Treacherous Witch

31. Mercy

That was the answer.

If she drew the poison into herself—

She wouldn't die. She'd expel it.

Valerie laid her hand on his forehead—and then stopped, gasping, as Kreios convulsed. For a second, she couldn't breathe—her throat clamped up—then she reeled back as if she'd been struck. The moment her hand lifted from his skin the sensation also lifted.

Kreios slumped to the floor. His skin was grey and twisted, the corners of his mouth a bruised purple. His eyes stared blankly up at the great chandelier hanging above the dinner table.

She was breathing hard and clutched her hand to her chest, controlling herself.

"What are you doing?" the doctor demanded. "Move aside!"

The doctor checked the man's pulse, but it was clear to everyone watching what had happened.

"He's dead," said Dryden. "You..."

"I couldn't save him." Valerie looked up at Avon, begging him to believe her. "I ran out of time."

He stared back at her, and she saw doubt in his eyes.

"James," said Dryden. "James—I'll keep your secret. But we should have let the doctor do his job. Putting his life in the hands of an untrained girl—whether malicious or incompetent—"

Anger flared in her. "I could have saved him! You held me back—you wasted our time!"

Avon straightened up. His shadow seemed heavy on the great polished-wood floor. "My secret?" he said. "My secret? Do you think I have anything to hide?"

"I think—"

"You're missing the point." Avon cut him off. "There's no reason the girl wouldn't want to save one of her own people, and the poison would have killed him whether or not she helped matters along. The more pertinent question is: how did she know there was poison in that goblet in the first place?"

In the silence that followed, all eyes turned on her. Valerie swallowed. Slowly, she stood up, wondering if this was it, the moment he denounced her. Her cover was blown. There was no explaining it.

"Take care of the body," said Avon quietly. "And have the guests retire. We'll have no more revelry tonight. Valerie, come with me."

She blanched. He'd spoken in that same cold tone he'd used the night she had tried to escape. He marched her away, and his silence pressed on her like the force of his grip around her arm.

Think! Fight or flight?

There was always another way. There had to be. Lie? Would he believe her if she claimed that she'd sensed the poison with her magic?

If only Iora had listened to me, she thought. If she had contacted the traitor in the palace, if they'd concocted a scheme together... They could have come up with something better than this.

She'd seen nothing but half-baked plans and failure from the resistance. Valerie had played her part, again, and gotten nothing in return except the anticipation of miserable punishment, again.

The doors to Avon's quarters flung open and closed again. He pushed her into the middle of the room, in front of the empty fireplace, and then paced a full circle around her as if he couldn't stand still.

"You knew," he said finally, stopping in front of her. "You knew the goblet was poisoned."

"Yes, I knew." She clasped one hand over her arm, forcing herself to look back at him. "There's a spy in your household. I watched them pour poison into the goblet."

"Who?"

"Iora. One of the maidservants." Her tone was calm, controlled. She couldn't afford an ounce of emotion. "She's a member of the resistance."

"You were working together."

She said nothing.

"All this talk of trust." He shook his head. "I assume the poison was meant for me. I was quite merry. If you had offered me a drink, I would have taken it. So... Why did you spill the goblet?"

She felt her mask slip, her mouth trembling, and looked away. "Your sister was about to drink the poison. I couldn't let her die."

"Even though you'd give yourself away."

Had his voice softened? Hope fluttered. Her gambit might just work.

"I should have spoken up earlier. The resistance..." She pressed her lips together. "I'm afraid of what I'm about to tell you."

He took a step closer, his brow drawn in concern. "Afraid of what?"

"Betraying you. It's what I've been doing all this time. Betraying you."

"How?"

"Since we returned from Enyr. That's when Iora contacted me... and gave me an order." He was close enough to detect the tremor in her voice and body, she thought. And she wasn't acting; the fear was real. "The prince learned about my situation. He wanted me to act as a spy, to pass information to the resistance. If I didn't..."

Avon frowned. "What?"

"They wouldn't risk leaving me in the power of the Empire. They'd have me killed first."

"They threatened you?" His hands found her waist, and she let him—let him draw her in.

"I know too much. About Bakra, about the resistance. I could give them all away."

"But you haven't." His fingers tightened around her. "Are you not loyal to the resistance?"

"I was—I am. But I wanted to run away—you know that—I tried to escape. Now I'm trapped by both sides. I could put you to sleep."

She caressed his jaw as she said that. He froze, the two of them caught in a strange embrace. Fear flickered in his eyes. This was what connected them: mutual fear. They were balanced on a knife's edge.

"I could put you to sleep," she continued softly, "and run, and escape all of you."

"I would hunt you down. You'd never know a moment's peace."

Valerie shivered, either from fear or from delight. This moment, the delicate dance of words that could mean the difference between life and death, success or failure—this was the turning point. The adrenaline running through her veins magnified her senses: the fall of his hair, the fervour in his eyes, the solid warmth of his hands on her skin, all crystal clear. She drank him in.

She pressed her hand on his chest, against the steady beat of his heart. "What happens if I stay?"

"You've given me one name. Give me more, and I'll consider showing you mercy."

Still demanding her surrender. He always wanted more.

She pulled away. "I gave you your sister's life. Isn't that enough?"

Avon regarded her. One of his hands came to rest on the hilt of the sword at his hip. "Not after a second attempt on my life. For that I must have you thrown in the dungeon until I deal with this spy. But you did save my sister. We'll speak again."

It was a chance, she thought. As close to an understanding as they could get, knowing they were enemies, knowing that triumph for one meant suffering for the other.

They would speak again. She believed him on that.