Page 83 of Under the Lion Star

“Is there something in particular that you hope to acquire? I have all manner of potions here. Fertility issues, perhaps? Or I’d be happy to create a contraceptive tea if you and His Majesty are postponing parenthood.”

“I’m actually looking for someone who can make saccharil,” I kept a bored expression on my face as I carefully studied his reaction.

His eyes darted to the door behind me and then over his shoulder to the shadowed entrance that led to where he likely concocted his offerings.

“Nasty thing, that,” his voice was tight. “Something of that nature would cost quite a bit.”

“It is my understanding,” I stepped forward, resting my hands on the countertop between us. “That apothecary shops are required to keep records of who is sold what, regardless of how innocuous.”

“Y-Yes, your grace,” he stammered. “I can assure you that I run my business within all legal boundaries.”

“Good,” I slid a fingertip through the dust coating the worn wood. “I’ll need to see those records.”

“Oh, I–” his swallow was audible, his palms running over the tops of his thighs. “Can I ask why?”

“No, you may not.”

Barlow nodded several times, his hands fisting at his sides. Beady eyes darted around the space, landing everywhere but mine. He looked down, and faster than I assumed he would be able to move, he pivoted toward the back entrance. Unfortunately for him, his escape was halted when he slammed into a solid mass.

“Now, now,” Prince Orin taunted, stepping out of the darkness as Barlow matched him step for step. “Queen Zialda may appear intimidating, but I can assure you she is a reasonable woman.”

The shopkeeper held his hands up, taking several steps back from Orin before turning to run around the counter. Liras stepped into his path, eliciting a high-pitched yelp from the old elf.

“The sales records,” I impatiently rapped my knuckles along the wood.

Barlow’s eyes moved between Orin and Liras before meeting mine and giving a strained nod. He reached under the countertop, causing both of my guards to set their hands on the hilts of their weapons. Producing a hefty leather-bound tome, he set it in front of me and placed his hands back at his sides.

I sifted through the pages, finding the date range that would coincide with Leor’s poisoning. My fingertips ran through line after line of purchases, landing on a single entry where the potion listed was only noted as a dash.

“What’s this?” I made a concerted effort to keep the tension out of my jaw.

“Oh, um,” he wrung his hands together. “A special brew. More of a custom compound, if you will. Those don’t often have formal labels.”

“This cost quite the sum of feldor,” I raised a skeptical brow.

“Yes, well, custom orders are often more expensive. And as you can see, a rush fee was added.”

My eyes trailed across the row of information, looking to find who the mystery solution had been sold to.

Arkhain.

I let out a breathy laugh. Had I been underestimated, or was the perpetrator so stupid that he would leave such an obvious breadcrumb? Perhaps the lord had never expected me to find it.

“For your trouble,” I slid several feldor across the counter. “And your silence.”

“Th-thank you, your grace,” Barlow bowed, his eyes still moving between Orin and Liras.

“I hope we won’t see you anytime soon,” Liras smirked. “But make no mistake that we will return if necessary.”

Barlow nodded, forcing his eyes to the ground as we left his shop.

“Lord Corrin,” I whispered to the men as we walked back toward the castle in the black of night. “See that the kitchen staff ensure he is nowhere near Leor’s food.”

“Atlas and Leor seem to think he’s too stupid to be an assassin,” Orin frowned.

“Atlas and Leor also seem to think that only one person is responsible. You two felt there might be more than one player, and I am inclined to agree after what Sanna overheard. Lord Corrin is likely a lackey to the greater threat, but at least we have a place to start.”

“I can find him within the hour,” Liras offered.

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