Wilek sat in his council chambers with the Wisean Five, discussing the options for an offensive attack against Rogedoth. He could barely keep his eyes open. He inhaled a slow, deep breath. Why did that seem so difficult?
“Attacking the island won’t work,” Oli said. “He would simply use his malleants to create a magical shield over his land. His archers could shoot out of it, but our soldiers would not be able to penetrate.”
“Could we get him to come to us?” Danek asked.
“Waiting is King Loran’s strategy,” Wilek said, his voice raspy.
“I didn’t mean wait, Your Highness,” Danek said. “I meant to purposely lure him into a trap of some kind.”
“Grayson might be able to,” Inolah said. “Rogedoth wants the boy, and if he truly can move as Sâr Trevn says he can, he could surely escape before being captured—maybe even after capture.”
“He is just a boy.” Wilek picked up his glass of water. “I hesitate to risk him.” He took a sip, but the water didn’t help.
“We simply need to weaken him,” Barek said. “Destroying his evenroot would do the trick.”
“Will root burn?” Inolah asked. “It would be too risky to try to transport it.”
“Most of it is root juice,” Oli said. “We only need dump it out. Any idea how much he still has?”
“We don’t have access to the room in which it’s kept,” Wilek said. “I can ask. Maybe there’s a way to get inside.”
“Perhaps a small team could sneak onto the island and target his evenroot stores,” Barek said.
“If we’re sending a team, why not kill him?” Inolah asked. “An assassination would end all this. He has committed treason against Armania. Had he not escaped, he would have hanged months ago.”
“A mantic is not easy to kill,” Oli said. “The assassin would have to catch him completely off guard, which would be nearly impossible considering all the shadir he has employed.”
“What about defensive strategies?” Wilek asked. “Harton has likely told him everything he learned of Armanian military plans. Rayim, think back. Are there older strategies that he might not have learned? I don’t want them anticipating every move our men might take.”
“Certainly,” Rayim said, “but there are reasons why such strategies would have been discarded. They might not be the most efficient maneuvers.”
“I just need to know that we can fight without the enemy knowing our every move,” Wilek all but whispered. He was losing his voice. He should probably be in bed, resting.
“The problem is, you are talking about battlefield strategies,” Rayim said. “If we attack the island, we won’t be fighting on a battlefield. We’ll be fighting in a village or inside structures we know little about.”
A knock at the door preceded Dendrick and Master Vento. The two men entered, with the latter wringing a handkerchief in his fists. Since Master Uhley had died at sea and Rayim knew little of poisons, King Loran had sent his personal physician to examine Zeroah and Chadek.
“Master Vento, you have news of my wife and son?” Wilek asked.
“Your suspicion that they have been poisoned is correct. I found traces of rôsh powder in both their beds and yours as well.”
“What is that?” Wilek asked.
“It comes from a deadly type of coral found in deep reefs,” Oli said, brows furrowed in concern.
“His Grace is correct. It is deadly when ingested in large doses, but exposure to the skin can also kill over time.”
Wilek shifted in his seat. “Kill?”
“I’m afraid so, Your Highness,” Vento said. “After a thorough examination of both, I believe the queen ingested the powder at some point—likely for several weeks before the babe was born. Rôsh powder is particularly dangerous because it is initially painless, so people can become exposed without realizing it, and visible damage may not appear for weeks. Rôsh powder seeps through the skin and into the blood, initially causing fatigue and watery eyes, appearing as nothing more serious than a common cold. Over time it damages the lungs and eventually causes drowning.”
A hush fell over the room, and Wilek felt the weight of every stare.
“Survivors may suffer lingering breathing problems,” Master Vento said. “Now that I know what we’re dealing with, I can see at a glance that you’ve been exposed.”
Wilek recoiled, struggling to form words over the rising panic in his chest. “My wife and son?” he managed.
“Yes, well, while the queen is stronger and I do believe she will improve in time, your son, I fear, has reached the end of his short time in this world. There is nothing I can do.”
The words had been softly spoken, but they ripped violently at Wilek’s chest. “Surely not.” He stood, his legs shaky. “I will remove Prince Chadek at once. Fresh air will help him improve, will it not?” He circled the table and headed toward the door. “Continue the meeting without me.”
Novan Heln was waiting out in the corridor and walked with Wilek as he headed up the stairwell.
“Your Highness?” Master Vento said, following him from the council chambers.
“Tell him I’ll return in a moment,” Wilek said to Novan. His shield dropped back briefly, and Wilek took the stairs two at a time up to the fifth floor and the apartment he shared with Zeroah. He bade the guards at the door let him in, then fought for breath. He’d gone too fast, perhaps. He couldn’t breathe.
Because he’d been poisoned.
Someone inside the room screamed. The guard wrenched open the door, and Wilek and Novan followed him inside.
In the drawing room that separated Wilek and Zeroah’s bedchambers, a man was bent over a woman, his hands squeezing her throat. At first Wilek thought the woman might be Zeroah, and he leapt at the man. His guards were quicker, though, and pulled the man and woman apart. Wilek got a good look at both. A chambermaid and Kamran DanSâr.
How had he gotten inside the apartment?
“Novan, see to the queen and prince,” Wilek said, glaring down on his half brother.
“They have already been moved, Your Highness,” a man said from the doorway. Master Vento. “I saw to it the moment I realized what we were dealing with.”
“Your Highness.” Novan picked up a bottle from the floor and held it up. It was filled with white powder. Kamran was wearing gloves.
“You would poison my wife and child?” Wilek roared.
Something flickered in Kamran’s eyes. “You are not fit to rule,” he spat. “King Barthel will destroy you and return Armania to its former glory.”
Wilek snapped. He shoved Kamran against the wall and swung, striking this traitor with all the force he could muster. Rage consumed him. He couldn’t stop swinging, each punch fueled by the full force of his anger, hatred, determination, revenge. This ruttish, hedgeborn miscreant had tried to kill his wife and child!
Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He took a step back. Staggered. Kamran sank to the floor, bleary-eyed, face bloody and swollen, mouth open and drooling.
Wilek’s head spun, vision blurred. He swayed. Fell.
Novan caught him under the arms and lowered him to the floor. Wilek choked, gasping in hitches of air. Something was blocking his throat. He sputtered, as if a good cough might clear it. His eyes watered. Despair swarmed like a fierce wind, mocking him.
“Take him . . .” He wheezed. “Dungeon.”
Two guards hauled Kamran away. Wilek sat on the floor until he got his wind, and he realized that he hadn’t seen Lady Pia for some time. “I want to talk with Lady Pia right away.” His voice came dry and grating.
Novan motioned to another guard, who ran from the room.
Wilek caught sight of the chambermaid, cowering in the corner.
“Question the maid.”
Master Vento crouched beside Wilek. “Let me get something to wrap your hand, Your Highness.”
Wilek glanced at his bloodied knuckles, shook his head, and sucked in as much air as he could. “Zeroah and Chadek.” He reached for Novan, who hoisted him to his feet.
Novan helped him down the stairs. His breath improved with each step. He had just reached the ground floor when Zeroah came running toward him, followed by her guards and honor maidens.
“Wilek!” Her voice cracked, and her face was pale and tear-streaked. “Our son is dead!”
Wilek caught her in a tight embrace, and as she collapsed upon him, he sank to the floor, the two of them giving in to their grief.