Page 112 of With Wing And Claw

Thysandra became abruptly aware of her own body and immediately regretted that decision.

While she had never been run over by a herd of horses in her life, she was dreadfully certain that she knew now what the experience must feel like – every fibre in her body sore and bruised and aching, her head pounding as if someone had used it as an anvil. Her thoughts were clear, or at least close enough to clear compared to the utter wreck that was the rest of her … but it took an arduous burst of concentration tofigure out just how she’d ended up here, on someone’s couch, while people were threatening bloody murder beside her.

Naxi.

That was Naxi talking.

‘Then I’m going to torture everyone who touched that glass!’ she was announcing, mere feet away. Her timbre was too high. Panic, even from the prettiest, loveliest, angriest demon in the world. ‘Orthea will know who served the wine, won’t she? And if she didn’t put the poison in there herself, then—’

Poison.

And at once everything became horribly, perfectly clear. Wine. Warmth. Her thoughts turning into sluggish mud while fear should have kept her more awake than ever – and fuck, fuck,fuck, Orthea’s speech before that …

‘No,’ she croaked.

The voices went quiet.

And then Naxi again – ‘Sashka?’

‘Don’t … don’t torture her.’ Hell. She sounded like a wood saw had been blessed with the sudden gift of speech. ‘Need her cooperation. To … to rectify things.’

Nicanor cursed. ‘Welcome back, Your Majesty. And maybe try a cup of tea first before jumping back into politics?’

‘I can make tea!’ Naxi squealed.

It seemed a little nonsensical to make a point of Nicanor not poisoning his tea when he had, by the look of it, just narrowly saved her life from whatever had been in her wine. So Thysandra merely opened her eyes, blinked at the ceiling stained with poison fumes, and tried to sit up straight on what did indeed turn out to be a couch.

Thank the gods they hadn’t put her in his bed. She wasn’t quite ready forthosememories yet.

It took agonisingly long to get her body into a more or less vertical position. At least Nicanor’s curtains were closed – no one to witness the humiliation but him and Naxi, which was presumably the best she could have hoped for. Soft faelights twinkled in corners of the room. A thousand bottles and jars reflected the light – the same menacingcollection as always, and yet with the memory of that pink antidote against her lips, it seemed a lot less threatening than it had before.

She should have remembered from the start that her Lord Protector was not theonlyone with a knowledge of poisons in this castle.

It was hard not to curse over the stupidity of it.

Nicanor was sitting at his worktable when she had finally seated herself steadily enough to risk looking up – the red ribbon still braided into his hair but the ruby-covered coat gone, his slim frame strangely fragile in only the silvery shirt he’d worn beneath. In the kitchen corner, Naxi was bustling around, lively hands somehow in seven places at once as she prepared the world’s least efficient cup of tea.

Night peered in between the curtains, quiet and black as ink.

‘How long have I been out?’ Thysandra asked hoarsely.

‘Forever!’ Naxi wailed without turning around.

‘About two hours,’ Nicanor amended, a wry smile flitting over his lips. ‘We considered moving you to your own rooms, but it seemed better not to have you out in public with— Well …’

‘Yes.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Fuck.’

Naxi huffed. ‘I could still kill them all?’

‘Need to know what happened, first.’ The hazy, strangely contorted images of her memories played before her mind’s eye. The hound probably hadn’t actually moved. The rest, though … ‘Are we certain it was in my wine?’

‘No waiting for the cup of tea, then?’ Nicanor said, interlacing his fingers as he rested his elbows on the table surface. ‘As you wish. The poison is usually calledphyriga– Fire’s Kiss – and when ingested, its effects kick in quite swiftly. Near-instant sensation of increasing warmth. Ten to fifteen minutes before the tiredness and confusion become noticeable. Half an hour or so until death.’

Naxi gave a small whimper by the stove, stuffing fresh herbs into Nicanor’s blackened teapot.

‘Wine or venison, then,’ Thysandra said numbly.Half an hour. Gods have mercy. ‘And I probably ate the venison too late for it to be the cause –not to mention—’

‘Yes. There would have been no way for anyone to control what piece you took.’ Nicanor’s lips pressed together into a thin line. ‘Hence, the wine.’

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