Page 38 of The Frost Queen's Blade

Sixteen

Ten days before the coronation, Elma had almost begun to feel safe. Her days were busy with meetings and events, her nights quiet and lonely. And while she never once relaxed, no attempts were made on her life. Perhaps, she thought, they had given up. Maybe Rune had been her advisors’ first and only grasp at power, and after his failure, they had accepted defeat.

Elma took dinner in one of the smallest citadel dining rooms. She was joined by Godwin, Bertram, Maurice, and her cousin Lady Devereaux. As ever, Rune waited in the shadows, only his edges illuminated by firelight.

Conversation was sparse; the hour was late, and everyone was in a foul mood. Elma’s advisors had complained of everything — the gown she planned to wear on her coronation, the food to be served. They had been markedly more irritable since Rune’s introduction to the court, yet further proof to Elma that she’d made the correct choice in employing the assassin.

Tureens of thick stew and jugs of wine were brought out. A servant poured Elma’s wine, and she lifted it to her lips.

A scream cut through the night.

“Your Majesty!” came the panicked shout, shrill and trembling. Elma spun to see Cora struggling to enter the room. She was dragging something heavy, something large…

Before Elma could react, Rune was at her side. He wrenched the goblet from her fingers, sniffed it once, and cast it violently to the floor.

“Poison,” he spat.

But Elma was still catching up. She stared at Cora, whose face was wet with tears. And then she saw what her maid was clutching at, dragging forward — the body of Elma’s taster.

Elma stood, her chair nearly clattering to the floor as she pushed it back roughly. She made to rush to Cora’s side, but Rune’s arm curved firmly around her middle, holding her in place.

Godwin and the advisors collected themselves almost immediately and began to gather around Cora, demanding explanations. Luca stood at the door, his face a mask of grief and rage.

He should have stopped this, Elma thought.Rune should have stopped this.

“Your Majesty,” Rune murmured in her ear, “please stop struggling. You’re safe. But I need you to stay here, with me, until I understand exactly what happened.”

Turning away from the others, Godwin locked eyes with Elma. She had rarely seen him so visibly frightened. “Did you drink the wine?” he asked.

Elma opened her mouth and found it was too dry to speak. She shook her head.

Her uncle sighed, running a hand over his face. “Good. It might be in the food, too. Don’t eat anything, Lady Devereaux.” This last was directed at the table where Elma’s third cousin still sat.

“Would never have happened atmystronghold,” Lady Devereaux muttered, glancing around wildly. “Poison… in thewine…”

“Stay here,” Rune said, taking Elma by the shoulders and holding her gaze. There was nothing cruel or humorous in his eyes. She nodded once. Seemingly satisfied, he turned and made his way across the room to the cluster of advisors and Cora and the partially obscured body of Elma’s taster.

Elma had seen tasters killed before. Her father had gone through at least four while she’d been at the citadel, maybe more. And each time, his avoidance of a sure death had been celebrated.Poison cannot touch the King of Rothen.

But now, seeing it first-hand, the crumpled body… knowing that the poison had been meant for her, that the only reason this man lay dead was because ofher… Elma braced a hand against the table for support.

All at once, the men turned away from the body, leaving Cora where she knelt, still sobbing gently. They watched Elma with the same sort of sad, apologetic expression that meant bad news was about to be delivered. As if Elma hadn’t seen, as if she wasn’t right there.

Godwin spoke first. “Your Majesty, an attempt has been made on your life. There is poison in the wine and the food. Do not eat or drink anything but water tonight, taken directly from the well and tested in advance. Until someone is chosen to replace your taster, we will make do with one of the others.”

“Others,” Elma said, trying desperately to focus on her uncle’s words.

“The other tasters,” Bertram interjected. “There are several employed at the citadel, Majesty. Should we lose one, we needsomeoneto…”

“I understand,” Elma bit out. “And who is going to pay for this offense?”

“Your Majesty,” said Ferdinand, stepping forward, “Luca and his men have gone to search for the responsible parties. But it may take hours to launch a proper investigation.”

“Hours?” said Elma, regaining her composure as she spoke. “More could be harmed in that time. Launch your investigation immediately. Or would you have another assassin roaming the Frost Citadel freely?”

“Perhaps you could start a collection of mercenaries,” said Lady Devereaux, apparently having collected herself enough to make jabs.

“Be quiet, cousin,” Elma said, vibrating with pent-up emotion, “or I’ll sic him on you.”

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