Chapter 6: The Room

The apothecary's note arrived the morning after the hunt.

Ansel read it standing in the study doorway, then held it out to me without a word.

One line, in a cramped hand: Foxglove, steeped strong.

Under it: A cup a day would stop a healthy heart in half a year.

"Half a year," I said.

"Yes."

"The Midwinter Ball is in six months."

He did not answer that. He took the note back and folded it very small.

"Your lady-in-waiting is a poisoner," I said. "I knew it from the cups. Three cups, and two people in the room."

"Her Majesty's lady-in-waiting," Ansel said slowly, "has served her since they were girls. She is loyal to a fault."

"To whom?"

"To the Empress."

"Then she poisons for the Empress."

"The Empress," said Ansel, "does not know. She would never allow it. She gave you gloves."

"She poured the cup."

"Her lady poured it."

"Her tin. Her tea. And someone cut my saddle girth the morning of her hunt."

"Her Majesty has been the kindest woman in the empire for ten years," said Ansel.

"And you want me to believe she's a murderer."

"I want you to believe someone is, and it's happening in your house."

He was pacing now. He walked three steps and turned, and I started counting under my breath.

"The Empress would never. The Empress has fed the poor of the capital. The Empress knew every servant's name."

"That's five," Bertram said from the doorway, writing.

"What?"

"Mentions, Your Grace. Five so far."

"This is not table!"

"You are eating toast, Your Grace. The Duchess has ruled that wherever a man eats his breakfast is table."

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