Chapter 4: The Bear's Table

Ember Hall was full again when Linnea walked into it.

Bracken's guards had Wren on her knees in the middle of the floor, her grey dress torn at the shoulder.

On the marble beside her sat a silver tray with one steaming cup.

"Your Majesty," said Bracken, with a bow so slight it was an insult. "A tragedy has been narrowly avoided."

"This maid carried wine to your chamber tonight. My physician says it holds frostroot, enough to stop a heart."

"She is from your own village. She has every reason to want the throne for her friends."

Wren's eyes found Linnea's.

"I didn't," Wren said, hoarse.

"Linn, I swear on my mother's grave."

"The steward gave me the tray at the kitchen door and said it was for you."

"Silence," said Bracken.

"No," said Linnea.

She hadn't known her voice could carry.

The whole Hall turned to look at her.

Her bare feet were bleeding a little on the marble, where the frost had bitten them the night before.

She didn't care.

"Which steward?" she asked Wren.

Wren pointed with a shaking finger at a plump man in the first gallery, who was trying to become part of the wall.

"That one."

"Bring him down," said Linnea.

Kaelen was already moving.

He hauled the steward down to the floor by the collar and dropped him beside the tray.

"Your Majesty, I know nothing," the man said, sweating through his velvet.

"Then it won't trouble you to drink it," said Linnea.

She picked up the cup and held it under his chin.

The steam smelled sweet and faintly of pine.

The steward went grey.

"No," he whispered. "I can't."

"You can't," Linnea said clearly, "because you know what's in it."

A murmur ran up the galleries.

"The Chancellor said it was only a sleeping draught," the steward blurted.

"To keep her quiet for a few days. He told me nobody would be hurt!"

Silence fell, absolute.

Bracken did not blink.

"A desperate man will say anything to save his neck," he said smoothly. "I have never seen this fool."

"You pay his wages," said Linnea. "He's been your steward for eleven years. Half this Hall has watched him carry your cloak."

Somebody laughed, short and ugly, and a ripple of faces turned toward the Chancellor.

Linnea poured the wine out onto the marble.

It hissed, and a thin crust of frost grew on the stone where it lay.

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