Poison (14 page)

Gael said nothing, not wanting an argument. But he could not believe that it would be so simple. The poisoning of the Beasts spoke of someone with terrifying skill and power. Somebody who had patience and was careful to the point that, so far, he was undetectable.

All he could see was Noire's face, silver-blue eyes vacant, body covered in blood. Noire's words played over and over in his head, about secrecy being a bad idea rather than a good one.

Still he could not make himself speak, terror closing his throat.

There was nothing they could do except hope that they found the assailant before it was too late.

Noire waited in the receiving hall for Ailill to appear, feeling bad that he had been left alone barely a full day. He forced himself to hold still and not succumb to the urge to fidget, to pace around the hall.

He tried to focus on something, anything—and of course, the moment he let his guard slip thoughts of Gael rushed in. The palpable fear, the reverence in his every touch, how right it always felt when they slept tangled together. Noire closed his eyes, reliving the happiness of waking up with Gael pressing him into the bedding, lying there to enjoy it as long as possible. His own boldness in keeping Gael there for just a little longer, the laughter of that moment, the way the laughter never lasted long enough.

The way it was all being ruined by some cowardly meat-eater determined to interfere with the ceremony. Noire reached up to touch the silver, teardrop shaped cravat pin nestled amongst the folds of lace. His only gift from Gael, more precious to him than everything else he owned. It made him think of the silly ribbon he had given Gael.

Noire had never been so nervous in his life. Stupid as it was, kneeling before the assemblage and swearing his fealty as the Royal Voice had not been as nerve-wracking as giving a hair ribbon to his lover of one week. But even then, after so few days together, Gael had made it clear just how much he loved Noire's eyes.

He'd only been out to order new handkerchiefs, stupidly excited that, as the Voice, he was allowed to have the crest of the Voice embroidered upon them. It had been a splurge to him back then, a ridiculous indulgence to order new handkerchiefs just because he wanted them to be fancy. The shopkeeper had only been trying to sell him more things and remarked that the ribbon matched his eyes almost exactly.

Unable to resist after that, Noire had bought it, wrapping it in tissue paper and spending the next couple of days nervous while he waited for Gael to have time for him. He had expected Gael to be happy with it, but in a polite way. When Gael had instead lit up, had immediately said it was like his eyes and removed the green one in his hair to replace it ...

Well, Noire remembered that night had been particularly fine, but what they had done in bed did not compare to how stupidly happy one little hair ribbon had made Gael.

He wondered, suddenly, if he should get a gift for after the ceremony. But what, he wondered miserably in the next breath, did one get a prince turned god? Reminding himself how much Gael had loved a hair ribbon did not soothe his sudden anxiety.

Gael as a god ... Noire just could not fathom it. How much would Gael change? Would he see Noire differently? No matter what Gael said about how all would be well, Noire was not convinced. What would he do if everything over the past three years came to nothing?

Just thinking about it turned his stomach.

He refused to be a coward, however. As hard as he fought, he would not simply give up because he was afraid. If Gael survived the ceremony, he would be content. Better Gael lived and was no longer his, than Gael died.

So, a gift then—but what manner of gift? Noire considered and discarded dozens of ideas before finally giving up in frustration. Eventually, something would occur to him. He hoped.

He was so lost in thought, he did not register the footsteps until he hard Ailill say, "Noire?"

Turning around, Noire knelt and bowed his head, mostly because he knew the formality annoyed Ailill and he was fun to tease. "Your grace, the Triad bids you come at once to the palace."

"Let us go, then," Ailill said. He strode to the door and pulled it open, but then turned back. Noire finally noticed Ivan standing at the bottom of the stairs. "Vanya—"

"I'll follow behind," Ivan said, still looking rumpled and half-asleep. "Go, quickly. Time is of the essence if we ever hope to scorch the culprit."

Ailill nodded and shifted to his panther form, then leapt through the open door and down the steps. Noire followed him, shifting smoothly as he hit the bottom of the stairs. They ran through the city, across the drawbridge, and down the royal pavilion, up into the palace. In the receiving hall, they shifted back, and Noire led him to the Sanctuary.

Gael stood by the door waiting for them, his smile strained, but genuine. "Lord Ailill, thank you for coming so quickly. I am afraid that this morning we lost two:  the White Owl and the White Hawk."

"Two?" Ailill repeated. "But how—"

"They were apparently having an affair; I guess their assailant decided to save time and took care of them both," Gael said. "Unfortunately, it was her grace's wife who found them together. We are keeping her isolated, but with four Beasts now fallen it is going to be impossible to keep it a secret. I am certain you are already beginning to feel the strain of making up for their absence."

Ailill nodded. "It does explain why I woke with a splitting headache. May I see the room first, perhaps? I think that will provide me a better opportunity for clues."

"Of course," Gael said. "Should you desire access to the Sanctuary, come and find me. I will likely be trapped in my solar or my office all day. Noire, show him the way, then come to me."

Noire startled that Gael had called him by name, but did not draw attention to it. "Yes, your highness." He turned and resumed walking, moving quickly through the halls until they reached Lady Ciel's suite. He bowed at the door. "Your grace. Summon me should you need anything further; I will come at once."

"Thank you, Noire." Ailill said. "One of these days, I hope I can find my way around the palace even half as easily as you. How do you—how does anyone—keep it all straight? I vow I had a good sense of direction until I started coming here."

Smiling faintly, Noire said, "I was very confused for a long time. But it's built to be that way; Prince Gael told me once that the palace layout was based on a maze of which the Faerie Queen was fond. Why, he could not say, but speculated it was just for the challenge of it."

Ailill sighed. "Well, I suppose I am simply no good at mazes. Thank you, again. I do not suppose you would do me a favor?"

"You've only to name it."

"Notify someone to be on the watch for Vanya and have him brought to me when he arrives?"

"Of course," Noire said and walked off as Ailill vanished into the suite. In the receiving hall, he spoke to a clerk about Ivan, then slipped away again to Gael's study.

He knocked on the door, and then slipped inside when Gael called for him to enter. Walking up to Gael, who stood by the windows on one side of his office, Noire knelt and bowed his head. "Your highness, I come as bid."

"Thank you for coming so swiftly," Gael said quietly. "Most of the Beasts are in the city, and we have already summoned them. However, Lady Verenne left yesterday to visit a sick relative. She is beyond our range to contact. Normally I would send a message, but I prefer to be as discreet as possible, even at the cost of time. I also want her accompanied by someone I personally trust. Voice, journey to the estate of Lady Verenne's youngest sister and escort her back to the city. Be quick, but choose caution over speed. Use whatever means are necessary to return the White Bat safely to the palace."

"Yes, your highness," Noire replied, and he rose smoothly to his feet—and froze in surprise when Gael embraced him, breaths warm against Noire's skin.

Gael kissed him softly, squeezing his shoulders as he slowly withdrew. "Be careful, kitten. I do not know if you'll encounter any danger at all, and I do not want to send you, but we need the remaining Beasts gathered."

"I'll be careful," Noire said. "Her youngest sister's estate is a day and a half away going slowly. I can trim that down to a day, and we'll both be back tomorrow night."

Nodding, Gael surged forward and gave him one more kiss, then whispered, "Go."

Noire went, flushed with surprise and his heart pounding in his ears. Gael never did that. Never treated him like anything, but the Voice during the day. More and more often, though, he seemed to be breaking his own rules.

Stupidly, selfishly, it made Noire feel better to have evidence that Gael really was as unhappy about the secret-keeping as he. Hearing it and witnessing it were two different things, and he trusted Gael implicitly—but it was still heartening to think that Gael was finding it increasingly difficult to hold back.

He left the city quickly, heading south towards the estate Verenne's sister kept near the coast. As early in the day as it was, he would be table to get there only just after dark. They could leave in the morning, and be back in the palace that night. Two days, exactly as he had said.

Noire focused on running, on his task, and tried not to think about the exhaustion weighing down on him. When the ceremony was finally over and everything had calmed down, he was going to take shameless abuse of his role as Gael's lover and demand a week off. He was going to spend it in bed, either sleeping or doing every last thing he could think of to and with Gael.

It was only a few hours after sunset when he finally reached his destination. He shifted and straightened his clothes before he strode up the door and knocked. It was opened a moment later by a supercilious-looking butler. "I am here to see Lady Verenne."

"Lady Verenne is not receiving—"

Noire drew himself up and said more coldly, "I will assume that the dark makes it hard to recognize the crest of the Voice upon my breast. I did not ask if I may see Lady Verenne, I said I
am
seeing her."

The butler blanched and hastily stepped back, pulling the door completely open. "Of course, Voice. My apologies. I will inform her of your presence at once, if you would care to wait in the red salon?" Noire nodded and, shoulders easing with relief, the butler led him to a salon that made Noire inwardly wince.

He was no snob, not even after all his years in the palace, but the room was atrocious. So much red was reminiscent of blood, which was beyond poor taste. Noire grimaced and stayed near the door, half afraid of what would happen if he wandered too deeply into the room.

Thankfully, the door opened a few minutes later and the butler intoned, "Her grace requests that you come and see her in the night garden." When Noire nodded, the butler led the way through the house and down a stone path to a small section that was slightly separate from the rest of the garden.

The scents of flowers washed over him as he reached it:  night-blooming jasmine, evening primrose, and moonflowers. Noire thanked the butler, then walked through the small garden to kneel before Lady Verenne. Quiet, kind, and breathtakingly beautiful with her delicate features and the riot of curls piled atop her head, she was one of the most popular Beasts at court. Noire had rarely seen her without a smile on her face, the sound of her laughter in the air.

It drew him up short when he looked up after a prolonged silence and saw that she was crying. "Your grace ... "

Verenne gave a weak, unsteady laugh, and wiped at her eyes with the crumbled handkerchief in her hand. "My apologies, Voice. Please, give your message."

Noire nodded and replied, "You are ordered to return at once to the royal palace. This very morning, the White Hawk and the White Owl fell victim to poison. The Triad wants all the Beasts close for reasons of safety. You are to return with me as quickly as possible."

"I refuse," Verenne said softly, but quite firmly. "You may take my refusal directly to Princess Frederique."

"Your grace ... "

Verenne smiled weakly at him again, and then reached to lightly cup his cheek. "Sit with me."

Not certain what else to do, Noire obeyed, sitting nervously at the edge of the bench.

"I'm not going to bite," Verenne said, but her laughter broke off as she started crying again. "I apologize, Voice. My problems are not yours, but I will not return. If that means I must be the next victim of this mysterious poison, then so be it." She laughed bitterly. "Maybe that will teach a lesson I cannot seem to instill myself."

Noire moved close and curled his hand over hers. "Is there something I can do to help, your grace?"

"You're very sweet, Noire. Too sweet for the likes of us toxic palace flowers. Do you have a sweetheart?"

"Um—"

Verenne laughed. "Like I said, sweet. I bet you are doted on and spoiled rotten. I would spoil you." She smirked. "I would also forbid you clothes."

Noire could feel his cheeks heat that. "Your grace!"

"So easy to fluster," Verenne said, chuckling, and she leaned in to kiss his cheek. "I do not know how the palace has not ruined you, but I am glad of it. I thought that after becoming the Voice you would turn as jaded and toxic as the rest of us. But you still are you." She sighed and looked away, reaching out to toy with the leaves of a nearby night blooming jasmine. "Is it hard, keeping the secrets of the Triad? Of course we, as Beasts, are charged with our own share of secrets. That is not as difficult as being the Voice, who must carry and hold so many other secrets. Do they weigh you down ever, Noire? Does being the Voice weary you?"

"It exhausts me," Noire said. "But the physical demands of my job are far more difficult than the secrets. Keeping a secret only requires I do not talk, and I was never much for talking, anyway."

Verenne nodded and picked at the jasmine blossoms, toying with them in her lap. "There's no secret that burdens you, that slowly breaks your heart from the weight of it?"

Noire flinched. "There is, but it's not because I'm the Voice. It's personal. Is that what makes you cry, your grace? A heavy secret?"