Echoes of Betrayal (67 page)

She nodded. “Some of it. Not if the cook makes something special, you know, just for him. When the Pargunese were here, he might come in later than mealtimes and the cook would fix a small portion. But usually we had at least some of what the high table ate.”

Estil repressed a shudder. How many other babies might die? And who would be so callous?

“Perin, how many other women are expecting, do you know?”

“No, milady, I don’t. I know Maris—but not who else might be.”

Estil went next to the kitchen gardens. The taig had warmed them for the wedding, she knew, and though the plants were small, rows of them were ready. She spoke to the head gardener, explained that the queen needed fresh greens, and picked a small bundle. She dug into the soil for a bit of briar-root, hacking it off with her belt-knife, and then went back into the palace through the kitchens to borrow a few pans. There she met the head cook, Tilgar, energetic and commanding; the kitchens were as clean as her own, shelves tidy and organized, workspaces not in use scrubbed and clear for the next task.

“It’s ill-wishing,” Tilgar said. “Some evil person’s ill-wished this house. Perin, Maris, Dolin—”

“And Tilith, Cook,” one of the undercooks said. “In the stables. M’sister Ranny told me this morning.”

“Must be a tippin hid somewhere about,” Tilgar said. “Probably some visitor brought it. I’d be looking for a Pargunese. If they’ll burn forest, they’ll kill childer.”

“Your kitchens are so clean,” Estil said. She got no further.

“Someone said it was
food
? From
my
kitchens?” Tilgar scowled. “There’s no tippin here, I’ll be bound. Scrubbed to the walls before we started on the wedding feasts, every shelf and cranny. And my own staff put away all the gifts of food; they’d have shown me anything strange that could be a tippin. If you think that I—”

“No, of course not,” Estil said. She had not meant to bring it up so soon, but Tilgar’s defensiveness had attracted the undercooks, all now staring wide-eyed at the two of them. “Nor your assistants. But someone could have put something in a food gift, couldn’t they? And so far as we know, only those who ate the food here have lost their babies.”

Tilgar was silent a long moment. “I don’t see how,” she said slowly. “Gifts … a lot of food did come in. There were a few things we threw out—damaged on the way here, it seemed. I wouldn’t use anything bruised or touched with mold, of course, for a wedding feast. It’s true we’ve used bruised fruit other times to make preserves—no harm there, as I’m sure milady knows.”

“Indeed,” Estil said. “I cut off the worst bits and put them in the kettle with the rest. A soft apple’s not poison.”

“But not for a wedding feast,” Tilgar said again. “Everything must be perfect, is what I learned and what I do. Anything doubtful went
out to the hen yard or sties.” She shook her head. “I’ll stand surety for my staff to the king himself. I trained them; I know them; they’d not poison a beggar, let alone the king and queen. If it is—if it’s proven it came from my kitchens—then I want to know how, because I’m sure as sure that it wasn’t any of my people.”

“I believe you,” Estil said. “But in the meantime, I told the king I would oversee Arian’s meals myself. Would you lend me a few pots and pans?”

“You will watch us wash them, clean as they are,” Tilgar said. “That way you will know they’re not tainted.”

“Thank you,” Estil said.

A
rian was awake when Estil returned to the queen’s chambers; she looked pale and miserable but was able to keep down the infusion Estil prepared for her. Kieri, seated now beside the bed, looked almost as haggard.

“Whom do you trust, Kieri?” Estil asked. “And you, Arian?”

“I did trust them all,” Arian said. “But Kieri says you think it was poison intended to kill the child.”

“Other women in the palace have had miscarriages in the past day and night,” Estil said. “All fed from the king’s table. No one has reported any such deaths in Chaya.”

“We cannot trust anyone, then. Anyone in the kitchen, any who serve at table—”

“More likely someone who supplied foods for the feast days than your staff, Kieri,” Estil said. “I’ve talked to your head cook; I am sure she is not guilty and that she would have noticed anything obvious in her kitchens. As a precaution, though, Arian should eat and drink only those things grown here and prepared by a few she can trust. I picked these leaves and roots from the garden myself, carried them in myself, prepared them myself. I can stay for a while but not permanently. What about your Squires? Surely some among them you know well enough.”

“Yes,” Arian said. “I have several friends I know would not do something like this.”

“They can help me, then,” Estil said.

“Can you tell what kind of poison?” Kieri asked.

“No. I’m not even sure when it was done. The most likely time, I would think, is in preparation of the wedding feasts. I suspect that something was brought in, either regular tribute or as a gift, and used in those dishes. That means some of your wedding guests could be poisoned as well, and one of them could have brought in the poison. Or the poison could have been brought in earlier, some time after the betrothal.”

“I continued my duties as Squire—including trips away—until half-Evener,” Arian said. “Could I have eaten poison then? Somewhere else?”

“Not with the women here having the same symptoms within a day of your loss,” Estil said. “You and they must have had poison on the same day. Maybe several different times. There are such poisons … each harmless by itself but dangerous in combination. Or it might have been just one.”

“So—any day she wasn’t here, she wasn’t poisoned?”

“Very likely.”

“Garris will have a record of that; he tracks all the Squires’ movements.”

“And your steward, I presume, will know what days the palace had visitors and who they were, as well as foods supplied.”

Arian, Estil noticed, was crying silently, tears running down her face. Kieri followed Estil’s glance and took Arian into his arms.

“There, love. We will yet have children, you and I, and now that we know someone is willing to poison not only you but others, we will find out who and why and end that cruelty.”

“He was so small …”

“I know.” He kissed her hair. “But you must rest and recover. Do what Estil tells you, will you. I must go and start the inquiries. I will come back often to tell you what I’ve learned.”

She nodded and released his hand. Kieri stood slowly, stroking her head one last time, and then strode from the room.

Estil called in the Queen’s Squires Arian had named and explained what she thought had happened. “And I need you to bring me the ingredients I ask for, fresh from the garden.”

“What about flour?” Suriya asked.

“I’ll send you to Sier Halveric’s house with a note,” Estil said. “I
doubt the flour and meal and so on are contaminated, but we must take no chances. I know the Halveric cook; she’s very careful at market, and there’s been no trouble there I know of. You can ask.”

“I’ll pick whatever you like,” Binir said. “The palace has its own dairy and poultry houses—what about butter and eggs? Those are strengthening.”

“Gather the eggs yourself; eggs can be pricked. Here’s what I need for supper.” Estil wrote quickly, a list for Binir and another for Suriya, with a note to Remmis, Sier Halveric’s cook. As she wrote, she said, “Notice if anyone asks too much or spreads rumors or the like. It’s unlikely, but possible, that you will meet someone who is part of this.”

Arian slept again; Kieri came and went, not waking her. By the time Arian woke, Estil had a broth simmering on the fire and bread from Halveric House to eat with it. Arian had an appetite, and her color improved as she ate.

“What have you learned?” she asked.

“That two more women in the palace lost a child—one yesterday and another while you slept. That makes six, counting you. It must be you were poisoned at the same time or times.”

“And you still think it was by food …?”

“It seems the most likely. It is the one thing you all had in common. And from Garris’s information it is mostly likely that it happened at either Midwinter Feast or the feasts around the wedding. Or possibly both.”

“Someone would have had more time to plan for the wedding,” Arian said.

“True, but didn’t you tell people here that you would announce your formal betrothal at Midwinter? That would give some time.”

“Will it—will the poison stay? Will it kill the next child? Every child?”

“Surely not,” Estil said. “I never heard of such … I do know if someone’s used birthbane, she must not conceive again for two cycles.”

“I want children,” Arian said. Tears marked her cheeks again, but she did not sob. “And Kieri—”

“I believe you will have children, healthy children, but first you must recover from this. You must be completely healthy.”

“I’m being childish,” Arian said.

“No, that you are not. You are a woman of character and courage, but no one loses a child easily.”

T
racing the food seemed at first to be impossible. Gifts of food—always common at feastings—had been accepted without question, and those suitable for use in the coming feast had been used.

“I know who brought food,” the steward said. “But many sent the same things—onions and redroots, grain, dried fruits, apples, pears, honey in the comb, mushrooms—and all were stored with like kind and no regard to who sent them. Of course the cooks looked to see if anything seemed to be spoiled or if any of the wild foods brought in were of poisonous varieties, but beyond that, we have no way to know, for things in bulk storage, which came from where. So much, in preparation for the wedding—we put things where we could.” The steward shook his head. “It’s evil, is what it is, sir king. Poisoning anyone, but the
queen
? And then any other woman who might be with child and had a taste of the same food? And not just our own people, our guests. Evil. I thought the Pargunese were bad, but this—”

“It is indeed evil,” Kieri said. He had not thought of the guests—and he should have. “We’ll have to tell people.” All those guests—how many had been pregnant? Had celebrated the happy day that night and then eaten more of the feast the next day, as he and Arian had?

“If only we had a way of identifying which foods were contaminated,” the steward said. “Then we could throw those out and check everything coming in.”

“Hmmm,” Kieri said. “I wonder if strong taig-sense could do that … Foods were once alive.”

P
hysically, Arian felt perfectly healthy, as strong as before the miscarriage. Her sense of the taig returned, as Estil had promised it would. Emotionally … she wanted to flinch from every glance, jump at every noise. She was the queen, she should be comforting the others … and as soon as she’d been able to walk that far, she’d gone to visit the other women in the palace who had lost their babies. Those had been such painful meetings that she felt exhausted after each and lay abed, unsleeping, the night after.

Her planned visit to Tsaia’s court had been put off, of course. Duke Mahieran, who was supposed to be her escort, had stayed, sending his kirgan back to explain the delay to the king. Dorrin Verrakai had also stayed, with Beclan. While Beclan was in the salle for a workout, Arian and Dorrin sat in the rose garden; the roses had leafed out, and a few early ones showed buds. One bud had opened, adding its fragrance to that of the violets that nestled under the rosebushes along one wall.