Whatever part of Feren that had been weakened before by the effects of the poison had surely become stronger by the time she'd slipped from the room. Though he had not moved or said a thing.
Verdonal was a silent poison. That was why so many people confused it with the poison of the Voerr; hetinal. Verdonal was an elven extraction, reduced by a small number of skilled alchemists and illegally smuggled throughout Firica. Or at least, that was how it used to be.
The blood became thinned by verdonal, causing the victims to become light headed, unbalanced, easily fatigued, and short of breath. The worst effects were massive bruising and uncontrollable blood loss if wounded. They wouldn't die from verdonal; at least not in small doses. The blood simply turned to red water, and so long as the victim was not slit open, the effects would eventually wear off without harm. The poison may not have been torture, but it was –
The door opened. Amelia jerked around and pressed her back to the nearest, safest object. Two faces entered.
The first payed her no mind, but the second did hesitate until he was ushered forward.
"You have speculations. I invite you to investigate," Andrew said, gesturing with his hand in the girl's direction. "Go on."
The unfamiliar face blinked with a dumb expression. Amelia must've had a similar one. She glanced between the young man and the King. "What is this?" She clutched her corset to her chest in a desperate attempt to cover her breasts.
Andrew turned, nonchalant. He supplied himself with a drink. "This man claims he is of your country. Supposedly they doubt you're still alive."
"My country?" she asked, searching this man up and down. There was nothing special about him. No distinctive features, no obvious lines on his hide. The eyes were brown and boring, and his hair a flat gray. Something about it worried her. She looked to Andrew, trying not to show the stress the strange stare caused her. "Surely this can wait. It is near past mid-night."
Andrew's drink was set down. "Of course. Guard!"
The man was escorted out, and once his presence had disappeared, Amelia forgot about it. Instead, she stared at the King and saw only the face of the other Voerr behind her eyes.
Andrew seemed indifferent on a drunken level. He wasn't busy ruling a country if he had time to bring a stranger in his own personal quarters – just to see the girl that was his wife.
So what else did Andrew do with all his free time?
"You poisoned him."
Over the glass, his eyebrows raised in bored indifference. "Whom?"
"How many people do you poison in a day?" she hissed.
Her tone did not please him.
"Why?"
"He was becoming too... lethal. It made the councilmen uneasy."
"The councilmen!" She scoffed.
"Feren lives under my good graces," Andrew scorned. "I'd think you would have an interest in keeping him there."
"He lives every day to serve you! What else must you take away from him?"
"The only thing I need from Feren is his obedience. And I have yet to gain it."
"Earn. You earn obedience. Loyalties. Honesty. You acquire nothing by underhanded errands and shaded pricks of verdonal!"
"Do not raise your voice with me!" Andrew boomed. "This is a condition of his presence in the castle. If you disagree, you may escort him out yourself."
Chapter Five: The Wanderers
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