A Little Taste of Poison (31 page)

When she sat down to talk to Papa and Annagail about it, however, her sister was horrified. “You
have
to go back, Vettie,” she insisted, reaching across the kitchen table to seize her hand. “You've worked so hard and suffered so much for that scholarship, it would be wicked to ask you to give it up. I'm sorry for the things I said to you—I'm
ashamed of them now. You seemed so happy I couldn't help feeling jealous, but if I'd known . . .”

“I don't blame you, Anna,” said Isaveth. “I did pretend to be happy, because I thought it was the best way to protect you. But I won't lie to you and Papa again.” She turned to their father, sitting quietly by the stove as he smoked his baccy pipe. “Esmond's going to take the tests he missed next week, and Mistress Anandri says I can take mine as well, if I want to. What do you think, Papa?”

“I think, my Vettie, that I'm glad all this sneaking about and keeping secrets from the rest of us is over. I can't blame you for wanting to stand up to Eryx, but I'm not best pleased to find out the trouble my daughters have been getting into behind my back.” He frowned at Lilet, who reddened and sank behind her book. “Still, you did it for the right reasons, and that's the main thing. If you want to stick it out at the college, I'll not stand in your way.”

So the next Mendday, Isaveth went back to Tarreton College. She'd barely passed the gate before Eulalie came flying to meet her, hugging her so hard the two of them nearly fell over.

“You're back!” she exclaimed. “I missed you terribly. But I've been taking lots of notes in Sagery, and you can borrow them any time. Isn't it splendid about Mistress
Anandri being the new governor, and Paskin and Betinda getting expelled? Nobody will dare bully you now.”

Isaveth returned the hug, but part of her was still uncertain. According to Esmond, Eulalie had not only coaxed her father to accept Civilla's last-minute drinks invitation, she'd convinced him to bring a squad of Lawkeepers because a murderer would be revealed that night. It was obvious now that Eulalie hadn't betrayed her—yet there were still a few things Isaveth didn't understand.

“I thought you didn't want to talk about the bullying,” she said. “It seemed as though every time I tried, you ran off or changed the subject.”

Eulalie's smile faded. “I know,” she said. “I hated not being able to do anything to stop it, and I didn't know what to say without hurting you even more. I'm sorry for disappearing on you, but . . .” She raised pleading eyes to Isaveth's. “I didn't always have a choice. I have terrible cramps in my insides nearly every day, and when I'm upset, they get worse.”

“Oh, Eulalie! Why didn't you say so?”

“Because I hate talking about it, that's why.” She scowled. “I have to sit on the toilet for
ages
, and who wants to hear about that? And every time someone finds out they tell me to try this diet or that exercise or some tonic they heard about on the crystal set, and it makes
me want to scream. I don't want people to feel sorry for me or try to fix me. I just want to get on with my life as best as I can.”

No wonder Seffania thought Eulalie had been faking. It didn't explain Miss Kehegret's cryptic note, though. “Can I ask one more thing?” asked Isaveth. “Who is DW, and what did you tell him or her about S at the Harvest Dance?”

“That again! I should have known it would get around to you.” Eulalie sighed. “Darion Wellman is in third year with Seffania's brother. He asked me if she liked him, and I told him she did, because I thought he meant to ask her to dance. But then he and her brother made fun of Seffania and embarrassed her horribly, and she's never forgiven me. So now I'm the girl who can't keep a secret, and nobody wants to be my friend anymore. Except you.” She looked up at Isaveth shyly. “We . . . are still friends, aren't we?”

Isaveth smiled and squeezed the other girl's hand. “Of course we are,” she said.

*  *  *

“I still can't believe the council voted Eryx out so quickly,” Esmond said as he and Isaveth strolled around the courtyard after school. It felt strange to be talking where anyone could see them, but Civilla had no objection to their
friendship, and even Lady Nessa seemed content to overlook it as long as Esmond was happy. “Apparently all those society meetings of Cilla's were a lot more political than I thought.”

Isaveth wasn't surprised. From what Eulalie had told her, Civilla's volunteer work had earned her a high reputation among the council ladies and other leading women of the city. They didn't see her as spiteful or prone to gossip, no matter what Eryx had thought.

“You never did tell me exactly what happened between you and Civilla before you came to rescue me,” said Isaveth. “What did she say that convinced you she was on our side?”

Esmond raised a hand to adjust his half glass, then smiled ruefully and let it drop. “She told me she'd decided to ruin Eryx as soon as she saw this,” he said, gesturing to his new eye patch. “But she couldn't move against him until she came of age to inherit, and she couldn't risk him finding out her plan. So she pretended to believe his story about the accident.”

His good eye turned distant. “Then she told me she was sorry, and that she loved me. There . . . was some crying involved.”

Not just Civilla's, Isaveth suspected. “So she let you think you were the only one who knew or cared enough
to fight Eryx,” she said, “while she was quietly stealing his supporters out from under him.”

Though she hadn't managed to win over Delicia Ghataj, who remained firmly on Eryx's side. It saddened Isaveth that an intelligent young woman could be so deceived, especially after hearing all the evidence. But according to Mander, Delicia was convinced that the Paskins were the only ones who had done anything criminal, that the fatal packet of Propo-Seltzer had been planted in Eryx's sportster without his knowledge, and that he was wholly innocent of the charges against him.

Civilla had pleaded with her to see reason, reminding her of Governor Buldage's confession and Esmond's ruined eye, but Delicia refused to hear it. She wore Eryx's engagement band openly now, insisting they would be married as soon as the trial was over and his good name restored.

“I thought everyone was fooled by Eryx,” said Esmond. “But being charmed by someone and trusting them are two different things, as my mother pointed out. People hoped he'd be a better Sagelord than Father, especially when they didn't think they had any say in the matter. But when the truth came out and they had to make a choice, it was obvious that Civilla was the real politician in the family. Did you know her Women's League has
raised nearly a thousand imperials for poverty relief just this year?”

He spoke with pride, and Isaveth felt a surge of happiness for him. He'd been alone so long, it thrilled her to know he finally had a family again—or part of one, at any rate.

“I'm so glad,” she said. “She'll make a wonderful Sagelady.”

“She will, and I can't believe how I misjudged her. Mother, too. She's not strong, but she's a lot sharper than I realized when my father kept talking over her all the time. It still hurts that he's gone, but I feel like . . . I hardly know how to explain it. Like some great cloud of smog has lifted, and I can breathe again.”

Isaveth nodded. She'd seen the change already, at lunchtime: Esmond and Mander Ghataj sitting side by side at the dining table, chatting like old friends. The boy had been crushed to find out Eryx was a murderer—he, at least, didn't share his sister's blindness to the truth. But Esmond knew all too well how it felt to be disappointed by Eryx, so the two of them had much to talk about.

“Do you still miss him?” asked Esmond abruptly, after they'd walked a while in silence. “Quiz, I mean.”

Isaveth stopped short. “Oh dear. Was it obvious?”

“A bit. The first few times we met in the bell tower,
you kept looking at me like this.” He put on a wistful, slightly tragic expression, and Isaveth had to laugh.

“I did at first,” she admitted, “because you seemed so different here than you did when we first met. I didn't know what to make of it, especially when I saw how you behaved with . . . well, everybody but me.”

“I thought that might be it. I'm surprised you didn't say so before.” He turned to face her, apologetic and a little shy. “I did try to be friendly, when I first came. But people kept saying, ‘You're so much like your brother!' and gabbling about how wonderful Eryx was. So I decided the only solution was to act as
un
like him as possible. It wasn't until I became Quiz and met you that I could be myself again.”

Until Isaveth heard that, she'd scarcely realized how much the question had troubled her. Now she felt a soaring exhilaration, as though some long-cherished fantasy had turned out to be real after all. “Well, Quiz is a likeable fellow,” she said lightly. “I hope more people get to know him.”

“What about Esmond Lording? That's my title now, at least until Civilla's got an heir of her own. Do you think you could like him, too?”

“You're the same person,” said Isaveth. “I've known that ever since you came to rescue me from the Paskins. I'm only sorry I didn't
trust you enough to believe it before.”

Esmond took her gloved hand in both of his. “There's something I've been wanting to ask you. If you say no, I promise I won't ask again.” He raised his good eye to hers, searching. “May I?”

It had been so long since they'd played the game that for a moment Isaveth had no idea what he was asking—and then, with a fluttering lurch of her heart, she remembered. Only she couldn't think of any clever retorts for some reason, and the way Esmond was looking at her made her realize it had never really been a joke at all.

The thought made her feel dizzy, like the first time he'd asked her. But back then Isaveth hadn't been sure what she wanted, and she was now. She drew her hand out of the glove, leaving Esmond still holding it, and reached up to touch his face.

“Do you know,” she said softly as she rose on tiptoes to kiss him, “this time, I think you may.”

L
ADY NESSA DRIFTED
through her indoor garden, trowel and litter bag in hand. She fingered the red-tipped fronds of an Antipodean fern, bent to breathe its fragrance, and passed on, plucking dead blooms and yellow leaves from other plants as she went. Finally she stooped to examine the bed between two of her prized heart-lilies, where a tiny yellow-capped mushroom was just emerging.

The Dowager Sagelady paused, one gloved finger touching the newly regrown fungus in a light, almost tender caress. Then she stabbed her trowel deep into the soil, dug the mushroom out, and continued on her way.

Deepest gratitude and appreciation to Reka Simonsen, my editor at Atheneum, who has been a sage advisor, a great help, and a pleasure to work with at every step of the process. I am also indebted to Shannon Vaughan, my wonderful publicist, and the rest of the hard-working team at S&S Canada; to Tom Lintern for the delightful cover art; and to Josh Adams, my superstar agent.

Special thanks for this book are due to my friends in Melbourne: Liz Barr and the staff of Continuum 11, for giving me a much-needed break and change of perspective; Kathryn Andersen, who kindly welcomed me into her home and listened to me ramble about the plot for four days straight; and Amie Kaufman, who is not only a brilliant writer and person but an exceptional zoo guide as well.

Thanks also to all the usual suspects: Deva Fagan and
Peter Anderson for their tireless support and encouragement through the first draft, and E. K. Johnston for loving it even in that disheveled and fledgling state; Stephanie Burgis, Brittany Harrison, and Simon Bohner for guiding and cheering me through the revision phase, and Emily Bytheway for saying lovely things about the manuscript afterward. Meanwhile, Erin Bow, Kel Pero, Judy Williams, Eleanor Jenkins, and Laura McKay kept me fortified with friendly companionship and cups of soothing tea. You're all wonderful and I love you.

Last but never least, to my family: Horst, my ever-patient and caring husband; Nick, Simon, and Paul, my funny, clever, and endlessly delightful sons; and my loving parents Colin and Joan Anderson, who guarded my writing time more zealously than I ever would. I thank God for you every day.

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