the Commander’s food taster from escaping.”

I stared at him, trying to understand the implication.

“Yelena, you confessed to murder. We would be fools to let you serve the Commander without some guarantees. Guards watch the Commander at all times and it is doubtful you would be able to reach him with a weapon. For other forms of retaliation, we use Butterfly’s Dust.” Valek picked up the vial of antidote, and twirled it in the sunlight. “You need a daily dose of this to stay alive. The antidote keeps the poison from killing you. As long as you show up each morning in my office, I will give you the antidote. Miss one morning and you’ll be dead by the next. Commit a crime or an act of treason and you’ll be sent back to the dungeon until the poison takes you. I would avoid that fate, if I were you. The poison causes severe stomach cramps and uncontrollable vomiting.”

Before full comprehension of my situation could sink in, Valek’s eyes slid past my shoulder. I turned to see a stout woman in a housekeeper’s uniform opening the door. Valek introduced her as Margg, the person who would take care of my basic needs. Expecting me to follow her, Margg strode out the door.

I glanced at the vial on Valek’s desk.

“Come to my office tomorrow morning. Margg will direct you.”

An obvious dismissal, but I paused at the door with all the questions I should have asked poised on my lips. I swallowed them. They sank like stones to my stomach, then I closed the door and hurried after Margg, who hadn’t stopped to wait.

Margg never slowed her pace. I found myself panting with the effort to keep up. Trying to remember the various corridors and turns, I soon gave up as my whole world shrank to the sight of Margg’s broad back and efficient stride. Her long black skirt seemed to float above the floor. The housekeeper uniform included a black shirt and white apron that hung from the neck down to the ankle and was cinched tight around the waist. The apron had two vertical rows of small red diamond-shapes connected end to end. When Margg finally stopped at the baths, I had to sit on the floor to clear my spinning head.

“You stink,” Margg said, disgust creasing her wide face. She pointed to the far side of the baths in a manner that indicated she was used to being obeyed. “Wash twice, then soak. I’ll bring you some uniforms.” She left the room.

The overpowering desire to bathe flashed like fire on my skin. Energized, I ripped the prison robe off and raced to the washing area. Hot water poured down in a cascade when I opened the duct above my head. The Commander’s castle was equipped with heated water tanks located one floor above the baths, a luxury even Brazell’s extravagant manor house didn’t have.

I stood for a long time, hoping the drumming on my head would erase all thoughts of poisons. Obediently I washed my hair and body twice. My neck, wrists and ankles burned from the soap, but I didn’t care. I scrubbed two more times, rubbing hard at the stubborn spots of dirt on my skin, stopping only when I realized they were bruises.

I felt unconnected to the body under the waterfall. The pain and humiliation of being arrested and locked away had been inflicted on this body, but my soul had long since been driven out during the last two years I had lived in Brazell’s manor house.

An image of Brazell’s son suddenly flashed before me. Reyad’s handsome face distorted with rage. I stepped back, reflexively jerking my hands up to block him. The image disappeared, leaving me shaking.

It was an effort to dry off and wrap a towel around me. I tried to focus on finding a comb instead of the ugly memories Reyad’s image called forth.

Even clean, my snarled hair resisted the comb. As I searched for a pair of scissors, I spotted another person in the baths from the corner of my eye. I stared at the body. A corpse looked back at me. The green eyes were the only signs of life in the gaunt, oval face. Thin stick legs looked incapable of holding the rest of the body up.

Recognition shot through me like a cold splash of fear. It was my body. I averted my eyes from the mirror, having no desire to assess the damage. Coward, I thought, returning my gaze with a purpose. Had Reyad’s death released my soul from where it had fled? In my mind I tried to reconnect my spirit to my body. Why did I think my soul would return if my body was still not mine? It belonged to Commander Ambrose to be used as a tool for filtering and testing poisons. I turned away.

Pulling clumps of knotted hair out with the comb, I arranged the rest into a single long braid down my back.

Not long ago all I had hoped for was a clean prison robe before my execution, and now here I was sinking into the Commander’s famous hot baths.

“That’s long enough,” Margg barked, startling me out of a light doze. “Here are your uniforms. Get dressed.” Her stiff face radiated disapproval.

As I dried myself, I felt Margg’s impatience.

Along with some undergarments, the food taster’s uniform consisted of black pants, a wide red satin belt and a red satin shirt with a line of small black diamond-shapes connected end to end down each of the sleeves. The clothes were obviously sized for a man. Malnourished and measuring only four inches past five feet, I looked like a child playing pretend with her father’s clothes. I wrapped the belt three times around my waist and rolled up the sleeves and pant legs.

Margg snorted. “Valek only told me to feed you and show you to your room. But I think we’ll stop by the seamstress’s first.” Pausing at the open door, Margg pursed her lips and added, “You’ll need boots too.”

Obediently, I followed Margg like a lost puppy.

The seamstress, Dilana, laughed gaily at my appearance. Her heart-shaped face had a halo of curly blond hair. Honey-colored eyes and long eyelashes enhanced her beauty.

“The stable boys wear the same pants and the kitchen maids wear the red shirts,” Dilana said when she had stifled her giggles. She admonished Margg for not spending the time to find me better-size uniforms. Margg pushed her lips together tighter.

Fussing around me like a grandmother instead of a young woman, Dilana’s attentions warmed me, pulling me toward her. I envisioned us becoming friends. She probably had many acquaintances and suitors who came to bask in her attentions like cave dwellers drawn to a blazing hearth. I found myself aching to reach out to her.

After writing my measurements down, Dilana searched through the piles of red, black and white clothing stacked around the room.

Everyone who worked in Ixia wore a uniform. The Commander’s castle servants and guards wore a variation of black, white and red color clothes with vertical diamond-shapes either down the sleeves of the shirts or down the sides of the pants. Advisers and higher-ranking officers usually wore all black with small red diamonds stitched on the collars to show rank. The uniform system became mandatory when the Commander gained power so everyone knew at a glance who they were dealing with.

Black and red were Commander Ambrose’s colors. The Territory of Ixia had been separated into eight Military Districts each ruled by a General. The uniforms of the eight districts were identical to the Commander’s except for the color. A housekeeper wearing black with small purple diamond-shapes on her apron therefore worked in Military District 3 or MD–3.

“I think these should fit better.” She handed me some clothes, gesturing to the privacy screen at the far end of the room.

While I was changing, I heard Dilana say, “She’ll need boots.” Feeling less foolish in my new clothes, I picked up the old uniforms and gave them to Dilana.

“These must have belonged to Oscove, the old food taster,” Dilana said. A sad expression gripped her face for a moment before she shook her head as if to rid herself of an unwanted thought.

All my fantasies of friendship fled me as I realized that being friends with the Commander’s food taster was a big emotional risk. My stomach hollowed out while Dilana’s warmth leaked from me, leaving a cold bitterness behind.

A sharp stab of loneliness struck me as an unwanted image of May and Carra, who still lived at Brazell’s manor, flashed before my eyes. My fingers twitched to fix Carra’s crooked braids and to straighten May’s skirt.

Instead of Carra’s silky ginger hair in my hands, I held a stack of clothes. Dilana guided me to a chair. Kneeling on the floor, she put socks on my feet and then a pair of boots. The boots were made of soft black leather. They came up over my ankle to midcalf, where the leather folded down. Dilana tucked my pant legs into the boots and helped me stand.

I hadn’t worn shoes in seasons and I expected them to chafe. But the boots cushioned my feet and fit well. I smiled at Dilana, thoughts of May and Carra temporarily banished. These were the finest pair of boots I’d ever worn.

She smiled back and said, “I can always pick the right-size boots without having to measure.”

Margg harrumphed. “You didn’t get poor Rand’s boots right. He’s too smitten with you to complain. Now he limps around the kitchen.”

“Don’t pay any attention to her,” Dilana said to me. “Margg, don’t you have work to do? Get going or I’ll sneak into your room and shorten all your skirts.” Dilana shooed us good-naturedly out the door.

Margg took me to the servants’ dining room and served me small portions of soup and bread. The soup tasted divine. After devouring the food, I asked for more.

“No. Too much will make you sick,” was all she said. With reluctance I left my bowl on the table to follow Margg to my room.

“At sunrise be ready to work.”

Once again I watched her retreating back.

My small room contained a narrow bed with a single stained mattress on a stark metal frame, a plain wooden desk and chair, a chamber pot, an armoire, a lantern, a tiny woodstove and one window shuttered tight. The gray stone walls were unadorned. I tested the mattress; it barely yielded. A vast improvement over my dungeon cell, yet I found myself somewhat dissatisfied.

Nothing in the room suggested softness. With my mind and eyes filled with Valek’s metal face and Margg’s censure, and the harsh cut and colors of the uniforms, I longed for a pillow or blanket. I felt like a lost child looking for something to clutch, something supple that wouldn’t end up hurting me.

After hanging my extra uniforms in the armoire, I crossed to the window. There was a sill wide enough for me to sit on. The shutters were locked, but the latches were on the inside. Hands shaking, I unlocked and pushed the shutters wide, blinking in the sudden light. Shielding my eyes, I squinted beneath my hand, and stared at the scene in front of my window in disbelief. I was on the first floor of the castle! Five feet below was the ground.

Between my room and the stables were the Commander’s kennels and the exercise yard for the horses. The stable boys and dog trainers wouldn’t care if I escaped. I could drop down without any effort and be gone. Tempting, except for the fact that I would be dead in two days. Maybe another time, when two days of freedom might be worth the price.

I could hope.

3

REYAD’S WHIP CUT INTO my skin, slashing my flesh with a burning pain. “Move,” he ordered.

I dodged ineffectively, hampered by the rope tied to my wrist, which anchored me to a post in the center of the room.

“Move faster, keep moving!” Reyad shouted.

The whip snapped again and again. My tattered shirt gave no protection from the stinging leather. A cool, soothing voice entered my skull. “Go away,” it whispered. “Send your mind to a distant place, a warm loving place. Let your body go.”

The silken voice didn’t belong to Reyad or Brazell. A savior, perhaps? An easy way to escape the torment, tempting but I held out for another opportunity. Determined, I stayed, focusing on avoiding the lash. When exhaustion claimed me, my body began to vibrate of its own accord. Like an out-of-control hummingbird, I darted around the room, avoiding the whip.

* * *

I woke in darkness soaked with sweat, my crumpled uniform twisted tight around my body. The vibration in my dream replaced by a pounding. Before falling asleep, I had wedged a chair under the doorknob to prevent anyone from barging in. The chair rattled with each thud.

“I’m up,” I shouted. The racket stopped. When I opened the door, Margg stood frowning with a lantern. I hastened to change my uniform and joined her in the hallway. “I thought you said sunrise.”

Her disapproving stare seared my lips shut. “It is sunrise.”

I followed Margg through the labyrinth of the castle’s hidden hallways as the day began to brighten. My room faced west, shielding me from the morning sun. Margg extinguished the lantern just as the scent of sweet cakes filled the air.

Inhaling, I asked her, “Breakfast?” A hopeful, almost pleading, note crept into my voice, galling me.

“No. Valek will feed you.”

The image of breakfast laced with poison did wonders for suppressing my appetite. My stomach tightened as the unwanted memory of Valek’s Butterfly’s Dust came to mind. By the time we had reached his office, I had convinced myself that I was about to collapse, soon to be vanquished by the poison if I didn’t receive the antidote.

When I entered the room, Valek was in the process of arranging plates of steaming food. He had cleared off a section of the table. The displaced papers balanced in messy piles. He gestured to a chair; I sat, searching the table for the small vial of antidote.

“I hope you’re…” Valek studied my face. I stared back, trying not to flinch under his scrutiny.

“It’s amazing what a difference a bath and a uniform can make,” Valek said, absently chewing on a slice of bacon. “I’ll have to remember that. It might be useful in the future.” Placing two plates of an egg-and-ham mixture before me, he said, “Let’s get started.”

Feeling dizzy and flushed, I blurted out, “I’d rather start with the antidote.” Another long pause from Valek caused me to fidget in my seat.

“You shouldn’t be feeling any symptoms. They won’t arrive until later this afternoon.” He shrugged and went to his cabinet. He used a pipette to extract a measure of the white liquid from a large bottle, and then locked the antidote back inside the cabinet. My interest in the location of the key must have been obvious because Valek used some type of sleight of hand to make the key disappear. Handing me the pipette, he sat down on the opposite side of the table.

“Drink up so we can start today’s lessons,” he said.

I squeezed the contents into my mouth, cringing at the bitter taste. Valek took the pipette from my hands and exchanged it for a blue jar. “Take a sniff.”

The jar contained a white powder, resembling sugar but smelling like rosewood. Gesturing to the two plates cooling in front of me, Valek asked me to pick the one sprinkled with the poison. I sniffed at the food like a scent hound nosing for prey. A faint odor of rosewood emanated from the left plate.

“Good. Should you pick up that aroma from any of the Commander’s food, reject it. The poison is called Tigtus and a single grain of the powder will kill within the hour.” Valek removed the tainted food. “Eat your breakfast.” He indicated the other plate. “You’ll need your strength.”

I spent the remainder of the day smelling poisons until my head ached and spun. The multitude of names and aromas began to confuse me, so I asked Valek for some paper, quill and ink. He stilled.

“I don’t know why you continue to surprise me. I should have remembered that General Brazell educates his orphans.” Valek flung a book of papers, a quill and ink down in front of me. “Take them back to your room. We’ve done enough for today.”

I silently cursed myself for reminding Valek why I had been the next person to be executed as I gathered the book and writing implements. Valek’s hard, unforgiving expression revealed his thoughts. Taken off the streets, fed and educated by Brazell, I had repaid Brazell’s kindness by murdering his only child. I knew Valek would never believe the truth about Brazell and Reyad.

General Brazell’s orphanage was a topic of ridicule from the other Generals. They thought he had gone “soft” after the takeover of Ixia fifteen years ago. This impression suited Brazell. Seen as a kindly old benefactor, Brazell could continue unchallenged in his administration of Military District 5.

I hesitated at the entrance of Valek’s office, noticing for the first time the three complex locks on the thick wooden door. Absently fingering the locking mechanisms, I lingered in the doorway until Valek asked, “Now what?”

“I’m not sure where my room is.”

Valek spoke as if talking to a slow-witted child. “Ask the first housekeeper or kitchen maid you find, they’re always scurrying about this time of day. Tell her you’re in the west servant wing, ground floor. She’ll show you.”

The kitchen maid I snared into helping me was more talkative than Margg and I took full advantage of her good nature. She guided me to the laundry room to obtain some linens for my bed. Then I had her show me the way to the baths and the seamstress’s work area. Dilana’s piles of uniforms might come in handy someday.

In my room, I opened the shutters to let in the fading light from the setting sun. Sitting down at my desk, I wrote exhaustive notes on what I had learned that day, including a rough map of the servants’ corridors. I considered more exploration of the castle, but Valek had been right, I needed my strength. I hoped I would have time to explore later.

During the next two weeks, the training proceeded in a manner so similar to the first day that I lapsed into a routine, arriving at Valek’s every morning to train. After fourteen days of sniffing poisons, I found that my sense of smell had heightened. But then Valek announced I was strong enough to begin tasting poisons.

“I’ll start with the deadliest one,” he said. “If you don’t die from it, the other poisons wouldn’t kill you either. I don’t want to waste all my time training you only to see you die in the end.” He placed a slender red bottle on his desk. “It’s nasty. Affects the body immediately.” Valek’s eyes lit up as he admired the poison. “It’s called Have a Drink, My Love, or My Love for short because the poison has a history of being used by disheartened wives.” He squeezed two drops of the poison into a steaming cup. “A larger dose would definitely kill you. With a smaller dose, there is a chance you’ll survive, but you’ll become delusional, paranoid and completely disoriented for the next few days.”

“Valek, why do I have to taste My Love if it has immediate results? Isn’t that what a food taster is for? I taste the Commander’s food. I keel over, dead. End of the tale.” I tried pacing around the room but kept tripping over stacks of books. Frustrated, I kicked two piles into their neighbors, scattering books into a messy heap on the floor. Valek’s gaze pierced me, draining the odd feeling of satisfaction I had gotten from kicking the books.

“A food taster’s job is much more complex than that,” Valek explained, pulling his hair back from his face. “Being able to identify which poison taints the Commander’s food can lead me to the poisoner.” Valek handed me the cup. “Even if you only have a split second to shout out My Love before passing out, it would narrow down the list of suspects. There are a number of assassins who are partial to My Love. The poison is grown in Sitia, the southern lands. It was easy to obtain before the takeover. With the closure of the southern border, only a handful of people have enough money to purchase it illegally.”

Valek went over to the mess on the floor and started restacking the books. His movements were so graceful that I wondered if he had been a dancer, but his words betrayed to me that his fluid gestures were those of a trained killer.

“Yelena, your job is very important. That’s why I spend so much time training you. A shrewd assassin can watch a taster for several days to discover a pattern.” Valek continued his lecture from the floor. “For example, the taster might always cut a piece of meat from the left side, or never stir the drink. Some poisons sink to the bottom of the cup. If the taster only sips off the top, then the assassin knows exactly where to place the poison to kill his intended victim.” He finished picking up the books. The new piles were neater than the rest of the stacks on the floor. It seemed an invitation to Valek to continue straightening the books. He cleared a bigger path through his office.

“Once you drink the poison, Margg will help you to your room and take care of you. I’ll give her your daily dose of Butterfly’s Dust antidote.”

I stared at the steam drifting from the tea. I picked up the cup, the heat warming my icy hands. When Margg entered the room, it felt as if the executioner had just mounted the dais, reaching for the lever. Should I sit down or lie down? I looked around the room, seeing nothing. My arms started to tingle as I realized I had been holding my breath.

I raised the cup in a mock salute, and then drained the contents. “Sour apples,” I said.

Valek nodded. I had only enough time to put the cup on the table before my world began to melt. Margg’s body undulated toward me. Her large head sprouted flowers from her eye sockets. A moment later her body filled the room as her head shriveled.

I sensed movement. The gray walls grew arms and legs that reached for me, trying to use me in their fight against the floor. Gray spirits rose from under my feet. They dived, poked and cackled at me. They were freedom. I tried to push the Margg thing away, but it clung and wrapped itself around me, digging through my ears and pounding on my head.

“Murderer,” it whispered. “Sneaky bitch. You probably slit his throat while he slept. Easy way to kill. Did you enjoy yourself as you watched his blood soak the sheets? You’re nothing but a rat.”

I grabbed at the voice, trying to make it stop, but it turned into two green-and-black toy soldiers who held me tight.

“She’ll die from the poison. If not you can take her,” the Margg thing said to the soldiers.

They pushed me into a dark pit. I plunged into blackness.

The stench of vomit and excrement greeted me when I regained consciousness. They were the unmistakable odors of the dungeon. Wondering how I had ended up back in my old cell, I sat up. A surge of nausea demanded my attention. I groped around for the slop pot and encountered the metal leg of a bed, which I clutched as dry heaves racked my body. When they stopped, I leaned against the wall, grateful to be on the floor of my room and not back in the dungeon. Beds were a luxury not included with the subterranean accommodations.

Summoning the strength to stand, I located and lit my lantern. Dried vomit caked my face. My shirt and pants were soaking wet and smelled foul. The liquid contents of my body had collected in a puddle on the floor.

Margg took good care of me, I thought sarcastically. At least she was practical. If she had dumped me on the bed I would have ruined the mattress.

I thanked fate that I had survived the poison and that I had awakened in the middle of the night. Unable to endure the feel of my sodden uniform any longer, I made my way to the baths.

On my return, voices stopped me before I reached the hallway leading to my room. Extinguishing my lantern in one quick motion, I peeked around the corner. Two soldiers stood in front of my door. The soft light of their lantern reflected the green-and-black colors of their uniforms—Brazell’s colors.

4

“SHOULD WE CHECK IF she’s dead?” asked one of Brazell’s soldiers. He held the lantern up to my door, his overloaded weapon belt jingling with the motion.

“No. That housekeeper checks every morning and gives her a potion. We’ll hear about it soon enough. Besides, it stinks in there.” The other soldier waved his hand in front of his face.

“Yeah. If the smell don’t kill the mood, taking off her vomit-soaked uniform would make any man gag. Although…” The lantern soldier’s hand briefly touched the manacles hanging from his belt. “We could drag her down to the baths, clean her up, and have some fun before she dies.”

“No, someone would see us. If she survives, we’ll have plenty of time to peel off her uniform. It’ll be just like opening a present, and definitely more entertaining when she’s awake.” He leered. They laughed.

They continued down the hallway and were soon out of sight. I clung to the wall and wondered if what I had just witnessed had been real. Was I still having paranoid hallucinations? My head felt as if it had soaked too long in a pool of water. Dizziness and nausea rippled through my body.

The soldiers were long gone before I worked up the nerve to go back to my room. I pushed the door wide and thrust my lantern in front of me, shining the light into every corner and under the bed. A harsh, acrid odor was the only thing to attack me. Gagging, I unlocked the shutters and threw them open, taking deep breaths of the cool, cleansing air.

I looked at the noxious puddle on the floor. The last thing I wanted to do was clean up the mess, but I knew I would never be able to sleep while breathing in that foul smell. After raiding housekeeping’s supplies, and stopping for the occasional bout of nausea, I managed to scrub the floor without fainting.

Exhausted, I stretched out on the bed. It felt lumpy. I turned in my blankets, hoping to find a comfortable position. What if Brazell’s soldiers came back? Asleep in bed, I would be an easy target. I had cleaned myself up so there was no need to drag me to the baths. The room smelled like disinfectant, and I had forgotten to put the chair under the doorknob.

Imagination kicked in, a vivid scene of me manacled to the bed, helpless while the soldiers stripped me slowly to heighten their anticipation and savor my fear.

The walls of my room seemed to thicken and pulse. I bolted out into the hallway, expecting to see Brazell’s soldiers lurking around my door. The corridor was dark and deserted.

When I tried to reenter my room, I felt as if someone pressed a pillow against my face. I couldn’t get my feet to move past the doorway. My room was a trap. The paranoia effect of My Love or common sense? I wondered. Indecision kept me standing in the hallway until my stomach growled. Guided by my hunger, I searched for food.

Hoping to find the kitchen empty, I was dismayed to see a tall man wearing a white uniform with two black diamonds printed on the front of his shirt mumbling to himself as he lurched around the ovens. His left leg didn’t bend. I tried to sneak back out but he spotted me.

“Are you looking for me?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “I was…looking for something to eat.” I craned my neck back to see his face.

He frowned and shifted his weight to his good leg as he studied my uniform. Too thin for a cook, I thought, but he wore the proper clothes and only a cook would be up this early. He was handsome in a subtle way, with light brown eyes and short brown hair. I wondered if this was Dilana’s Rand that Margg had talked about.

“Help yourself.” He gestured toward two steaming loaves of bread. “You just won me a week’s wages.”

“Excuse me,” I said while cutting off a large piece of bread. “How could I win you money?”

“You’re the new food taster. Right?”

I nodded.

“Everyone knows Valek gave you a dose of My Love. I took a chance and bet a week’s wages that you would live.” He stopped to take three more loaves out of the oven. “A big risk, since you’re the smallest and skinniest food taster we’ve ever had. Most everyone else had wagered that you wouldn’t pull through, including Margg.”

The cook rummaged through one of the cabinets. “Here.” He handed me some butter. “I’ll make you some sweet cakes.” Grabbing various ingredients from a shelf, he proceeded to mix up a batter.

“How many food tasters have there been?” I asked him between bites of buttered bread. Working alone didn’t seem to suit him. He seemed glad to have some company.

With his hands in constant motion, he said, “Five since Commander Ambrose has been in power. Valek loves his poisons. He poisoned many of the Commander’s enemies, and he likes to keep in practice. You know, testing the food tasters from time to time to make sure they haven’t grown lazy.”

The cook’s words crawled up my spine. I felt as if my body had liquefied and pooled into a giant mixing bowl. I was just a puddle of ingredients to be beaten, stirred and used. When the cook poured the batter onto the hot griddle, my blood sizzled along with the sweet cakes.

“Poor Oscove, Valek never liked him. Testing him constantly until he couldn’t handle the pressure. The ‘official’ cause of death was suicide, but I think Valek killed him.”

Flip. I stared as the cook deftly flicked his wrist, turning the cakes over. My muscles trembled in synch with the sound of frying sweet cakes.

Here I was worried about Brazell, when one misstep with Valek and… Flip. I would be gone. He probably held a couple of poisons in reserve just in case he decided to replace the taster. Glancing over my shoulder, I imagined Valek coming into the kitchen to poison my breakfast. I couldn’t even enjoy talking with a chatty cook without being reminded that tasting potentially poisoned food wasn’t the only danger of my new job.

The cook handed me a plate loaded with sweet cakes, took three more loaves of bread out of the oven and refilled his bread pans with dough. Piping-hot sweet cakes were such a rare treat that I devoured them despite my unsettled stomach.

“Oscove was my friend. He was the Commander’s best food taster. He used to come to my kitchen every morning after breakfast and help me invent new recipes. I have to keep things interesting or the Commander will start looking for a new cook. Know what I mean?”

I nodded, wiping butter off my chin.

He thrust out his hand. “My name’s Rand.”

I shook his hand. “Yelena.”

I stopped at an open window on my way to Valek’s office. The rising sun was just cresting the Soul Mountains to the east of the castle. The colors in the sky resembled a ruined painting, as if a small child had spilled water on the canvas. I let my eyes feast on the vibrant display of life as I inhaled the fresh air. Everything was in full bloom, and soon the cool morning breeze would warm to a comfortable level. The hot season was in its infancy. The days of sweltering heat and limp, humid nights were still a few weeks away. I had been training with Valek for a fortnight, and I wondered how long My Love had held me unconscious.

Tearing myself away from the window, I walked toward Valek’s office, arriving at his door just as he was leaving.

“Yelena! You made it.” Valek smiled. “It’s been three days. I was beginning to worry.”

I studied his face. He seemed sincerely glad to see me.

“Where’s Margg?” he asked.

“I haven’t seen her.” Thank fate, I thought.

“Then you’ll need your antidote,” Valek said while moving back to his cabinet.

Once I swallowed the liquid, Valek headed toward the door. When I didn’t follow, he gestured to me.

“I have to taste the Commander’s breakfast,” he said, setting a quick pace.

I huffed along behind him.

“It’s time you meet the Commander and watch how food tasting should be done.”

We turned into the main hallway of the castle. Valek didn’t miss a step, but I stumbled and stifled a gasp. The famous tapestries from the King’s era were torn and soiled with black paint. In Brazell’s orphanage we had been taught that each tapestry represented a province of the old kingdom. Hand-quilted with gold threads during the course of many years, the colored silk pictures told a story about the history of each province. Now in rags, they still told a very powerful tale about the Commander’s rule.

The Commander’s disdain for the opulence, excesses and injustices of the former ruler and his family was well known throughout Ixia. From monarchy to military, the changes in Ixia were severe. While some citizens embraced the simple but strict rules in the Code of Behavior, others rebelled by refusing to wear their uniforms, by not requesting permission to travel, and by escaping to the south.

Based on the offense, the insurgents’ punishment matched exactly what was written in the Code. No uniform meant two days chained naked in the town’s square. It didn’t matter if the offender had a legitimate reason; the punishment was always the same. Ixia’s people discovered that there wasn’t going to be any guessing about their punishment. No bribing or good-old-boy networking either; the Commander meant business. Live by the Code or face the consequences.

I pulled my eyes away from the tapestries in time to see Valek disappear through an arched doorway decorated with lavish stonework. Splintered wooden doors hung crookedly on their hinges, but the intricate carvings of trees and exotic birds were still visible. Another victim of the takeover, and another reminder of the Commander’s intent.

I stopped in amazement just past the broken doors. This was the castle’s throne room. Inside was a sea of desks occupied by numerous advisers and military officers from every Military District in the Territory. The room hummed with activity.

It was hard to distinguish individuals in the commotion, but I finally spotted Valek’s smooth stride as he went through an open door at the back of the room. Finding a path around the maze of desks took some time. When I arrived at the door, I heard a man’s voice complaining about cold sweet cakes.

Commander Ambrose sat behind a plain wooden desk. His office was stark in comparison to Valek’s and lacked personal decorations. The only object in the room that did not have a specific purpose was a hand-size statue of a black snow cat. The cat’s eyes glinted with silver, and bright specks of the metal peppered the beast’s powerful back.

The Commander’s black uniform was perfectly tailored and immaculate, indistinguishable from Valek’s except that the diamonds stitched on his collar were real. They twinkled in the morning light. The Commander’s black hair was sprinkled with gray and cut so short that the strands stood straight up.

In Brazell’s classroom, we had learned that the Commander avoided public appearances and having his portrait painted. The fewer people who knew what he looked like, the less his chances were of being assassinated. Some thought he was paranoid, but I believed that since he had gained power by using assassins and covert warfare, he was merely being realistic.

This was not the Commander I had envisioned: burly, bearded and weighed down with medals and weapons. He was thin, clean shaven, with delicate features.

“Commander, this is Yelena, your new food taster,” Valek said, pulling me into the room.

The Commander’s gold almond-shaped eyes met mine. His gaze had the sharpness of a sword point. It pressed against my throat and fastened me to the floor. I felt myself being drawn out and examined. When he looked over at Valek, I swayed with relief.

“From what Brazell’s been hollering about, I expected her to breathe fire,” the Commander said.

I stiffened on hearing Brazell’s name. If Brazell was complaining to the Commander, I could be back in line for the noose.

“Brazell’s a fool,” Valek said. “He wanted the drama of a public hanging for his son’s killer. I personally would have taken care of her immediately. It would have been within his rights.” Valek slurped the Commander’s tea and sniffed the sweet cakes.

My chest was tight. I was having trouble drawing in air.

“Besides, it’s clearly written in the Code of Behavior that the next to be hanged gets the job offer. And Brazell was one of the authors.” Cutting a piece of one sweet cake from the center and the other from the side, Valek put both pieces in his mouth, chewing slowly. “Here.” He handed the plate to the Commander.

“Brazell does have a point,” the Commander said. He picked up his tea and stared at the contents. “When does she start? I’m getting tired of cold food.”

“A few more days.”

“Good,” the Commander said to Valek, then turned to me. “You arrive with my food and taste quick. I don’t want to be looking for you. Understand?”

Feeling light-headed, I answered, “Yes, Sir.”

“Valek, I’m losing weight because of you. Lunch is in the war room. Don’t be late.”

“Yes, Sir,” Valek said and headed for the door. I followed. We wound our way through the tangle of desks. When Valek stopped to consult with another adviser, I glanced around. A handful of the Commander’s advisers were women, and I noticed two female Captains and one Colonel. Their new roles were one of the benefits of the takeover. The Commander assigned jobs based on skills and intelligence, not on gender.

While the monarchy preferred to see women work as maids, kitchen helpers and wives, the Commander gave them the freedom to choose what they wanted to do. Some women preferred their former occupations, while others jumped at the chance to do something else, and the younger generation had been quick to take advantage of the new opportunities.

When we finally reached Valek’s office, Margg was dusting around Valek’s piles of papers on the table. It looked to me as if she was spending more time reading the papers than straightening them. Didn’t Valek notice? I wondered what Margg did for Valek besides cleaning.

Margg turned a pleasant face to Valek, but as soon as he walked away she glared fiercely at me. Must have lost a lot of money betting against my survival, I thought. I smiled at her. She managed to control her outraged expression before Valek glanced up at us from his desk.

“Yelena, you look exhausted. You make me tired just looking at you. Go rest. Come back after lunch and we’ll continue with your training.”

I didn’t really feel tired, but rest sounded like an excellent idea. As I moved along the hallway, Valek’s comment wormed its way through my mind. My pace slowed and I dragged my feet toward my room. I was so preoccupied with the physical effort of walking that I bumped right into two of Brazell’s guards.

“Lookie, Wren, I found our rat!” one guard exclaimed, grabbing my wrist.

Alert, I gaped at the green diamonds on the guard’s uniform.

“Good for you,” Wren said. “Let’s show your catch to General Brazell.”

“The General isn’t fond of live rats. Especially this one.”

The guard shook me hard. Pain coursed up my arm to my shoulder and neck. In a panic, I searched the hallway for help. It was deserted.

“That’s right, he prefers them skinned alive.”

I’d heard enough. I did what any good rat would do. I bit down on the guard’s hand until I tasted blood. Yelping and cursing in surprise, his grip lessened. I jerked my arm out of his grasp and ran.

5

I WAS ONLY A COUPLE OF STEPS away from Brazell’s guards when they recovered from their surprise and began to chase me. Being terrified and unburdened of weapons, I had a slight advantage. It wouldn’t last. I was already puffing with the effort.

The corridors were mysteriously empty as I ran through them. If I did find someone, I wasn’t really sure they would or could help me. Like a rat, my only hope of escape was to find a hole to hide in.

I ran without a plan, caring only about keeping ahead of the guards. The corridors blurred together until I imagined I was running in place and it was the walls that were moving. I slowed for a moment to get my bearings. Where was I?

The light in the hallway was waning. My pounding steps kicked dust up from the floor. I had headed toward an isolated part of the castle, a perfect place for a quiet murder. Quiet because I wouldn’t have enough air in my lungs to scream.

I made a quick right turn into a corridor that led off into darkness. Momentarily out of the guards’ sight, I pushed against the first door I encountered. Groaning and creaking, it yielded slightly under my weight, and then stuck tight. A gap big enough for my body, but not my head. Hearing the guards turn down the corridor, I threw myself against the door. It moved another inch. I tumbled headfirst into a dark room, and landed on the floor.

The guards found the door. I watched in horror as they tried to muscle it open. The gap began to expand. I scanned the room. My eyes adjusted to the gloom. Empty barrels and rotten sacks of grain littered the floor. A pile of rugs was stacked against the far wall below a window.

The door surrendered a couple more inches to the guards’ efforts before lodging again. I stood, and stacked the barrels on top of the rug pile. Scrambling up them, I reached the window, only to discover it was too small for me to fit through.

The door cracked ominously. I used my elbow to shatter the windowpane. Pulling the ragged glass fragments out of the frame, I tossed them to the floor. Blood ran down my arm. Heedless of the pain, I jumped down, pressed myself against the wall next to the doorway, and fought to stifle the harsh sound of my breathing.

With a loud groan, the door stopped mere inches from my face as the guards stumbled into the storeroom.

“Check the window. I’ll cover the door,” Wren said.

I peeked around the edge. Wren’s companion walked to the pile of rugs and barrels, crushing glass beneath his boots.

My plan wasn’t going to work. Wren blocked my escape route. The broken window would only delay the inevitable.

“Too small, she’s still here,” the guard called from above.

My rough breathing had accelerated into fast gasps. I felt light-headed. The rat trap had sprung. I was immobilized in its metal jaws.

My thoughts jumbled into a cloud of images. I clutched at the door, trying not to fall. A buzzing sound burst uncontrolled from my throat. I was unable to suppress the drone. Trying harder only caused the sound to grow louder.

I staggered out from behind the door. With all the noise I made, the guards didn’t even glance in my direction. They seemed frozen in place.

My lungs strained for air. On the verge of passing out, the buzzing then released me. The sound still rang in the room, but it no longer came from me.

The guards continued to be unresponsive. After taking several deep breaths, I bolted from the room. I wasn’t going to waste time trying to understand. The buzzing sound followed me as I ran back the way we had come.

The loud hum ended as soon as I started seeing other servants hurrying through the hallway. Odd looks were cast my way. I realized I must be quite a sight. I forced myself to stop running as I tried to calm my hammering heart.

My throat burned from panting, my uniform was stained, pain throbbed in my elbow, and bright red beads dripped off my fingers. Looking at my hands, I saw deep cuts from handling the glass. I gazed at the blood on the floor.

Turning around, I saw a line of crimson drops disappearing down the corridor. I clutched my arms to my chest, but it was too late. I had left a blood trail, and there were Brazell’s guards, like trained dogs, following it.

They were coming around the corner at the far end of the hall. Undetected so far, I knew any sudden movement would draw their attention. I joined a group of servants, hoping to blend in. Pain pulsated in harmony with my laboring heartbeat.

When I reached a turn, I risked a glance over my shoulder. The guards stood at the spot where my blood trail had ended. Wren gestured as he argued with his partner. I slipped around the corner unnoticed, then bumped right into Valek.

“Yelena! What happened to you?” Valek grabbed my arm.

I winced. He let go.

“I…fell…on some glass.” It was weak. I hurried to cover it. “I’m on my way to get cleaned up.” As I began to walk past Valek, he grasped my shoulder, spinning me around.

“You need to see a medic.”

“Ah…okay.” I tried once more to get past Valek.

“The medic is this way.” Valek pulled on my shoulder, forcing me to follow him back down the corridor toward the guards. Foolishly, I hoped they wouldn’t see me, but as we walked past they smiled, falling into step behind us.

I glanced at Valek. There was no expression on his face. His grip on my shoulder tightened. Was Valek leading me to some secluded spot where the three of them could kill me? Should I make a break for it? But if Valek had wanted me dead, he had only to withhold the antidote to Butterfly’s Dust.

When the hallway emptied of people, Valek let go of my shoulder and swung around to face the two guards. I stayed close behind him.

“Are you lost?” Valek asked the guards.

“No, sir,” said Wren. A foot taller than Valek, his hands were the size of my head. “Just want to reclaim our prisoner.” Wren tried to reach around Valek to grab me.

Valek deflected his hand. “Your prisoner?” Valek’s voice sliced through the air like steel.

The guards looked at each other in disbelief. Valek had no weapons. While the other guard was shorter than Wren, he still outweighed the other two men. Identical cocky smirks touched both guards’ faces. I wondered if sneering and glaring were part of their training. Rand the cook would probably bet a month’s wages on Brazell’s soldiers winning this argument.

“Actually, General Brazell’s prisoner, sir. Now, if you would…” Wren gestured for Valek to step aside.

“Tell your boss that Valek doesn’t appreciate having his new food taster chased through the castle. And that I would like her to be left alone.”

The guards glanced at each other again. I was beginning to suspect they had only one brain to share between them. Regarding Valek with a more focused expression, they shifted their posture into a fighting stance.

“We have been ordered to bring the girl to the General. Not messages,” Wren said, pulling his sword from his belt.

With the sound of ringing metal, the second guard flourished his weapon as well. Wren asked Valek to move aside once more. Faced with two swords, what could Valek do? Run for my life is what I would do, so I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet, preparing to flee.

Valek’s right hand blurred into motion with two quick snaps of his wrist. It looked as if he had saluted both guards. Before the men could react, he was between them, too close for swords. He crouched low, put his hands on the floor and spun. Using his legs, Valek windmilled both guards to the ground. I heard a clatter of metal, a whoosh of air from Wren and a curse from the other before they both lay motionless.

Baffled, I watched Valek gracefully move away from his fallen opponents. He counted under his breath. When he reached ten, he bent over each man and removed a tiny dart from each of their necks.

“It’s a dirty way to fight, but I’m late for lunch.”

6

STEPPING OVER THE PRONE forms of the sleeping soldiers, Valek took my injured arm and inspected it. “Not as bad as it looks. You’ll live. We’ll see the Commander first, then the medic.”

Valek hurried me through the castle. My arm began to throb. I lagged behind. The thought of facing the Commander’s stony gaze dragged at my feet. Finding the medic, then sinking into a hot bath was without a doubt more appealing.

We entered a spacious round chamber that served as the Commander’s war room. Slender, stained-glass windows stretched from the floor to the ceiling and encircled three-quarters of the chamber. The kaleidoscope of colors made me feel as if I were inside a spinning top. Dizzy, I would have stumbled except I caught a glimpse of something that rooted me to the floor.

A long wooden table filled the center of the room. Sitting at the head of the table with two guards standing behind him was the Commander. His thin eyebrows were pinched together in annoyance. A tray of untouched food sat by his side. Also seated around the table were three of the Commander’s Generals. Two of the Generals were busy eating their lunch, while the third’s fork hovered in midair. I focused on the hand; white knuckles equaled white-hot rage. With reluctance I met General Brazell’s gaze.

Brazell lowered his fork, his face taut. His eyes held lightning. I was the target, and like a rabbit caught in the open, I was too frightened to move.

“Valek, you’re…” Commander Ambrose began.

“Late,” Valek finished for him. “I know. There was a slight altercation,” he said. He pulled me closer.

Intrigued, the other two Generals stopped eating. I flushed, stifling a strong desire to bolt from the room. Having no contact with any high-ranking officers, I recognized the Generals only by the colors on their uniforms. My trip to the Commander’s dungeon was the first time I had been past the borders of MD–5. Even during the first ten years I had lived in Brazell’s orphanage, I had only caught brief glimpses of him and his family.

Unfortunately, after I had turned sixteen, the sight of Brazell and his son Reyad became my daily nightmare. I had been flattered by the attention of my benefactor; his gray hair and short beard framed a square-shaped, pleasant face that shouted respectability. Stout and sturdy, he was the ultimate father figure to me. Brazell told me I was the smartest of his “adopted” children and that he needed my help with some experiments. I readily agreed to participate.

The memory of how grateful and naive I had been sickened me. It was three years ago. I had been a puppy. A puppy still wagging her tail as the bag’s opening was tied shut.

Two years I had suffered. My mind recoiled from the memories. I stared at Brazell in the war room. His lips were pressed tight as his jaw quivered. He fought to contain his hatred. Faint with fatigue, I saw Reyad’s ghost appear behind his father. Reyad’s slashed throat hung open, and blood dripped down, staining his nightshirt. A distant recollection of a tale about murder victims haunting their killers until their business was settled filtered through my mind.

I rubbed my eyes. Did anyone else see the ghost? If so, they hid it well. My gaze slid to Valek. Was he haunted by ghosts? If that old story was to be believed, he would be swamped by them.

Worry that I might not be completely rid of Reyad pulsed through me, but not a trace of remorse. The only thing I was sorry for was not having the courage to kill Brazell when I had the chance. Sorry that I was unable to save my “sisters and brothers” at Brazell’s orphanage from turning sixteen. Sorry that I was unable to warn May and Carra, and help them run away.

The Commander’s voice brought my attention back to the war room.

“Altercation, Valek?” He sighed like an indulgent parent. “How many dead?”

“None. I couldn’t justify the disposal of soldiers merely following General Brazell’s orders to hunt down and kill our new food taster. Besides, they weren’t very smart. Seems she was on the verge of giving them the slip when she ran into me. Good thing though, or I might not have found out about the incident.”

The Commander studied me for a while before turning to Brazell.

It was all Brazell needed. Leaping from his chair, he shouted, “She should be dead! I want her dead! She killed my son!”

Valek said, “But the Code of Behavior…”

“Damn the Code. I’m a General. She killed a General’s son and here she is…” Emotion choked off Brazell’s voice. His fingers twitched as if he wanted to wrap his hands around my throat that instant. Reyad’s ghost floated behind his father, a smirk on his face.

“It’s a dishonor to me that she lives,” Brazell said. “An insult. Train another prisoner. I want her dead!”

Instinctively, I stepped behind Valek. The other Generals were nodding their heads in agreement. I was too terrified to look at the Commander.

“He has a sound argument,” the Commander said without a trace of emotion tainting his voice.

“You have never deviated from what’s written in the Code of Behavior,” Valek argued. “Start now and you’ll begin a trend. Besides, you’ll be killing the brightest food taster we’ve ever had. She’s almost trained.” He gestured to the tray of cold food beside the Commander.

I glanced around Valek to see the Commander’s expression. Thoughtful, he pursed his lips while he considered Valek’s argument. I crossed my arms, digging my fingernails deep into my flesh.

Brazell, sensing a change of heart, took a step toward the Commander. “She’s smart because I educated her. I can’t believe you’re going to listen to this upstart, conniving, sneaky thief—” Brazell stopped. He had said too much. He had insulted Valek, and even I knew that the Commander had a special fondness for Valek.

“Brazell, leave my food taster alone.”

My breath hissed with relief.

Brazell attempted to argue, but the Commander silenced him. “It’s an order. Go ahead and build your new factory. Consider your permit approved.” He dangled a carrot in front of Brazell. Was a new factory worth more than my death?

Silence followed as everyone waited for Brazell to comment. He gave me a look full of venom. Reyad’s ghost grinned, and I guessed from his cat-that-got-the-rat smile that the permit approval was very important to Brazell. More important than he let on to the Commander. The rage and indignation over my missing the noose was genuine, but he could build his factory now, and then kill me later. He knew where to find me.

Brazell left the room without saying another word. The amused ghost mouthed the words “See you next time,” before following his father.

When the other Generals started to protest the permit approval, the Commander listened to their arguments in silence. Momentarily forgotten, I studied the two Generals. Their uniforms were similar to the Commander’s except that they wore black jackets with gold buttons. Instead of real diamonds on their collars, each General had five embroidered diamonds stitched on their coats over their left breasts. No medals or ribbons decorated their uniforms. The Commander’s troops wore only what was needed for recognition and for battle.

The diamonds on the General sitting close to the Commander were blue. He was General Hazal in charge of Military District 6, just west of Brazell’s MD–5. General Tesso’s diamonds were silver for MD–4, which bordered to the north of Brazell’s. If a district planned a big project, like building a new factory or clearing land for farming, a permit approved by the Commander was required. Smaller projects, like installing a new oven at a bakery or building a house within the district, only needed approval from that district’s General. Most Generals had a staff to handle the processing of new permit applications.

It was apparent from the Generals’ complaints that Brazell’s permit was in the initial processing stages. Discussions with the bordering districts had started, but the Commander’s staff had not yet reviewed and authenticated the factory’s plans. Usually once the staff recommended approval, the Commander signed off on the application. The Code of Behavior only stated that permission must be received prior to building, and if the Commander wanted to bypass his own process he could do so.

We had been taught the Code of Behavior at the orphanage. Anyone wishing the honor of running errands into town had to memorize and recite the Code perfectly prior to gaining the privilege. Besides reading and writing, the education I had received from Brazell had also included mathematics and the history of Ixia’s takeover by the Commander. Since the takeover, education was available to everyone and not just a privilege for the men of the richer classes.

My education, though, took a turn for the worse when I began “helping” Brazell. Memories threatened to overwhelm me. My hot skin felt tight. I trembled, forcing my mind to the present. The Generals had finished their rebuttal of the Commander’s decision. Valek tasted the Commander’s cold food, and pushed it closer to him.

“Your concerns are noted. My order stands,” the Commander said. He turned to Valek. “Your food taster had better live up to your endorsements. One slip and you’ll be training her replacement prior to your reassignment. You’re dismissed.”

Valek took my arm and steered me from the chamber. We walked down the hallway until the door of the war room clicked shut. Then Valek stopped. The features on his face had hardened into a porcelain mask.

“Yelena…”

“Don’t say anything. Don’t threaten or bully or intimidate. I’ve had enough of that from Brazell. I’ll make every effort to be the best taster because I’m getting used to the idea of living. And I don’t want to give Brazell the satisfaction of seeing me dead.” Tired of examining Valek’s every facial expression and straining to hear every small nuance in his voice for clues to his mood, I moved away from him. He followed me. When we reached an intersection, Valek’s hand grasped my elbow. I heard him utter the word medic as he guided me to the left. Without once looking at his face, I let him steer me to the infirmary.

As I was led to an empty examining table, I squinted at the medic’s all-white uniform. The only color on the uniform was two small red diamonds stitched on the collar. My mind was so muddled with fatigue that it took me some time to figure out that the short-haired medic was a female. With a grunt, I stretched out on the table.

When the woman left to get her supplies, Valek said, “I’ll post some guards outside the door, in case Brazell changes his mind.” Before leaving the infirmary, I saw him speak with the medic. She nodded and glanced toward me.

The medic returned with a tray full of shiny medical instruments that included a jar of a substance that looked like jelly. She scrubbed my arms with alcohol, making the wounds bleed and sting. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

“They’re all superficial, except this one,” the medic said as she pointed to the elbow I had used to break the glass. “This wound needs to be sealed.”

“Sealed?” It sounded painful.

The medic picked up the pot of jelly. “Relax. It’s a new method for treating deep lacerations. We use this glue to seal the skin. Once the wound heals, the glue is absorbed into the body.” She scooped out a large amount with her fingers and applied it to the cut.

I winced at the pain. She pinched my skin together, holding it tight. Tears rolled down my cheeks.

“It was invented by the Commander’s cook, of all people. There are no side effects and it tastes great in tea.”

“Rand?” I asked, surprised.

She nodded. Still holding the skin together, she said, “You’ll need to wear a bandage for a few days and keep the cut dry.” She blew on the glue for a while before releasing her grip. She bandaged my arm. “Valek wants you to stay here tonight. I’ll bring you dinner. You can get some rest.”

I thought eating might require too much effort, but when she brought the hot food, I realized I was starving. A strange taste in my tea caused me to lose my appetite in an instant.

Someone had poisoned my tea.

7

I WAVED DOWN THE MEDIC.

“There is something in my tea,” I cried. I began to feel light-headed. “Call Valek.” Maybe he had an antidote.

She stared at me with her large brown eyes. Her face was long and thin. Longer hair would soften her features, her short style merely made her resemble a ferret.

“It’s sleeping pills. Valek’s orders,” she said.

I let out a breath, feeling better. The medic gave me an amused look before she left. My appetite ruined, I shoved the food aside. I didn’t need sleeping pills to help me give in to the exhaustion that lapped up my remaining strength.

When I woke the next morning, there was a blurry white blob standing at the end of my bed. It moved. I blinked and squinted until the image sharpened into the short-haired medic.

“Did you have a good night?”

“Yes,” I said. The first night in a long time free of nightmares, although my head felt as if wool had been shoved into it, and a rank taste in my mouth didn’t promise for a good morning.

The medic checked my bandages, made a noncommittal sound and told me breakfast would be a while.

As I waited, I scanned the infirmary. The rectangular room held twelve beds, six on each side, and spaced so that they formed a mirror image. The sheets on the empty beds were pulled tight as bowstrings. Orderly and precise, the room annoyed me. I felt like rumpled bedding, no longer in control of my soul, my body, or my world. Being surrounded by neatness offended me, and I had a sudden desire to jump on the empty beds, knocking them out of line.

I was farthest from the door. Two empty beds lay between the three other patients and me on my side of the room. They were sleeping. I had no one to talk to. The stone walls were bare. Hell, my prison cell had more interesting decorations. At least it smelled better in here. I took a deep breath. The clean, sharp smell of alcohol mixed with disinfectant filled my nose, so different from the dungeon’s fetid air. Much better. Or was it? There was another scent intermixed with the medical aroma. Another whiff and I realized that the sour odor of old fear emanated from me.

I shouldn’t have survived yesterday. Brazell’s guards had me cornered. There was no escape. Yet I had been saved by a strange buzzing noise that had erupted from my throat like an unruly, uncontrollable offspring. A primal survival instinct that had echoed in my nightmares.

I avoided thoughts about that buzz because it was an old acquaintance of mine, but the memories kept invading my mind.

Examining the past three years, I forced myself to concentrate on when and where the buzzing had erupted, and to ignore the emotions.

The first couple of months of Brazell’s experiments had merely tested my reflexes. How fast I could dodge a ball or duck a swinging stick, harmless enough until the ball had turned into a knife and the stick into a sword.

My heart began to pound. With sweaty palms I fingered a scar on my neck. No emotion, I told myself sternly, flicking my hands as if I could push away the fear. Pretend you’re the medic, I thought, asking questions to gain information. I imagined myself dressed in white, calmly sitting next to a fevered patient while she babbled.

What came next? I asked the patient. Strength and endurance tests, she answered. Simple tasks of lifting weights had turned into holding heavy stones above her head for minutes, then hours. If she dropped the stone before the time was up, she was whipped. She was ordered to clutch chains dangling from the ceiling, holding her weight inches above the floor, until Brazell or Reyad gave permission to let go.

When was the first time you heard the buzzing? I prompted the patient. She had released the chains too early too many times and Reyad became furious. So he forced her outside a window six floors above the ground, and let her hold on to the ledge with her hands.

“Let’s try it again,” Reyad said. “Now that we’ve raised the stakes, maybe you’ll last for the whole hour.”

The patient stopped speaking. Go on, tell me what happened, I prodded. Her arms had been weak from spending most of the day hanging from the chains. Her fingers were slick with sweat; her muscles trembled with fatigue. She panicked. When her hands slipped off the ledge, she howled like a newborn. The howl mutated and transformed into a substance. It expanded out, enveloped and caressed her skin on all sides. She felt as if she was nestled in a warm pool of water.

Next thing she remembered she was sitting on the ground. She glanced up at the window. Reyad watched her with his face flushed. His perfect blond hair an unusual mess. Delighted, he blew her a kiss.

The only way she could have survived the fall was by magic. No. Absolutely not, she insisted. It had to have been some strange wind currents or landing the right way. Not magic.

Magic, a forbidden word in Ixia since Commander Ambrose came to power. Magicians had been treated like disease-riddled mosquitoes. They were hunted, trapped and exterminated. Any hint or suggestion that someone had magic was a death sentence. The only chance to live was to escape to Sitia.

The patient was growing agitated, and the other occupants of the room were staring at her… Me. Small doses, I told myself. I could handle the memories in modest quantities. After all, I hadn’t been hurt by the fall, and Reyad was sweet to me for a while. But his kindness only lasted until I started failing his tests again.

To distract myself from the memories, I counted the cracks in the ceiling. I was up to fifty-six when Valek arrived.

He carried a tray of food in one hand and a file folder in the other. I eyed the steaming omelet with suspicion. “What’s in it?” I demanded. “More sleeping pills? Or another new poison?” Every muscle in my body had stiffened. I tried unsuccessfully to sit up. “How about giving me something to make me feel good for a change?”

“How about something to keep you alive?” Valek asked. He pulled me to a sitting position and offered a pipette filled with my antidote. Then he placed the tray of food on my lap.

“No need for sleeping pills. The medic told me you picked up on that taste last night.” Valek’s voice held a note of approval. “Taste your breakfast and tell me if you would allow the Commander to eat it.”

Valek hadn’t been exaggerating when he said I’d have no days off. Sighing, I smelled the omelet. No unusual odors. I cut the omelet into quarters, examining each for any foreign material. Taking a small piece from each section, I put them into my mouth one at a time and chewed slowly. Swallowing, I waited to discern any aftertaste. I sniffed the tea and stirred it with a spoon before sipping. Rolling the liquid over my tongue, I detected a sweet taste before I swallowed.

“Unless the Commander doesn’t like honey in his tea, I wouldn’t reject this breakfast.”

“Then eat it.”

I hesitated. Was Valek trying to trick me? Unless he had used a poison I hadn’t learned, the breakfast was clean. I ate every morsel, and then drained the tea while Valek watched.

“Not bad,” he said. “No poisons…today.”

One of the medics brought another tray to Valek. This tray held four white cups of an olive-colored liquid that smelled like mint. Replacing my breakfast tray with the new one, Valek said, “I want to go over some tasting techniques. Each of these cups contains mint tea. Taste one.”

Clasping the closest mug, I took a sip. An overwhelming flavor of mint pervaded my mouth. I choked.

Valek grinned. “Taste anything else?”

I attempted another mouthful. The mint dominated. “No.”

“All right. Now pinch your nose tight and try again.”

After some fumbling with my bandaged arm, I managed to gulp the tea while holding my nose. My ears popped. I marveled at the taste. “Sweet. No mint.” My voice sounded silly so I released my grip. Immediately, the mint eclipsed the sweetness.

“Correct. Now try the others.”

The next cup of mint tea hid a sour taste, the third had a bitter flavor, and the fourth was salty.

“This technique works for any drink or food. Blocking your sense of smell eliminates all flavors except sweet, sour, bitter and salt. Some poisons are recognizable by one of those four flavors.” Valek paged through his folder. “Here is a complete list of human poisons and their distinct tastes for you to memorize. There are fifty-two known poisons.”

I looked through the inventory of poisons. Some of them I had already smelled. My Love was at the top. The list would have saved me from the dizziness, nausea, headaches and occasional delusional effects of the poison. I brandished the paper in the air. “Why didn’t you just give me this list instead of making me sample My Love?”

Valek stopped paging through his folder. “What would you learn from a list? Kattsgut tastes sweet. What does that taste like? Honey sweet? Apple sweet? There are different levels of sweetness and the only way to learn them is to taste them yourself. The only reason I’m giving you this list is because the Commander wants you working as soon as possible.” Valek snapped his folder shut. “Just because you aren’t going to taste those poisons now doesn’t mean you won’t in the future. Memorize that list. Once the medic releases you from the infirmary, I will test your knowledge. If you pass, then you can start work.”

“And if I fail?”

“Then I’ll be training a new taster.”

His voice was flat, monotone, but the force behind it caused my heart to lock.

Valek continued. “Brazell will be in the castle for another two weeks. He has more business to attend to. I can’t have you guarded all day, so Margg is preparing a room for you in my suite. I’ll come back later to see when you’ll be discharged.”

I watched Valek walk to the door. He glided across the room, balanced and athletic. I shook my head. Thinking about Valek was the absolute worst thing I could be doing. Instead, I focused on the list of poisons clutched in my hand. I smoothed the paper out and hoped my sweat hadn’t smeared the ink. Relieved that the writing was legible, I began to study.

I barely noticed when the medic came to check on my arm. She must have taken the tray of teacups, because it disappeared from my lap. I had blocked out all the noise and commotion of the infirmary so that I jumped when a plate containing a round pastry was thrust under my nose.

The arm that held the plate led to Rand. His grin was gleeful.

“Look what I smuggled past Medic Mommy! Go ahead. Eat it before she comes back.”

The warm dessert smelled like cinnamon. Melted white icing dripped down the sides, causing the cake to stick to my fingers when I picked it up. I examined the pastry closely, inhaling the aroma in search of a foreign smell. One small bite revealed multiple layers of dough and cinnamon.

“My God, Yelena, you don’t think I’d poison it?” Rand’s face was pinched tight, as if he was in pain.

Exactly what I’d been thinking, but admitting it to Rand would offend him. His motives for being here were unclear. Seeming nice and friendly, he could be holding a grudge over his friend Oscove, the previous food taster. But then again, he was a potential ally. Who better to have on my side? Rand, the cook, whose food I’d be eating on a daily basis, or Valek, the assassin, who had a nasty tendency of poisoning my meals?

“Occupational hazard,” I tried.

He grunted, still put out. I took a big bite of the pastry.

“Wonderful,” I said, appealing to his ego to give me another chance.

Rand’s face softened. “Good, isn’t it? My latest recipe. I take a long strip of pastry dough, cover it with cinnamon, roll it up into a ball, bake it, and then spread the icing on while it’s hot. I’m having some trouble with the name though. Cinnamon cake? Ball? Swirl?” Rand stopped his rambling to find a chair. After quite a bit of twisting to compensate for his unbendable left leg, he finally settled into a comfortable position.

While I finished the pastry, Rand continued. “Don’t tell Medic Mommy I gave you that. She doesn’t like her patients eating anything but a thin gruel. She says the gruel promotes healing. Well, of course it has an effect!” He threw his arms up, exposing several burn scars around his wrists. “It tastes so terrible that anyone would get better just to get a decent meal!”

The wild gesture caused the other patients to glance our way. Rand leaned in closer to me and asked in a quiet voice, “So, Yelena, how are you feeling?” He looked at me as though he was appraising a selection of meat, determining which one would make the best roast.

I was wary. Why would he care? “Gambling again?” I asked.

He leaned back. “We’re always gambling. Gambling and gossiping is all we servants do. What else is there? You should’ve seen the commotion and betting that went on when you were spotted being chased by Brazell’s goons.”

Appalled, I said, “Nobody came to help me. The hallways were deserted.”

“That would be involvement in a situation that doesn’t affect us directly. Servants don’t ever do that. We’re like cockroaches scurrying around in the dark.” Rand’s slender fingers waggled. “Shine a light…poof!” He flicked his long fingers for emphasis. “We disappear.”

I felt like the unlucky cockroach that got caught by the light. Always scrambling to stay one step ahead while the shadow of a boot crept closer.

“Anyway, the odds were against you. Most lost big, while only a few—” Rand paused dramatically “—won big.”

“Since you’re here, I suppose you won big.”

He smiled. “Yelena, I’m always going to bet on you. You’re like one of the Commander’s terriers. A tiny, yappy dog you wouldn’t look at twice, but once it grabs your pant leg, it won’t let go.”

“Poison the dog’s meat and it won’t bother you anymore.”

My sour tone deflated Rand’s grin. “Trouble?”

Surprised that the castle’s gossip network hadn’t already started laying odds about Valek’s test, I hesitated. Rand liked to talk, and he could get me in trouble. “No. It’s just being the food taster and all…” I hoped that would satisfy him.

Rand nodded. He spent the rest of the afternoon alternating between reminiscing about Oscove and digressing about potential new recipes. When Valek appeared, Rand stopped talking, his face paled and he mumbled something about having to check on dinner. Lurching from his chair, he almost toppled in his haste to flee the room. Valek watched as Rand staggered out of the infirmary.

“What was he doing here?”

Valek’s expression remained neutral, but the stillness of his body made me wonder if he was angry. Carefully choosing my words, I explained to him that Rand had come to visit.

“When did you meet him?”

A casual question, but again there was an undercurrent to his words. “After I recovered from My Love, I went in search of food and met Rand in the kitchen.”

“Watch what you say around him. He’s not to be trusted. I would have reassigned him, but the Commander insisted he stay. He is a genius in the kitchen. Some kind of protégé. He started cooking for the King at a very young age.”

Valek stared at me with his cold blue eyes, warning me away from Rand. Maybe that’s why Valek hadn’t liked Oscove. Being allied with someone who had been loyal to the King could cast more suspicion on me. But letting Valek scare me off rankled. I stared back at him with, I hoped, an indifferent look.

Valek looked away. I was jubilant. In my mind, I had finally won a round.

“You leave the infirmary tomorrow morning.” Valek was curt. “Get yourself cleaned up and report to my office to take the test. I won’t think you’re ready even if you pass, but the Commander ordered me to have you available by lunch.” He shook his head in annoyance. “It’s a shortcut. I hate shortcuts.”

“Why? You won’t have to risk yourself anymore.” I regretted the words as soon as they had left my mouth.

Valek’s gaze was lethal. “In my experience, shortcuts usually lead to death.”

“Is that what happened to my predecessor?” I asked, unable to stifle my curiosity. Would Valek confirm or deny Rand’s theories?

“Oscove?” Valek paused. “He didn’t have the stomach for it.”

8

WHEN I AWOKE THE NEXT morning, Valek’s list of poisons was still clutched in my hand. I reviewed the poison inventory until the medic discharged me.

Bruised muscles protested every movement as I headed for the door. I should have been happy to leave the infirmary, but my nerves preoccupied me. My stomach felt as if it contained a live mouse, trying to chew its way out.

The guards stationed outside the infirmary door startled me. But they weren’t wearing Brazell’s colors, and I belatedly remembered that Valek had assigned them as protection until I reported to his office.

I glanced around to get my bearings, but had no idea which direction led to my room. I had been living in the castle for eighteen days, but I was still uncertain of its inner layout. The basic shape of the castle itself eluded me, having never seen it from the outside.

The prison carriage that had brought me to the castle had been a square box with airholes. I had refused to peer out like some caged animal. When I reached the castle, I squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to block out the anguish of being chained, groped and dragged to the dungeon. I guess I could have focused on potential ways to escape, but I had accepted my punishment when I had killed Reyad.

As much as I hated to ask the guards for directions to my room, I had no choice. Wordlessly they guided me through the castle. One walked in front, the other followed. Only after the lead man inspected my room was I allowed inside.

My uniforms hung undisturbed in the armoire. But instead of being hidden inside a drawer, my journal lay open on the top of the desk. Someone had read my impressions of poisons and other information. The queasy feeling in my gut was replaced by a cold, hard sensation. The mouse had died, reflecting my sour mood perfectly.

I suspected Valek. He was bold enough to have gone through my personal papers. He had probably even reasoned that it was his duty to make sure I wasn’t plotting something. After all, I was just the food taster, and not entitled to any privacy.

Grabbing the journal and uniforms, I left my room and headed for the baths. The guards waited outside while I soaked in the water. I took my sweet time. Valek and his test could wait; I wasn’t going to carry out his orders like some idiotic drone.

Chased by Brazell’s guards, finding poison in almost all of my meals, and being wagered on like some damn racehorse didn’t cause me to be as angry as I was about Valek reading my journal.

Arriving at Valek’s office, I cut off any smart remark he could make by demanding, “Where’s your test?”

Amusement touched Valek’s face. He rose from behind his desk. Sweeping his arm with a dramatic flourish, he indicated two rows of food and drinks on the conference table. “Only one item isn’t poisoned. Find it. Then eat or drink your selection.”

I tasted each item. I sniffed. I gargled. I held my nose. I took small bites. I spat. Some of the food had grown cold. Most of the meals were bland, making the poison easy to spot, while the fruit drinks masked the poison.

Finishing the last item, I turned to Valek. “You bastard. They’re all poisoned.” What a nasty trick; I should have suspected he would pull a stunt like that.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t touch anything on that table.”

Valek’s gaze was stony as he walked toward me. “I’m sorry, Yelena. You’ve failed.”

My heart plunged into my stomach. The dead mouse resuscitated and began to gnaw holes in my gut. I searched the table. What had I missed?

Nothing. I was right. I challenged Valek to prove me wrong.

Without hesitation he raised a cup. “This one is clean.”

“Drink it.” I remembered that cup. It was laced with a bitter poison.

Valek’s hand wavered a bit. He sipped. I bit my lip. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was the cup next to it. Valek held my gaze as he rolled the liquid around his tongue. He spat.

I wanted to jump, to cheer, to dance little circles around him. Instead I said, “Blackberry poison.”

“Yes,” Valek said. He alternated between examining the cup in his hand and absentmindedly staring at the rows of cold food.

“I passed?”

He nodded, still distracted. Then he walked to his desk, and he gently placed the cup down. Shaking his head, he picked some papers up only to put them back unread.

“I should have known you would try to trick me.”

My heated tone drew his eyes. I wished then that I’d remained silent.

“You’re all fired up. And it isn’t because of the test. Explain yourself.”

“Explain? Why do I have to explain? Maybe you should explain why you read my journal.” There, I’d said it.

“Journal?” Valek looked at me in amazement. “I didn’t read anything of yours. But if I had, it would have been within my rights.”

“Why?” I demanded.

An incredulous look settled on Valek’s face. His mouth opened and closed several times before he was able to voice his thoughts. “Yelena, you confessed to murder. You were caught straddling Reyad’s body with a bloody knife in your hand. I searched your file for a motive. There was none. Only a report that you refused to answer all questions.”

Valek stepped closer. He lowered his voice. “Since I don’t know what motivates you to kill, I can’t predict if you’ll do it again or what might set you off. I’m bound by the Code of Behavior, so I had to offer you the choice of becoming the new taster.” He drew a deep breath and continued. “You’ll be very close to the Commander on a daily basis. Until I can trust you, I’ll be watching you.”

My anger leaked away. Why should I expect Valek to trust me when I didn’t trust him?

My composure returned. “How do I win your trust?”

“Tell me why you killed Reyad.”

“You’re not ready to believe me.”

Valek averted his gaze to the conference table. I covered my mouth with my hand. Why had I used the word ready? Ready implied that he would believe me at some point. Pure wishful thinking on my part.

“You’re right,” he said.

We seemed to be at an impasse.

“I passed your test. I want my antidote.”

Roused into action, Valek drew a dose, handing it to me.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Lunch! We’re late.” He hustled me out the door. I gulped the white liquid as we moved.

As we neared the throne room, the noise of many voices speaking at once echoed through the halls. Two of the Commander’s advisers were arguing. Officers and soldiers clumped behind the two advisers. The Commander leaned against a nearby desk, listening intently.

The group debated the best way to locate and recapture a fugitive. The right side insisted upon using an oversupply of soldiers and tracking dogs, while the left claimed that a few clever soldiers would work. Brute force versus intelligence.

The exchange, while loud, lacked anger. The guards stationed around the room stood relaxed. Surmising that this type of debate was common, I wondered if the fugitive was a real person or just part of a hypothetical exercise.

Valek moved next to the Commander. I stood behind them. The debate made me squirm because I couldn’t help imagining myself as the poor soul being hunted.

I pictured myself running through the woods, out of breath, and straining to hear the sounds of pursuit. Unable to blend into a town because a new face would alert the soldiers on patrol. Bored soldiers whose only job was to watch, who were familiar with the town’s inhabitants.

Every citizen of the Territory of Ixia had a specific job. After the takeover, everyone had been appointed an occupation. A citizen was allowed to move to a different town or Military District, but proper forms were required. A completed transfer request needed approval from the supervisor, and proof that a position was being held at the new address. Without the proper documents, a civilian found in the wrong neighborhood was arrested. Visiting other districts was acceptable, but again only as long as the proper papers were obtained and shown to the soldiers on arrival.

While working in isolation with Brazell and Reyad, I had obsessively thought about escape. Thinking of freedom had been better than dwelling on my life as a laboratory rat. With no family or friends outside the manor to hide me, though, the southern lands were my best option, assuming I could penetrate the well guarded border.

I had created elaborate fantasies of stealing away to Sitia, finding an adoptive family and falling in love. Corny, sentimental rubbish, but it was my only elixir. Every day when the experiments began, my mind would focus on Sitia, finding bright colors, loving gestures and warmth. Holding those images in my mind, I endured Reyad’s tests.

But even if I had been given the opportunity to escape, I don’t know if I would have seized it. Although I remembered nothing of my birth family, I did have a family living within the manor house. The other lost children who had been taken in. My sisters. My brothers. My children. I learned with them, I played with them and I took care of them. How could I abandon them? To think of May or Carra taking my place was too much to bear.

I bit on my finger until I tasted blood, and dragged my thoughts back to the present. I had escaped from Brazell. He would leave the castle in two weeks and return home, probably to the next round of experiments with a different laboratory rat. My heart went out to her, whoever she was. Brazell was brutal. She was in for a rough time. But I had saved her from Reyad.

Pulling my hand away from my mouth, I inspected the bite mark. Not too deep, it wouldn’t scar. I traced the network of semicircular scars that covered my fingers and knuckles. When I looked up, I caught Valek staring at my hands. I laced them behind my back.

The Commander raised his hand. Quiet descended in an instant. “Excellent points from both sides. We will put your theories to the test. Two teams.” Pointing to the two main debaters, the Commander said, “You’ll be the Captains. Assemble your team and organize a plan of attack. Recruit as needed. Valek will supply a fugitive from one of his men. You have a fortnight to prepare.”

The noise level rose as the Commander headed toward his office with Valek and I close behind.

Valek shut the office door, muffling the commotion. “Is Marrok’s escape to Sitia still bothering you?” he asked.

The Commander frowned. “Yes. Sloppy work, that pursuit. Marrok must have known you were in MD–8. You really need to train a couple of protégés.”

Valek looked at him in mock horror. “But then I wouldn’t be indispensable.”

A quick smile graced the Commander’s face, before he spotted me lingering near the corner. “Well, Valek, you were right about this one. She survived your test.” Then to me, he said, “Come here.”

My feet obeyed despite my hysterical heart.

“As my official food taster, you’re to report to me with my breakfast. I’ll give you my daily itinerary and expect you to be present at each meal. I will not accept tardiness. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He glanced at Valek. “She looks fragile. Are you sure she’s strong enough?”

“Yes, Sir.”

The Commander appeared unconvinced. His golden eyes tracked from me to Valek as he contemplated. I hoped with desperation that he wasn’t looking for an excuse to fire me.

“All right. Since I missed lunch, Valek, you will join me for an early dinner. Yelena, you start as my food taster tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Sir,” Valek and I said in unison. We were dismissed.

We returned to Valek’s office to gather my extra uniforms and journal. Valek escorted me to his living quarters, located in the central part of the castle. As we traveled the main hallways, I noticed that the bright areas of stone on the wall outnumbered the darker zones. A vast array of paintings must have been taken down. We also passed several large, colorless rooms that had been redesigned as either offices or barracks.

It occurred to me that the Commander’s functional style and stark standards had robbed the castle of its soul. All that remained was a dead stone building reassigned to purely utilitarian purposes.

I was too young to remember what life was like before the takeover, but I had been taught in Brazell’s orphanage that the monarchy had been corrupt and its citizens unhappy. The takeover had been just that; to call it a war would be inaccurate. Most of the King’s soldiers had switched loyalty to the Commander. They had been disgusted with promotions based on bribery and blood ties instead of hard work and skill. Orders to kill people for minor infractions because a member of the elite was angry caused sour feelings among the men.

Women had been recruited to the Commander’s cause, and they made excellent spies. Valek assassinated the key supporters of the King. When the King tried to raise an army to fight the Commander’s army, he had no defenders. The Commander captured the castle without a fight, and little blood was shed. Most of the nobility had been killed, but a few had escaped to Sitia.

Valek and I arrived at a pair of massive wooden doors, guarded by two soldiers. Valek spoke with the guards, instructing them that I was to be allowed access as needed. We entered a short hallway with two doors on opposite sides. Valek unlocked the door on the right and explained to me that the other led to the Commander’s apartment.

Valek’s living quarters turned out to be an expansive suite of rooms. Coming in from the gloomy hallway, I was struck by the brightness of the main, L-shaped living area. Windows as thin as a tiger’s stripes allowed sunlight to pour in.

Piles of books occupied every corner and tabletop. Hand-size gray rocks, streaked with white, and multicolored crystals were scattered throughout.

Small black statues of animals and flowers glinted with silver. The statues dotted the room. Delicate and intricately detailed, they were similar to the panthers on Valek’s office desk, and were the room’s only decoration.

A considerable collection of weapons hung on the walls. Some of the weapons were old, dust-covered antiques that hadn’t been used in years, while others shined. One long, thin knife still had fresh blood on the blade. The crimson liquid gleamed in the sunlight, causing a chill to snake through my body. I wondered who had been on the wrong end of that blade.

To the left of the entrance was a stairway, and three doors lined the right wall of the living area.

Valek pointed to the first door on the right. “That room is yours until Brazell leaves the castle. I suggest you get some rest.” He picked up three books from an end table. “I’ll be back later. Don’t go out. I’ll bring you dinner.” Valek left, but then came back before the door shut. “Lock the door behind me. You should be safe here.”

Safe, I thought, turning the bolt, was the last thing I could ever feel here. Anyone who knew how to pick a lock could sneak in, grab a weapon and have at me. I examined the swords on the wall, and sighed with some relief. The weapons were anchored securely. I tugged hard on a mace, just to be sure.

The clutter surrounding my door was thicker than around the other two, and I discovered why when I entered. Clean, box-shaped areas were outlined by the thick dust that still coated the floor, bed, bureau and desk. The room had been used for storage. Instead of cleaning it, Margg must have just moved the boxes out and considered her job done.

Margg’s minimal work was a not so subtle hint of her vast dislike for me. Perhaps it would be best to avoid her for a while.

Inside the room, the bedding was filthy. A musty smell permeated. I sneezed. There was a small window, and after wrestling with the shutters, I managed to open it.

The furniture was made of expensive ebony. Intricate carvings of leaves and vines curled down chair legs and across drawers. When I wiped the dust off the headboard, I uncovered a delicate garden scene with butterflies and flowers.

After I stripped the bed of its dirty sheets and stretched out on the mattress, my impression of Margg as a harmless grump-with-a-grudge evaporated. At that moment I saw that a message had been written in the dust on the desk.

It read, “Murderer. The noose waits.”

9

I VAULTED FROM THE BED. The message disappeared from view, but I didn’t feel any better. Little darts of fear pulsed from my heart as my mind leaped from one horrible scenario to the next.

Was Margg warning or threatening me? Was she planning to earn the money she’d lost betting against me by turning me over to Brazell’s goons for a fee?

But why warn me? I calmed myself. Once again I had overreacted. From what I’d seen and heard about Margg, her message was probably for the satisfaction of seeing me squirm. A peevish gesture because she was angry at having to do extra work for me. I decided it would be best not to give her any indication that I’d seen or had been affected by her childish note. Thinking back on it, I would bet that she had also read my journal, leaving it wide open on the desk just to annoy me.

Valek had suggested I rest, but I was on edge. I went into Valek’s living room. Margg’s note had reminded me to stick to my instincts and not trust a soul. Then my worries would be minimized to tasting for poisons and avoiding Brazell.

If only it was that simple or I was that strong. Naiveté and blind trust may have been driven out of me by Brazell and Reyad, but deep down in the small corners of my heart I still clung to the hope that I might find a true friend.

Even a rat needs other rats. I could empathize with the rats. I, too, scurried around, looked over my shoulder and sniffed for poisoned traps.

Right now, I scrambled just to stay alive until the next day, but someday I would be searching for a way out. Knowledge was power, so I planned to sit tight, to listen and learn all I could. I started with Valek’s living area. Lifting a rock off one of the tables, I began to pick my way through the clutter in his suite, surface snooping only because I suspected Valek would booby-trap his drawers.

I found a couple of texts on poisons that interested me, but their contents dealt mostly with assassination and intrigue. Some of the books had worn leather bindings and were written in an archaic language that I couldn’t decipher. Valek was either a collector, or he had stolen the books from the dead King’s library.

I was at the bottom of the stairs when I spotted a diagram of the castle’s layout. It had been wedged into the corner of a picture frame hanging on the right wall of the staircase. Finally, something I could use. As I examined the map, I felt as if a translucent mask had been lifted off my face, allowing me to see the castle clearly.

Postponing my explorations of the rooms upstairs, I retrieved my journal. The map was displayed in full sight. Valek wouldn’t be upset that I had seen it. He’d probably be happy that I didn’t need to ask for directions every time I had to go somewhere new. I cleared a space on the couch, wormed into a comfortable position and began to copy the map.

I jerked awake. My journal slammed to the floor. Blinking in the candlelight, my eyes searched the room. I had been dreaming of rats. They had poured down from the walls, welled up from the floor and swarmed after me. A sea of biting rodents that seized clothes, skin and hair in their sharp little teeth.

A shudder shook my body. I lifted my feet off the floor as I scanned the room. No rats, unless I included Valek. He was halfway around the room, lighting the lanterns.

As I watched him finish, I thought about Valek being a fellow rat. No. Definitely not. A cat. And not just any ordinary, household cat, but a snow cat. The most efficient predator in the Territory of Ixia. Pure white, the snow cat was the size of two massive dogs fused together. Quick, agile and lethal, the snow cat killed before its prey even suspected danger. They stayed mostly in the north where the snow never melted, but had ventured south when food grew scarce.

No one in the history of Ixia had killed a snow cat. The predator either smelled, heard or saw the hunter before he could get close enough to strike with a handheld weapon. They bolted like lightning upon hearing the twang of a bowstring. The best the northern people could do was feed the cats, hoping to keep them on the snowpack and away from populated areas.

After lighting the last lantern, Valek turned toward me. “Something wrong with your room?” He picked up a tray and handed it to me.

“No. Couldn’t sleep.”

Valek snorted with amusement. “I see.” He gestured toward the tray. “Sorry your dinner is cold. I was detained.”

Automatically testing for poisons, I took a couple of small spoonfuls. I glanced at Valek to see if he was offended by the gesture. He was not. His face still held an amused expression. Between bites, I asked Valek if anyone else had a key to his suite.

“Just the Commander and Margg. Will that help you sleep better?”

Ignoring his question, I asked, “Is Margg your personal housekeeper?”

“Mine and the Commander’s. We wanted someone we could trust. Someone instantly recognizable. She was with us before the takeover, so her loyalty is beyond doubt.” Valek sat at his writing desk, but turned his chair to face me. “Remember when you were in the war room?”

Confused by the change in subject, I nodded.

“There were three Generals in the room. Brazell, you knew, but can you identify the other two?”

“Tesso and Hazal,” I answered, proud that I had remembered.

“Can you describe them? Hair color? Eyes?”

I hesitated as I thought back. They had worn Generals’ uniforms, and they had been eating lunch. I shook my head. “I think General Tesso had a beard.”

“You identified them by their uniforms and didn’t look at their faces. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what I thought. That’s the problem with the uniform requirement. It makes a person lazy. A guard will see a housekeeping uniform and just assume that person belongs in the castle. It’s too easy for someone to sneak about, which is why I keep the Commander surrounded at all times by loyal people. And why Margg is the only housekeeper permitted to clean the Commander’s and my suites and offices.”

Valek’s tone made me feel as if I had been transported to a classroom. “Why not dismiss all the servants in the castle and use your own people?”

“Soldiers make up the majority of our army. Civilians who joined prior to the takeover were made advisers or given other prominent positions. Some of the King’s servants were already on our payroll, and the others we paid double what they earned working for the King. Well-paid servants are happy servants.”

“Does the entire castle’s staff get paid?”

“Yes.”

“Including the food taster?”

“No.”

“Why not?” I hadn’t even thought about receiving wages until Valek mentioned it.

“The food taster is paid in advance. How much is your life worth?”

10

NOT EXPECTING AN ANSWER, Valek swiveled back to his desk.

Ah, well, he had a point. I finished the cold food. When I set the tray aside to go to my room, Valek turned back to me.

“What would you buy with the money?”

A list rushed from my mouth, surprising even me. “A hair brush, nightclothes, and I’d spend some at the festival.”

I wanted nightclothes because I was tired of sleeping in my uniform. I didn’t dare sleep in my undergarments for fear I’d have to run for my life in the middle of the night. And the annual fire festival was approaching. It was sort of an anniversary for me. It had been during the previous fire festival that I had killed Reyad.

Although the Commander outlawed all forms of public religion, he encouraged the festivals as a form of boosting morale. Only two annual festivals were permitted.

I had been in the dungeon during the last ice festival, missing the indoor event where artists and craftsmen displayed their work. The ice festival was always held during the cold season when there was nothing to do but huddle by the fire and make crafts. It was a local event with each town hosting its own festival.

The fire festival was a massive carnival that traveled from town to town during the hot season. The festival began in the far north, where the warm weather lasted a few short weeks, and then wound its way south.

Traditionally, additional performances and contests were scheduled for the weeklong celebration at the castle in the middle of the hot season, and I was hoping I might be permitted to attend. Valek had indicated to me that he would be teaching me additional tasting techniques in the afternoons, but the rest of the time between meals had, so far, been mine.

I had always loved going to the fire festival. Brazell had given the children in his orphanage a small allowance so we could go each year. It had been the most anticipated event at Brazell’s manor house. We would practice all year to qualify for the various contests, and save every penny possible for the entry fee.

Valek’s practical voice interrupted my thoughts. “You can get some nightclothes from the seamstress, Dilana. She should have included them with your uniforms. As to the rest, you’ll have to make do with what you can find.”

Valek’s words brought home the realities of my life; meaning fire festivals were not included. I might get a chance to see the festival, but I wouldn’t be able to sample the spicy chicken steaks or taste the wine.

Sighing, I picked up my journal and went into my room. A dry, warm breeze caressed my face. I cleaned the rest of the dust, but I only wiped away half of Margg’s message. She had been right in a way. The noose did wait for me. A normal life was not in my future. Her message would serve as a reminder to me to not get too comfortable.

I was either going to screw up and be replaced as the food taster, or I was going to foil an assassination attempt with my own death. I might not technically die from a broken neck, but the haunting image of an empty noose would always plague me.

The next morning I hovered outside Dilana’s workroom. She sat in a small patch of sunlight, humming and sewing. Her golden curls gleamed. Unwilling to disturb her, I turned to go.

“Yelena?” she called.

I stepped back into view.

“My goodness, girl, just come in. You’re always welcome.” Dilana put her sewing down, and patted the chair next to her. When I joined her in the sunlight, she exclaimed, “You’re as thin as my finest thread. Sit. Sit. Let me get you something to eat.”

My protests didn’t stop her from bringing me a large slice of buttered bread.

“My Rand sends me a steaming loaf of honey bread every morning.” Her light brown eyes glowed with affection.

I knew she would stand over me until I took a bite. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I suppressed my desire to taste the bread for poisons. Only when my mouth was full was she satisfied.

“How can I help you?” she asked.

Between bites, I asked about nightclothes.

“My goodness! How could I have forgotten? You poor dear.” She bustled around the room, assembling quite a collection.

“Dilana,” I said to stop her. “I only need a few things.”

“Why didn’t you come sooner? Margg should have said something to me.” Dilana was genuinely upset.

“Margg,” I began, then quit. I wasn’t sure how Dilana felt about her.

“Margg’s a mean old grump, a spiteful hag and an overgrown bully,” Dilana declared.

I blinked at her in surprise.

“She instantly dislikes anyone new, and she’s basically a plague on the rest of us.”

“But she was nice to you.”

“She hounded me for weeks after I first arrived. Then I snuck into her wardrobe and tightened all her skirts. It took her two weeks of physical discomfort to figure out what was happening.” Dilana swooped down next to me, smiling. “Margg can’t sew a stitch, so she had to tuck in her pride and ask for my help. Since then she’s treated me with respect.”

Dilana grabbed my hand in hers. “Unfortunately, you’re her new target. But don’t let her get to you. If Margg’s nasty, be nasty right back. When she sees you’re not easy prey, she’ll lose interest.”

I had trouble believing that this lovely woman was capable of such underhandedness, but her smile held a glimmer of mischief.

She draped a pile of nightclothes over my arms, and added an array of brightly colored ribbons.

“For the festival, my dear,” she said, answering my quizzical look. “To augment your beautiful dark hair.”

“Have you found a fugitive for the exercise?” the Commander asked Valek as soon as Valek arrived in his office for lunch.

I was tasting the Commander’s food when Valek once again destroyed my tentative sense of well-being. Granted, I had been working as the official food taster for the last ten days, but my stomach had finally stopped its painful contractions whenever I was near the Commander.

“Yes. I know the perfect person for the job.” Valek settled into the chair facing the Commander.

“Who?”

“Yelena.”

“What!” Having given up all pretense of minding my own business, my exclamation echoed the Commander’s.

“Explain,” the Commander ordered.

Valek smiled at his reaction as though he knew all along what the Commander would say. “My people are trained to avoid capture. Assigning one of them wouldn’t be fair to the search party. Therefore, we need a person not skilled in the art of evasion, but who is intelligent enough to bring some challenge to the exercise.”

Valek stood to continue his lecture. “The fugitive needs an incentive for a good chase, yet must return to the castle. I can’t use a real prisoner. None of the servants have any imagination. I briefly considered the medic, but she’s needed here in case of emergencies. I was about to assign one of your soldiers when I thought of Yelena.”

Valek gestured toward me. “She’s smart.” He counted with his fingers to emphasize his words. “She’ll have an incentive to perform well, and an incentive to return.”

“Incentives?” A frown creased the Commander’s face.

“The food taster receives no wages. But for this extra job, and others like it in the future, she can be paid. The longer she evades capture, the higher the payment. As for the incentive to return, that should be obvious.”

It was to me. The daily antidote to Butterfly’s Dust kept me alive. If I didn’t return to the castle by the next morning, they would be searching for a corpse.

“And if I refuse?” I asked Valek.

“I’ll recruit one of the soldiers. But I’ll be disappointed. I thought you would appreciate the challenge.”

“Maybe I don’t…”

“Enough.” The Commander’s voice was curt. “It’s preposterous, Valek.”

“That’s the whole point. A soldier would make predictable moves. She’s an unknown.”

“You might outguess our fugitive, but the people I’ve assigned to the exercise aren’t that quick. I’m hoping to find someone who can be trained as your assistant. I understand what you’re waiting for, but I don’t believe it’ll happen anytime soon. We need someone now.” The Commander sighed. It was the most emotion I’d witnessed from him. “Valek, why do you constantly undermine my orders to instruct an assistant?”

“Because so far I have disagreed with your choices. When the suitable candidate appears, then all efforts to train him will be fully endorsed.”

The Commander glanced at the tray in my hands. Taking the food, he ordered me to fetch some hot tea. A thinly disguised ruse to be rid of me while they argued. I was more than happy to oblige.

On my way to the kitchen, I mulled over the possibility of playing fugitive for Valek. My first reaction had been negative; I didn’t need any more problems. But as I contemplated the challenge of eluding searchers, combined with the chance to earn some money, the exercise started to look like an excellent opportunity. By the time I reached the kitchen, I hoped Valek would win. Especially since I would be outside the castle for a day, and any skills I learned from being a fugitive might prove useful in the future.

“Something wrong with lunch?” Rand asked, hurrying toward me, concern pulling the corners of his mouth tight.

“No. Just need some hot tea.”

Relief softened his face. I wondered why he was so worried that lunch had been unsatisfactory. An image of a younger Rand rebelling against the Commander by ruining food as a form of sabotage entered my mind. I dismissed the thought. Rand wouldn’t serve inferior food; his ego centered on his edible creations. There must be something else between him and the Commander. Uncertain that our new relationship would survive asking personal, perhaps sensitive, questions, I held my tongue.

I’d known Rand for almost two weeks now, but I still hadn’t figured him out. His moods ran the gamut and changed without notice. Rand liked to talk. He dominated most conversations and asked only a few personal questions. I doubted he really heard my answers before he rambled on again.

“While you’re here,” Rand said, pulling a white cake from one of the cooling racks that hung on the wall like shelves, “can you try this? Let me know what you think.”

He cut me a slice. Iced with whipped cream, the layers of vanilla cake were separated by a mixture of raspberries and cream.

I tried to mask that my first bite tasted for poison. “Good combination of flavors,” I said.

“It’s not perfect, but I can’t pinpoint the problem.”

“The cream is a little too sweet,” I said, taking another bite. “And the cake is slightly dry.”

“I’ll try again. Will you come back tonight?”

“Why?”

“I need an expert opinion. It’s my entry for the fire festival’s baking contest. Are you going?”

“I’m not sure.” When I had mentioned the festival the other night, Valek hadn’t said that I couldn’t go.

“A bunch of us from the kitchen are going. You can come with us if you want.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

On my way back to the Commander’s office, an unpleasant thought wove its way into my mind. I had been staying close to Valek because Brazell was still in the castle and wasn’t slated to leave until after the festival. If I played fugitive, what would happen if Brazell found out? What if I accidentally encountered him at the festival?

Coming to the conclusion that I was safer within the castle walls until Brazell left, I decided to decline both Valek’s and Rand’s offers. But by the time I delivered the tea to the Commander, Valek had already won his argument. He quoted cash incentives to me before I could say a word.

The sum for remaining “free” for an entire day was a large amount.

“The exercise is scheduled to take place during the fire festival. A busy time for the soldiers. Should we postpone it until after?” Valek asked the Commander.

“No. The added commotion will increase the level of difficulty for our pursuers.”

“Well, Yelena, that gives you only a few days to prepare. Fair enough, since some prisoners plan an escape route, while others see an opportunity and bolt. Are you interested in the challenge?” Valek asked.

“Yes.” The word sprang from my gut before the rational “no” in my mind could escape. “On the condition that Brazell not be informed of my participation.”

“Isn’t having a room in my personal suite an indication that I’m properly concerned with your well-being?” Valek’s voice huffed. I realized that I had insulted him.

When I had offended Rand, I quickly tried to make amends. With Valek, I tried to think of another comment to annoy him further, but I couldn’t produce one that quick.

“Speaking of Brazell,” the Commander interrupted. “He gave me a gift. A new dessert that his chef invented. He thought I might like it.”

Commander Ambrose showed us a wooden box full of thick, brown squares stacked on top of each other like tiles. They were smooth and shiny, but the edges looked as if they had been cut with a dull knife, ragged and shedding brown flakes.

Valek picked up a piece and sniffed it. “I hope you didn’t try any.”

“It’s too blatant, even for Brazell, to be poisoned. But, no. I didn’t.”

Valek handed the container to me. “Yelena, take some pieces out at random and taste them.”

I sorted through the squares and selected four. They were each about the size of my thumbnail and all four fit on the palm of my hand. If I hadn’t been told they were a dessert, I probably would have guessed they were pieces of brown candle wax. My fingernail left an impression on the top, and my fingertips felt slightly greasy after handling them.

I hesitated. These were from Brazell, and I didn’t remember his cook being especially inventive. I shrugged off my trepidation. I had no choice.

Thinking wax, I anticipated tasting wax. I bit into the hard cube expecting it to crumble between my teeth. It must have been the expression on my face that caused the Commander to rise, because I didn’t say a word. The sensations in my mouth had me enraptured.

Instead of crumbling, the dessert melted, coating my tongue with a cascade of flavor. Sweet, bitter, nutty and fruity tastes followed one another. Just when I thought I could say it was one, I would taste them all again. This was unlike anything I had ever encountered. Before I knew it, all four cubes were gone. I longed for more.

“Unbelievable! What is it?”

Valek and the Commander exchanged puzzled looks.

The Commander said, “Brazell called it Criollo. Why? Is there poison in it?”

“No. No poisons. It’s just…” The proper words to describe it failed me. “Try it,” was all I could manage.

I watched the Commander’s face as he bit into one of the squares. His eyes widened and his eyebrows arched in surprise. His tongue dashed along his lips and teeth as he tried to suck all the remaining flavor from them. He grabbed another piece.

“It’s sweet. Different. But I don’t taste anything unbelievable about it,” Valek said, wiping the brown flakes from his hands.

It was my turn to exchange looks with the Commander.

Unlike Valek, he had an appetite for fine cuisine. He recognized excellence when he tasted it.

“I’ll bet that little rat won’t last an hour,” Margg’s muffled voice said through the kitchen door. I had been about to enter when I had heard her.

“I’ll give fifty to one to anyone stupid enough to think the rat’ll last the day. And one hundred to one to the sucker who thinks she won’t be caught.” After Margg called the odds, the room erupted with sounds of betting.

I listened with growing horror. Margg couldn’t be talking about me. Why would Valek tell Margg about the exercise? It’d be all over the castle by tomorrow. Brazell would find out.

“I’ll bet a month’s wages that Yelena stays free all day,” Rand’s voice boomed out. The rest of the kitchen staff grew quiet.

My emotions seesawed from betrayal to pride. They were betting on me, and I couldn’t believe Rand had bet a month’s wages. He had more confidence in me than I did in myself. I tended to agree with Margg on this one.

Margg’s laughter echoed on the tiled walls. “You’ve been in the kitchen too long, Rand. The heat’s cooked your brain to mush. I think you’re starting to like the little rat. Better lock up your knives when she’s here or she may…”

“All right, that’s enough,” Rand said. “Dinner’s over. Everyone out of my kitchen.”

I moved down the hallway and out of sight. Since I had promised Rand I would taste his cake, I looped back to the kitchen after everyone had gone. Rand was sitting at one of the tables chopping nuts. There was a slice of his raspberry-and-cream cake on the table.

He pushed the plate to me. I tasted it.

“Much better. The cake is incredibly moist. What’s different?” I asked.

“I added pudding to the batter.”

Rand was unusually quiet. He didn’t mention the betting. I wasn’t going to ask.

He finished chopping the nuts. After cleaning up, he said, “I better get some sleep. We’re going to the festival tomorrow night. Are you coming?”

“Who’s going?” I stalled. I hated to miss out on the first night of the festival. Hated to let Brazell ruin the only fun I’d have. Although, if Margg was going as well, I’d stay with my original decision.

“Porter, Sammy, Liza and maybe Dilana.” Rand’s tired eyes lit up ever so slightly when he said Dilana’s name. “Why?”

“When are you leaving?” Again my heart was ready to overrule the logical and safe choice.

“After dinner. It’s the only time everyone is free. The Commander always orders an easy meal for the first night of festival so the kitchen staff can leave early. If you want to come, just meet us here tomorrow.”

Rand headed to his rooms, which were adjacent to the kitchen, and I went back to Valek’s suite.

The dark apartment was empty. Locking the door, I groped around and found some flint. As I lit the lanterns, I passed by Valek’s desk and noticed a paper lying on top. Glancing around to make sure Valek wasn’t hiding in the shadows, I looked at the sheet. Names had been written on it, and then scratched out. My name had been circled. Underneath was the comment that I would make a perfect fugitive for the exercise.

This was probably how Margg had known. I remembered seeing her reading papers in Valek’s office before. Depending on how long these papers had been here, she could have known for a while. That woman was going to get me killed. If I survived long enough, I’d have to face her. Unfortunately, it would have to wait until after I played fugitive for Valek.

As for my escape plan, I searched through Valek’s piles of books. I remembered seeing some appropriate titles, and I was rewarded by finding two on the techniques of pursuit, and one on the best ways to elude capture. Nobody said I couldn’t do a little research. Borrowing Valek’s texts, I took a lantern and retired to my room.

I studied the books until my vision blurred with fatigue. Changing into my new nightclothes, I extinguished the lantern and collapsed into bed.

I was jolted awake by the frightening awareness that someone was in my room. Instant, sweat-soaked fear gripped me. A black shape loomed over me. Yanked out of bed, I slammed into the wall. One, two, three gasps passed. Nothing more happened. The assault had stopped, but I remained pinned.

My eyes adjusted to the dark. I recognized my attacker’s face. “Valek?

11

VALEK’S FACE, INCHES FROM mine, resembled a statue, silent, cold and devoid of emotion. My door had been left ajar, and even the faint glow of lantern light slipping through the gap at the threshold couldn’t lend his blue eyes any warmth.

“Valek, what’s wrong?”

Without warning, he released me. Too late I realized that he had held me suspended above the floor. I landed in a heap at his feet. Wordless, Valek left my room. I staggered upright, feeling as if I had too many arms and legs, and managed to catch up to him in the living room. He stood in front of his desk.

“If this is about the books…” I said to his back, guessing that he was angry with me for borrowing his manuals.

He turned. “Books? You think this is about books?” His voice held amazement for a brief moment before it turned sharp and cutting. “I’ve been a fool. All this time I admired your survival instincts and intelligence. But now…” He paused, and then looked around the room as if searching for the right words.

“I overheard some servants discussing you as the fugitive. They were placing wagers. How could you be so stupid, so indiscreet? I considered killing you now to save myself the trouble of hunting for your dead body later.”

“I didn’t tell a soul.” I allowed anger to color my voice. “How can you think I would jeopardize my own life?”

“Why should I believe you? The only other person who knew was the Commander.”

“Well, Valek, you’re the spymaster. Couldn’t someone have overheard the conversation? Who else has access to this room? You left your notes in full view on your desk.” Before he could leap to another wrong conclusion, I hurried on. “They were conspicuous. If I noticed them with just a quick glance, then they begged for inspection to someone seeking information.”

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