THE KING was being dressed, but when Nikko entered, he sent the servants away with a flick of his fingers. They scuttled like obedient beetles. The king regarded him for a moment and then picked up his amethyst goblet and took a large drink. It wasn’t his first drink of the evening. His face was flushed, and his eyes had a sheen like wet pebbles.
Nikko remained silent, eyes slightly downcast, and waited for the king to speak first. His position, while prestigious, was also delicate. No one trusted a poison master, despite the many miracle healings and mysterious deaths he engineered.
“What did you think of the fighting display?” The king put his goblet down harder than necessary.
“I always marvel at the skill of the fighters.” Which wasn’t a lie. He did, especially when he could marvel openly at his lover.
“And my son?”
Nikko swallowed. “Scored first blood.”
The king stared at him as though he could discern Nikko’s true feelings if he looked hard enough. Eventually he grunted. “You should’ve been a diplomat.”
They both knew Nikko lacked the pedigree for that kind of position. Those roles went to nobles or the bastards of nobles, but Nikko smiled anyway. It was meant as a compliment, no matter how twisted it came out.
The king turned to the mirror and fiddled with his coat. The silver-and-green fabric shimmered in the light, and the silver buttons would’ve fed Nikko for many a month on the streets. These days he didn’t want for food, and he had access to plants and minerals even his teacher couldn’t afford.
He was the envy of every other poison master, but everyone in the guild knew poison masters for the king didn’t live to old age. It was a risky job. But a life without risk was one not lived. That was why he couldn’t walk away from Rodas. If he were smart, he never would have let Rodas drop to his knees that first time.
Love was a poison Nikko had no cure for. Its burn was pleasing, its pain a torment that kept him awake. He wouldn’t wish it gone.
“I need you to make sure someone falls ill tonight. A slow death, nothing that would arouse suspicion.” The king met his gaze in the mirror. “Do you understand?”
“I do. What kind of illness? A fever? A gripping of the intestines? Blood poisoning? A bleeding that will not stop?” He could go on, but the ones he’d listed were the ones he had the ingredients for and could make quickly. He’d have to work fast if it were to be done that night. He didn’t stop to question if it was right or wrong or ask why the person needed to die. Those weren’t his problems.
“Nothing too undignified.” The king waved his hand. “I want him dead and no suspicion to land at my feet.”
A man. Last time it was a woman. The mother of a girl who’d refused to marry Fortin. Nikko didn’t blame her. Fortin was twenty years older and not the kind of prince noble girls dreamed off. After the girl’s mother died—her heart stopped in her sleep—their engagement went forward, and they would wed when she came of age.
“I understand. Did you have any other plans?” It was never a good idea to overstep, even though Nikko was already thinking of ways to make it happen.
“You are the poison master.”
“To avoid suspicion, I would suggest ingesting… however, a smaller affair would be better than a feast.” Getting close enough to deliver the poison would be hard. People didn’t want Nikko to touch their food, and with good reason. “I wouldn’t want the wrong person taking the poison.”
The king considered for a moment and nodded. “Very well. He will be attending my private celebration afterward.”
That meant the target was close to the king. Was he planning on killing his own son for putting on such a shocking performance during the fight? A chill swept over Nikko’s skin. No. The king wouldn’t, even though he was annoyed. Or would he? Rodas was more popular and would be next in line.
The king smiled as though he knew Nikko had worked it out. “I don’t want Rodas to be alive by the month’s end.”
Pain lanced through Nikko like a sword to the gut. With every breath, it twisted. He had to say something. The king expected a response.
“Your nephew?” he said like a halfwit. There wasn’t another Rodas at court.
The king adjusted the collar of his coat. “He has become a liability, a disobedient distraction. He made a mockery of Fortin’s win.”
Fortin had made a mockery of the fight. Nikko bowed to hide the panic that must have been etched as brightly on his face as his tattoos. His lover was marked for death—death by his hand. He curled his fingers, and his nails pressed into his palm. He’d be better off taking the poison himself. He wouldn’t be able to live with the wound Rodas’s death would cause.
The king turned to face him. “Go. Start your work and don’t fail me.”
If he failed, Nikko would be the one to die. And it wouldn’t be fast or pain-free.
He fled the king’s chambers. His own quarters were empty except for the scent of Rodas’s perfume—something laced with cloves. He breathed in, hoping to find calm and a solution, but panic raced through him and squeezed his heart as though to crush it. He couldn’t kill the man he loved.
Did the king know about their affair?
Or was it just about the fight?
All Rodas had needed to do was let Fortin appear to win. Everyone could see Rodas was the better swordsman. But there’d always been a rivalry between the cousins. While Fortin was once considered better-looking, smugness marred his features, laziness made few admire him, and too much liquor had stolen what was left.
Nikko rubbed a hand over his short hair.
He couldn’t poison Rodas without killing a part of himself. If he failed to do his job, he would be putting his head on the executioner’s block. No, that would be too quick. The king would more likely nail him to a tree to act as bait for a bear hunt.
He forced out another breath as he paced his chamber.
He was going to have to make the poison as though nothing were amiss. If the king suspected his loyalties were torn, someone must be watching and reporting. How much did the king know about the affair?
But if it was just about Rodas pointing out Fortin’s flaws in public, the king would trust Nikko to get on with the job. He stopped and exhaled. He’d best determine if he was being watched. Once he knew that, he’d be able to work out his next step.
Somehow he needed to warn Rodas. And what exactly was he going to say? “Sorry, lover, tonight you die”?
The angular lines of his tattoos glowed faintly on the back of his right hand. When he’d asked to be the poisoner’s apprentice, he’d known what he was volunteering for, but death had been a constant companion on the streets. It had happened frequently, and he’d stopped fearing it by the time he broke into the poison master’s house for an easy meal.
Nikko had been caught with cheese in his mouth and what was left of half a loaf of bread in his hand. He probably shouldn’t have stolen from the same person three days in a row, but he was six and onto a good thing and didn’t know any better. That day he tasted his first poison.
The master had prepared food for the thief.
Nikko threw up for the rest of the day until the poison master gave him the cure.
As a child he hadn’t recognized the sweet and tangy taste in the cheese. He knew it now. It wasn’t fatal, but it did induce a stomach ailment that could easily be passed off as the result of eating bad food.
That wasn’t his last taste of poison, and there were some he had become immune to. He could smell others before he even tasted the food. He knew hundreds of ways to kill and just as many to save. But there was nothing he could do to save Rodas or himself. His eyes burned.
What they had wasn’t perfect. It was ugly and best hidden in the shadows in case it harmed their positions at court. But it was pleasant to dream of a time when he could stand at Rodas’s side and no one would think ill of either of them for stepping beyond their stations in life.
The king had bought Nikko’s loyalty, but not his heart.
He blinked and gritted his teeth. He’d find a way for Rodas to live. Could they flee across the border? Not to the south. Rodas had too many enemies from the war. Rodas’s mother had kin to the north. Would they take them in? Perhaps they could find freedom and a life together. Hope glimmered like jewels in candlelight.
A temporary poison, then. Something so it appeared Rodas was dying. And then what?
If Nikko fled, the guild would bar him. It would be impossible to find a new position without guild support. He wouldn’t be able to legally open a shop or take an apprentice. Escaping the guild would mean fleeing much farther.
But he was thinking too far ahead. Rodas might not love him enough to leave.
Rodas probably had other lovers at his estate. But Nikko saw the desire in Rodas’s gaze, felt the heat of his kiss, and the hunger of his touch. Nikko curled his toes until he felt the bite of the gold ring. That wasn’t a cheap gift a man gave a passing interest. They’d been together three years, and each solstice, Rodas had given him something precious and far more expensive than Nikko could ever wear in public without raising questions.
This solstice he was giving his lover the gift of death.
He didn’t deserve to love or be loved.
He picked up one of his books—his most precious tomes he kept in his chambers, not in his laboratory—and made his way down the stairs. The man who’d taken him in saw he had far more potential than being an illiterate servant and had taught him to read and write. Nikko had realized the advantage to reading and immediately applied himself to the task. His master complained about the cost of the candles Nikko used as he studied late into the night, but the candles were never locked away, nor had his master stopped teaching.
Nikko had been ten when the man with the bright-green tattoos, which didn’t hide the pockmarks, asked him what trade he wanted to take on. It was an idea that never occurred to him. He hadn’t imagined that he’d be anything more than a servant, and he hadn’t wanted to leave the man who’d taken him in. So he became a poison master more out of chance than anything else. Most days he didn’t regret that choice. Today he did.
He should’ve been a cobbler or a scribe.
In his laboratory he threw open the shutters and the glass windows. Fresh air was important, but it also made it easier for him to see if anyone was watching him.
The waft of horses, shit, and hay swept into the room. Ah yes… the reason why no one used this wing of the palace. That and it was slowly falling apart. Nikko didn’t care if the shutters didn’t hang correctly or that the glass wasn’t smooth, thus warping the view. Or that the stones on the floor were worn with age, the stairs dipping in the center from the years of people stepping on them. It was his home. The first place he was truly able to call home.
He pressed his lips together as he scanned the courtyard. It was almost empty except for scurrying servants who were preparing for the feast. Some were putting wood together to build a bonfire in the courtyard. It would be lit when the king returned from first hunt of the new year. The first meal would be cooked out there—a celebration that the seasons had turned and spring was coming.
Nikko scanned his shelves. There were jars of herbs, venom from snakes, whole dead spiders, molds he carefully kept fed. Because it was the depth of winter, there were things he was missing, which limited his options for a poison that mimicked an illness. He would find something, but he didn’t want to start looking.