Poison (19 page)

All he wanted was to sink into Gael's arms and forget it all for a little while. But Gael could still barely move, and what would the purest of beasts think of his lover covered in the blood of other faerie children—with the taste of those deaths still in his mouth?

If he lost Gael now after all of this ...

Noire turned away from the thought, unable to bear it. He focused on getting them through the city, but it was two more hours of walking and fighting before they at last reached the drawbridge. Only just in time, he realized, as the curfew bells began to ring and guards appeared to raise the bridge.

He and Ivan hastened across the drawbridge and into the palace, which looked only slightly better than the city. The pavilion had been destroyed when the servants rioted, leaving the beautiful tiles cracked, broken, and completely torn away in some places. The fountain had been destroyed, the statues at its center reduced to rubble. Torn and burnt flora was scattered about. Fire had scorched the heavy doors leading into the palace.

Heartsick and weary, Noire padded across the pavilion, up the stairs, and into the desolate grand hall, Ivan close on his heels. They passed through the great archways into the receiving halls, past empty desks and scattered papers, and up the stairs to the private quarters.

"Shall we meet again for adventures tomorrow?" Ivan asked, smiling faintly, his white teeth almost startling against his soot-blackened face.

Noire rumbled at him, butted his hand, then padded off toward the royal suites as Ivan headed in the opposite direction. Reaching Gael's room, Noire used his paw to push down on the door handle and shoved the door open with his head. He closed it again behind him, then walked through to Gael's bedroom.

Padding up to the bed, he rose up on his back legs and braced his front paws on the bed, grimacing at the grime he would leave behind. Gael slept quietly. He looked so fragile that Noire ached with worry. The bruises were finally beginning to ease, but he knew Gael was still too battered to leave his bed for more than hobbling into the bathing room.

Growling softly, satisfied all was well with his lover, Noire went to the foot of the bed, settled down in the pile of blankets there, and finally gave in to his exhaustion.

He woke to sunlight in his eyes, spilling across the floor and reaching for Gael's bed. Growling in discontent, he stood up, stretched, and then padded into the bathing room.

The tub was full of lukewarm water, but he was grateful there was water at all. Finally shifting back to his human form, groaning with the effort it took, Noire stripped off his clothes and climbed into the tub. The water almost immediately began to turn filthy, and by the time he was done it was black. He finished rinsing off with a bucket of spare water set nearby, drying off as he returned to Gael's room.

Gael was still asleep on the bed, though from the way the covers had shifted, it looked as though he had gotten up sometime in the night. Resisting the temptation to go crawl into bed beside him, Noire went to the closet and the small section where he had put his clothes.

Though he would have much rather everything be set back to rights, he was quietly enjoying living so casually and easily in Gael's quarters—being with Gael. He dressed quickly, then went down to the kitchens to put together tea and breakfast.

Normally the kitchens were overrun with servants:  the kitchen staff, footmen, maids, private servants to various nobles, deliverymen. It was depressing to see fewer than twenty people attempting to run the kitchens, and some of them looked as though they would not resist joining the raged much longer.

Hastily putting together a tray with tea and porridge, Noire fled back upstairs. Back in Gael's room, he arranged the breakfast tray on the table in the sitting room, then went to see if Gael was awake.

He wondered how much longer he had before he succumbed. What would it feel like? Would he feel anything past the rage? Did something in particular trigger it? Why had he not succumbed yet?

"Good morning, kitten," Gael said.

Noire scowled. "You're not supposed to be out of bed without me! Don't think I didn't notice you got up while I slept." He crossed the room to Gael and stilled his hands when he attempted to start tying a cravat. Throwing the strip of silk aside, he held fast to Gael's hands and glared. "You should be resting."

"I'm fine, kitten. Trust me when I say I have no desire to go running about. But I should be somewhere visible. Etain is too exhausted and Freddie is in worse condition than I, so it must be me who the people see."

"What people?" Noire asked bitterly. "They're either mad, hiding, or dead." His eyes stung suddenly. "Everyone is dying—some of them died by my hand—and I do not want to return after another day of that to find that you are dead."

He froze, stunned, when Gael embraced him. "Be careful—"

"Kitten," Gael said firmly, and Noire fell silent and just cuddled as close as he dared. "We have come too far for either of us to die now. I will not let you down. I will not let Verde down more than I already have."

Noire nuzzled against him, then lifted his head and brushed a soft kiss across Gael's lips. "You haven't let anyone down, Gael. The Triad is all that keeps the last threads together. The ceremony is less than two weeks away. We'll make it."

"I hope so, kitten. Now, I need to finish dressing." He made to reach for a new strip of silk, and Noire gently knocked his hand away. "I need to dress—"

"Your neck is still severely bruised, and that scratch will not heal properly smothered in fabric. Please, just leave it off. It is not as though anyone else is being terribly proper or formal right now. Stop fussing with your clothes and come eat; your breakfast is getting cold."

Gael sighed, but then broke down and smiled. "Very well. I could use real food. I have had my fill of tonics and broths."

Noire laughed and helped him into the sitting room. He piled Gael's porridge high with honey and cream and fixed his tea with plenty of sugar. After Gael was situated, he fixed his own and settled next to Gael to eat.

"How are the remaining Beasts?" Gael asked.

"Fine, last I saw them," Noire said. "Ivan and I spent all of yesterday in the city trying to find anyone in need of help. I think anyone who has escaped the rage has fled to the country. I hope they're safer there. The city ..." His eyes stung again, and he impatiently wiped at them.

Gael reached out and took one of his hands, kissing the back of it. "Do not despair, kitten. If the Triad is what holds the last threads of the country, you are what holds me. As you said only moments ago, we will make it."

Noire nodded and finally began to eat, trying to focus on nothing except the pleasure found in eating with Gael as though it was something they did every day. Gael looked up from his porridge and smiled, the warmth in his eyes saying that their thoughts were the same. Noire smiled back, forgetting all about food, perfectly content to just sit there staring and smiling.

A sudden rapping at the connecting door to Etain's suites broke the mood. Noire dropped his gaze to his porridge as the door opened, tensing as he smelled Etain's sickly sweet perfume.

"Gael," she said softly, and her voice tugged at Noire even as he wanted to avoid her. She walked slowly over to them as though she walked on glass and feared breaking it. Gael rose and accepted her embrace, making Noire's stomach knot, but when she leaned in to kiss him, he avoided it, letting the kiss glance off his cheek instead. The knots eased, and Noire drew a breath, letting it out slowly.

"How are you feeling?" Etain asked, fussing with Gael's hair. Noire bit back an urge to growl and stabbed his spoon into his porridge.

Gael withdrew and sat down, motioning for Etain to do the same. "Tired. In pain. Thankfully, our faithful Voice has been caring for me."

"Yes, he has been steadfast," Etain said, lips pursed. She smiled at him, but Noire did not feel like smiling back. Something about her smiles of late made him nervous—which made him feel guilty. "Thank you for all that you have done, Voice."

Noire dipped his head. "It's an honor to serve, your majesty. Always." Silence fell after he spoke, and he realized that she was waiting for him to leave. Noire finished his tea and smoothly rose, stepped back, and knelt. "If your majesty and your highness have no further need of me, then I am off to meet with Lord Ivan and return to the city to search for survivors."

"You may go," Etain said, cutting off what Gael had been about to say.

Gael frowned at her, then turned back to Noire. "Do not stay overlong. You said a short while ago that the city seems lost. I will not sacrifice one of our last cognizant citizens, our faithful Voice, for people who are probably not there. Return in time to attend me at lunch."

"Yes, your highness," Noire said. He rose and left, stifling the frisson of anxiety that raced along his skin as he closed the door behind him and left the royal suites.

When he reached Ailill's suite, he knocked on the door and waited. A couple of minutes later, the door was opened by Ivan. "Good morning, black cat."

Noire rolled his eyes at the nickname. "I see you slept well."

Ivan's smirk said sleeping was not necessarily what he'd done, but he had used the bed well. Noire rolled his eyes again and helped himself to the pot of tea still steaming on the table. "How is Ailill?"

"Tired, and his head aches from the strain of the rage," Ivan replied. "How is his highness?"

"Getting better," Noire murmured. "I saw her majesty as well."

Ivan nodded and started to say something but then abruptly closed his mouth and shook his head, as though deciding against something. "Are we still headed back into the city today?"

"Unless you have other ideas," Noire said, tracing the rim of his teacup, setting down with a soft sigh. "I admit I fear we are now needlessly putting ourselves at risk, but if there is even one person out there who might be saved ... "

"I agree," Ivan said. "It's not a day anymore if I am not covered in grime from head to foot."

Noire made a face. "Do not remind me."

Ivan chuckled and picked up his own teacup, draining it in one long swallow. He set the cup back down with a clatter. "Ailill vanished to the kitchens to see what they needed by way of supplies, and to see if he could find guards willing and able to go with him. Let me go and tell him I am leaving. Shall I meet you in the front hall at say, half past the hour?"

"That sounds perfect," Noire said and finishing his own tea, stood up as well. "I wanted to speak with Lady Verenne anyway, to see how she was doing. I will meet you at half past the hour."

They left, parting in the hall. Noire hesitated a moment, uncertain if he would find Verenne with Freddie or in her own chambers, where she retreated to help with running the palace by doing what she could in the way of paperwork:  finances, supplies, casualty lists, and far more besides. He finally decided she was likely in her rooms.

On a normal day, he would pass dozens of people and be waylaid by at least half of them. The emptiness of the halls was hard to take. Triad Palace was not meant to be so devoid of life.

Reaching Verenne's suit, he knocked on the door. When after a couple of minutes no one answered, he tried again. She must still be with Freddie. Noire turned and made his way slowly back to the royal suites. He knocked on Freddie's door and waited. He was just about to knock a second time to be certain when the door swung open to reveal a Freddie dressed in breeches and bandages and not much else.

Noire flushed and dropped to one knee. "Your highness, I apologize. I was looking for Lady Verenne."

Freddie laughed, though it was quiet so as not to cause her more pain. "Oh, stand up. My tits are covered, if only barely. I know you've seen them before anyway. You've just missed Verenne. She went off to her own room. Accuses me of being too whiny and distracting a patient to get anything done here."

Cold fear sliced through Noire as he rose—and he could see by the way Freddie's eyes widened that she had seen his reaction and followed it. "No—"

Noire swallowed. "I went to her rooms first. She didn't answer."

"No!" Freddie screamed.

Noire turned and ran, heart beating rapidly with fear pounding in his ears. When he reached Verenne's room, he grabbed the door handle—and snarled in frustration when he found the door locked. Shifting to his panther form, he screamed in fury and used his back legs to kick the door in. The door broke, opened, and Noire shoved through into Verenne's room.

He growled when he saw her lying on the floor, the latest victim of the poison. There were papers scattered all around her, reading glasses nearby where they had clearly fallen off when she hit the floor. Her dressed was wet with spilled water where she had accidentally pulled a vase of flowers down with her when she fell.

Noire growled at the sweet smell of them and finally shifted back. Throwing the flowers aside, he held her close and squeezed his eyes shut. Three Beasts left. Eleven days until the ceremony.

What was the point when it seemed like everything had already been lost? He kept trying to believe all could be set to rights again, but that was getting increasingly difficult to believe.

"Oh, Sacred Oak, Verenne ... "

Noire turned and stared at Freddie—and jumped up in alarm to see that blood had soaked through her bandages. And she was still not wearing a shirt. "Highness!" He stripped off his own jacket and gave it to her, scowling and forcing her arms into the sleeves when she ignored him. He barely had it on before she surged forward and dropped to her knees on the floor beside Verenne. Tears streamed down her face as she cradled Verenne in her arms.

Feeling like an intruder, Noire packed out of the room and did his best to close the broken door. Footsteps drew his attention, and he frowned. "You shouldn't be out! Freddie should not be out! What will it take to make you two stay still long enough to heal properly?"

Gael shook his head, hair long and loose all around him. Any other day, it would have been horribly distracting. Right then, it just drove home all over again how skewed everything had become. "I will not lie about when another of my Beasts has fallen. Any clues at all?"