Page 61 of Twin Crowns

“You know what would go down delightfully with this?” said Wren. “A glass of Gevran’s finest frostfizz.”

Ansel threw his hands up. “What an inspired idea!”

Rathborne snapped his fingers and made it so. A moment later, their glasses were full of fizzing alcohol, and his own had passed his poison test.

Wren caught Tor’s eye as she raised her goblet. “Why don’t we give your soldier one, too, Ansel? He looks thirsty.”

Tor smiled blandly. “You’re kind to think of me, Your Highness. But I don’t drink when I’m on duty.”

“A fine soldier,” grunted Rathborne.

“Fine indeed,” said Wren.

Ansel leaped to his feet. “A toast!”

While the prince waffled on about kingdoms and friendship andRose’s unfailing beauty, Wren unstrung her drawstring pouch and slipped a few petals free. She let her gaze roam, until it fell on the sconce nearest the window.

She crushed the petals in her fist, using her free hand to cover her whisper.

The petals turned to dust, and across the room, a candle flame flared for the briefest moment. The drapes erupted in a sudden blaze.

Celeste shrieked.

Ansel leaped onto his chair and waved his arms about in a panic. “FIRE! FIRE IN THE DINING ROOM!” He wobbled as he lost his balance and the chair went flying backward, knocking him to the ground, where he landed like a winded starfish.

Rathborne raced for the kitchens, while the palace guards ran after him like headless chickens. Celeste followed them. Tor jolted into action, stalking across the room and ripping the drapes to the floor before the ones beside them could catch fire.

He cursed as he stamped out the flames, and Wren, finding herself unwatched for the first time all evening, tipped the vial of devil’s root into Rathborne’s goblet before stashing the empty vessel in her pouch. By the time the others had returned from the kitchens, carrying jugs of water, the fire was out and Tor was on his haunches, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Ansel dragged himself up from the floor and peered over the table to make sure it was safe. Then he leaped to his feet. “What a furor! Apologies, my flower. I’m afraid I took a little tumble before I could rescue you.” He put his hands on his hips. “Well done, Tor. I knew you’d have it well in hand. Calm as a slumbering ice bear and as prepared asa snow fox in winter. As ever.”

Wren fanned herself. “Thank goodness everyone is safe.”

Rathborne examined the tattered drapes. “What on earth happened?”

Tor got to his feet. He licked his bottom lip, as if he could taste something in the air. His frown deepened as he tried to make sense of it. “It must have been a wayward flame.”

“And caught just in time! What a heroic effort!” Wren raised her goblet. “I suggest we all drink to this soldier’s quick thinking.”

“To Tor,” said Ansel, raising his goblet.

“To Tor,” said Celeste, joining in.

Rathborne raised his goblet. “To Gevran competence. May we see more of it in the weeks to come.”

Ansel took a swig of his frostfizz. “Ah,” he said, wiping his mouth. “That certainly does settle the nerves.”

Wren watched Rathborne over the rim of her goblet.

He sipped gingerly, then winced. “That is strong.”

“Best to down it all in one go,” advised Ansel. “That’s how my brother drinks his. But then again, Alarik has a tolerance like no one I’ve ever met.”

“Is that so?” said Rathborne, and Wren could have leaned across the table and kissed Ansel for egging him on so beautifully.

The Kingsbreath raised the goblet to his lips and drank deeply. Wren’s heart began to beat furiously. Just then, Celeste crashed into her shoulder, sending her flying into Rathborne. The goblet flew from his hand and catapulted to the floor.

Wren watched in horror as the rest of the poisonous frostfizzbubbled into the rug. She whirled on Celeste. “You shoved me.”

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