Honor-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book III ]

58

"Well, did you find the sleeping potions?" Oanara asked, meeting Aun and Samni at the door as they returned to the kitchen. Thankfully, their return journey had been without incident. It seemed that Koren and his men had truly kept to the royal wing of the palace for the evening, but what morning would bring, no one could tell.

Aun's heart clenched. She nodded her head toward a workbench, and Oanara and Samni fell into step behind her as she hurried over, fishing the phial of heartsbane out of her bodice as she went. She laid it on the counter next to the lady's cloak. "Not exactly, but I have what I need to make one. Two, actually," she said breathlessly. It was an incomplete explanation, but she couldn't say more. What was there to say?

This one might not work. That one might kill them.

"Are you sure about this, Aun?" Oanara asked. "We need to discuss the risks. If they don't drink your tea, what then?"

"It'll be more than a tea." Aun had been too distracted on the mission to think through the risks of her plan and the strategies for reducing them, but her mind leapt ahead several paces now. "The lady's cloak—that's these leaves here—we'll brew them into a tea. And this one—" she raised the phial— "we shall cook into a breakfast dish. A pie. Bread. Something palatable."

A new voice broke into her explanation. "Something palatable!" When Aun turned, she recognized the elderly baker from earlier, a sturdy and capable woman in a flour-dusted apron. She stood with fists akimbo now, peering past Aun to the workbench, and she scoffed. "As if there's ever been a thing come out of this kitchen that wasn't!"

Samni had edged away from the old woman. Now, with a lilt of hope in his voice that highlighted his youth compared to the rest of them, he asked, "Can you make something with it, then, Norra?"

"Can I make something with it." She plucked the phial out of Aun's hand.

"Careful!" Aun cried. She took a breath and lowered her voice, aiming for calm. "It's all we have."

"How much of it do you need in 'em to do the job?" Norra asked.

Goddess above, it was the question that meant everything. Aun hesitated, wiping her sweating palms on her skirt. In an infirmary, she could be as precise as she needed to. She could have measured the dose carefully, taking into account the size of her patient and what she was mixing the powder into. Here, she had no way of knowing who would consume it—and even were she to make a suggestion on the dose, suppose one man ate the entire breakfast himself? "What do you think you'll make?" she asked.

"A pie, I think. I could do eggy puddings or I could do star-cakes or I could do a porridge, even—Her Grace is rather fond of a good, simple porridge—but something more decadent is called for today, don't you think?"

Aun smiled at Norra's no-nonsense supposition. She nodded. "Something that will be hard to resist."

"Then a good fruit pie. I've already got the dough ready. 'Twas going to be for lunch, but you caught me just in time. If I make it without the upper crust, it can be breakfast—and I can easily make two out of what I have." Norra nodded with all of the brisk wisdom her age and experience had granted her, and Samni clapped his hands.

"Two largish ones," Norra continued, "but not too large to be strange. I'd be glad to make enough for the lot of 'em, but I haven't any idea how many there are, and 'twould be a bit out of the pattern of things to send up a whole platter-full of hot pies to the royal wing of a morning. Not even when Her Grace was with child did she have such an appetite, you know."

Oanara blinked in surprise, then frowned at Norra in disapproval at this unseemly mention of Mhera's motherhood. Aun, who knew now that Mhera was again with child—those who knew to look for it could already see the changes in her silhouette—tried not to let her mind catch and twist around this knowledge, but she could not help but murmur, "We must make sure that Mhera and Kaori and Eovin do not eat it."

With a snort, Oanara screwed up her mouth. She seemed prepared to spit on the floor, a derisive and rude gesture fit for the topic of Koren, but a glance at Norra seemed to stop her. Instead, she said, "As if the renegade prince would let them eat so much as a crumb."

"It's a risk," Aun murmured. She rubbed her hands over her face, trying to think.

"Well, the pies aren't going to be walking up there on their own little legs, are they?" Norra asked. "Whichever of us is sent to deliver 'em can try to get the message across to Her Grace and the others." She lifted her chin slightly and narrowed her eyes, waiting until Samni had caught her gaze to give a very slight, very meaningful shake of her head.

Samni grinned. "Yes. Yes, that should work. Right?" He looked to the other women for confirmation. "Besides, the worst that can happen is they fall asleep. The risk is not so great for them. If Empress Mhera and the others slip into sleep after having a breakfast, Koren and his men will turn their suspicions toward us. Perhaps it will be enough to make them break their cover and we can deal with them."

Oanara folded her arms. She looked grim. "At least it will be dawn. We must be careful. I fear they will harm their prisoners at the slightest hint of danger. What good are hostages unless they are used as leverage?"

"That's the key," said Samni. "If we can take them down and free Her Grace and Prince Kaori and the Lorekeeper, we can turn our focus to whatever's coming from outside of the castle walls. This will work."

Aun was not hearing any of this conversation. She had stopped listening when Samni had said, Besides, the worst that can happen is they fall asleep. The risk is not so great for them.

She was cold with the knowledge that it wasn't true. The worst that could happen would be that she, Aun, could be responsible for the deaths of her friend, the empress; the empress's unborn child; Kaori, her love and the father of her son; and the beloved lorekeeper, who had been the historian of the nation and the ally of the Arcborn for a generation. She could not let that happen.

"I'll take it to them," she said. "I will be the one to take it to them. Norra, madam, if you would be so kind—this whole phial can go into the pie. I'll brew the tea."

"You? Are you sure, Aun?" Samni asked. "I've changed into plainclothes. I can do it. If there should be some danger—"

"No." Aun could trust herself to intercede if the worst should happen and their poison gift be offered to the prisoners. She could not risk a carefully-rationed dose that would have no effect. The only choice was to use it all. "Samni, would you please fill me a kettle? I'll find the tea, and the—"

"Honey's over here." Norra beckoned to Aun and started off across her domain, ready to take charge where she was able. "Here. Roya! What are you, boy, asleep? Get over here and make up a tea cart for the royal wing! A tray for Her Grace and a tray for Prince Kaori. Then get me that fruit filling for the pie. I've one more thing to add to it."

Crumbling the lady's cloak leaves into bits fine enough to be sifted into the tea leaves kept Aun occupied for the next little while, as Norra oversaw the construction of a singular pair of pies and poor Roya scurried about, doing her bidding. By the time the sun was creeping over the horizon outside the palace walls, two breakfast trays had been laden and placed on the tea cart. Each tray held a steaming pot of tea laced with lady's cloak, along with a cup, honey, and cream. And on each tray was a beautiful breakfast pastry garnished with flowers. The golden crust was flaky and crisp, and the decadent filling of dark berries and darker secrets glistened irresistibly in the light.