Betrayal
SOMETIME IN THE night, Katia sat bolt upright in bed.
“The incense!” she gasped.
How could she have forgotten? Oh, she’d be in such trouble if it wasn’t ready for the Awakening. It’d be another black mark against her, give Sevanya even more of a reason to leave her behind.
In a panic, Katia scrambled out of bed and pulled back a curtain. How long did she have?
The pale disc of the moon was low in the sky but the horizon was thankfully dark. She had perhaps a couple of hours before dawn and the Awakening. Plenty of time.
You might even get another hour in bed if you move fast.
She dressed quickly, pulling on her temple robe and coat again because she’d not bothered unpacking before falling into bed. Within minutes she was tiptoeing along cold and dark corridors, her single candle providing a puddle of flickering light that made the tapestried animals come alive at her approach, only for them to fall still as she passed by. Nothing else moved; everything and everyone, apart from Katia, was still asleep.
The temple door squealed as Katia pushed it open, making her wince. Would the noise wake anyone? When no one came to investigate, even when the door squealed louder on being closed, Katia blew out a relieved breath.
It was every bit as dark as she’d expected it to be inside the temple. All the candles were out and the soft glow of the moon lamp barely reached the front row of benches. Thank the gods she’d brought her own light—she’d have been working blind otherwise. The thurible was just inside the incense store, on the floor. But the incense and oils . . .
Top shelf, right at the back. Typical.
Katia couldn’t reach them without getting right inside the cupboard. The screen door swung shut behind her, and she jumped. Was she locked in? For one horrible moment, she imagined the look on the Elders’ faces when they found her here at the Awakening, but a gentle shove on the door reassured her she could get out. She held the candle high and looked for what she needed—two rocks of incense and a few drops of essential oil.
Katia chewed her lip, trying to remember. Was it bergamot for the Awakening? Or lemon?
Bergamot. Definitely bergamot.
She sorted through the oil bottles, bringing them close to the candle so she could read their labels. Rosemary . . . sandalwood . . . vervain . . .
“Bergamot!”
The temple door gave another squeal.
In a puff of pure instinct Katia blew out the candle, plunging the store into darkness. No one must know she was here, that she’d messed up again. She’d stay in the cupboard, in the dark, until whoever it was went away.
But who, exactly, was out there?
Carefully, she pressed an eye to one of the larger holes in the screen door. Footsteps echoed in the temple—moving towards the altar—but there was nothing to see until a tall thin shadow stepped into the pool of light cast by the moon lamp.
Katia pulled away from the screen, her heart thumping. Oh no! What would Elder Harolt do if he found her in the store at this hour? Would he give her the time to explain? Or just send her packing straightaway? Come to think of it, why did the Elder need to be here at this time of night? Was there some ritual or prayer he had to say, which Katia didn’t know about? Curious, she leaned forward to watch.
The temple door squealed a second time.
This visitor had at least thought to bring a lantern; not only did it light up the benches, it also lit up his face.
This can’t get any worse, can it?
Katia couldn’t move now, even if she wanted to; fear froze every muscle.
“Have you got it?” Lord Arolf said, striding towards the altar.
“Yes, my Lord.” Harolt held up two small glass vials.
“And you’re sure it will work?” Arolf set his lamp down on the altar, next to the box containing the Kingstone.
“Our friend assures me that if the antidote is taken within an hour, it will mimic the effects, but will not kill.”
Kill? What are they talking about?
Arolf took the vials from Harolt and held them up to the light. “So there’s no chance now my brother will survive?”
Katia’s chest tightened. Arolf’s brother . . . were they talking about the king?
“None,” Harolt continued. “He will be dead by the Awakening.”
Dead? Katia could hardly breathe. But—
“It will be seen as a tragic accident, a ghastly mistake on the part of your cook. Your recovery will be attributed to the fact that you did not find Foogoo to your taste and ate very little of it. Unlike the king, who was seen to enjoy the dish immensely. There is precedence for such a scenario, my Lord, where one eater survives and the other does not. There was the case of a family, where—”
“And yet,” Arolf interrupted, “we both know that the fish was expertly prepared. How was it done?”
Harolt gestured towards the vials in Arolf’s hand. “A seasoning of mortabella.” He looked thoughtful. “I believe they call it the beautiful death, the symptoms almost identical to those of Foogoo poisoning, which makes it an ideal candidate for our—”
Arolf looked at him sharply.
“For your purposes, my Lord.”
Arolf nodded. “Good. A shame my nephew decided to miss this trip, though. We could’ve killed two birds with one fish.”
“Ah, but the matter of Prince Peeta is in hand.” Harolt’s smile chilled Katia to the bone. “Our friend has now been tasked with that extra and unforeseen complication and will be leaving on the first available ship for Eraton. The heir will not live to hold the Kingstone.”
“Leaving me to hold it instead.” Arolf reached for the greenwood box on the altar. His hand hovered over the clasp that kept it shut, but withdrew without touching it. “About time. Years I’ve been stuck on this gods-forsaken island, doing as my brother ordered. About time I got to make the rules instead. When I’m king—”
Katia shoved her knuckles into her mouth and bit down on them to stop herself from crying out. She musn’t be found, not now. Bertrann was dead—or if he wasn’t, it sounded like he soon would be. And if Arolf had killed his own brother—was planning to do the same to Prince Peeta—gods! What would he do to an eavesdropping temple novice?
“But I’m getting ahead of myself,” Arolf was saying. “We must continue the deception to the bitter end. This one’s the poison?” There was a murmur of assent from Harolt, followed by the sound of a cork being pulled. “Gah! Bitter as almonds.”
Lantern light approached Katia’s hiding place, two sets of footsteps drew closer. She shrank back as far as she could into the screen-dappled shadows of the store.
Don’t let them see me. Don’t let them see me.
“You must reach your chambers before it begins to take effect, my Lord. Once there, swallow the antidote immediately and prepare for an uncomfortable night.”
The temple door squealed.
“And we’ll see what the Awakening brings, eh?”
“Until the Awakening, my Lord.”
The temple door gave another squeal and clicked shut behind the conspirators. Katia was left trembling in the dark. The door had remained silent for an age or more before she stumbled out of the cupboard, biting back a sob. The king was dead—poisoned! Her blood ran cold, remembering what Harolt had said . . . ‘a sprinkling of mortabella . . . mimics Foogoo poisoning . . .’ She had to tell someone, raise the alarm!
But what if it wasn’t just the king? What if—oh gods, Elder Sevanya. She’d said she wasn’t very hungry, but she might have . . . Was she dead—or dying—at this very moment? Katia’s brain whirled. If she’d not eaten much, might she recover? Harolt had said that some people survived, but that was when they’d eaten badly prepared Foogoo, not food contaminated with mortabella. Perhaps it didn’t matter how much mortabella you swallowed; if you didn’t have the antidote, it’d kill you regardless.
And for an Elder to be involved in a plot to kill the king . . . Katia didn’t want to believe it, even though she knew it was true. Why had the gods allowed it to happen? Sevanya would never, never, do anything like that, except . . .
Something niggled at Katia, something Sevanya had said to Sergeant Brand. She’d told him not to worry, had asked him to trust her when Brand said there was no evidence of the new mine and he was worried.
What if . . . ? Katia swallowed hard. What if Sevanya had known the real reason why Bertrann had been invited to Indigon right from the start?
No . . . no, she wouldn’t. Would she?
But if Sevanya survived—if she hadn’t eaten any of the fish—she’d still be the king’s priest. Even if the king was someone else . . . like Arolf. Sevanya had given every impression of being loyal to Bertrann, just like Arolf had. But what if she wasn’t?
“Oh gods, what do I do? Who can I trust?” Katia rubbed a hand over her face, surprised to find her cheeks wet. When had she started crying?
Trust the gods.
In the darkness, Katia stumbled towards the glow of the moonlamp, seeking comfort. Falling to her knees at the altar, she stared up at the symbol. Why was it, when she tried so hard to do things right for the gods herself, everything went wrong and she ended up in trouble? A brief flash of anger burned inside her. Arolf and Harolt had deliberately set out to do the wrong thing in bypassing the normal gods-blessed route to kingship. And they’d probably get away with it, too. It wasn’t fair.
They’ve not succeeded yet. Prince Peeta is still alive.
“But not for long if they have their way. Who can I tell?” Katia begged of the gods, but they didn’t answer, and she couldn’t blame them. No one would believe her, even if she tried to explain what she’d heard.
Her gaze dropped from the symbol to the greenwood box lying on the altar. If only it had been left back in Eraton, Arolf wouldn’t be able to get his hands on it. But of course it couldn’t be. The Blessing of Erat had to be spoken every Even Prayer, to bless the king. Fat lot of good it had done Bertrann, today. All Arolf had to do now was wait until news of the prince’s death reached him, and that’d be it. He’d hold the stone and be Samatra’s next king.
For a second or two, Katia imagined what the gods could do to prevent that. Burn Arolf to a frazzle with a sunburst? Make him go mad in the moonlight? They could even bury him under a rockfall in the mines he seemed to hate so much.
And if they don’t?
Katia closed her eyes, trying to shut out the thought. None of this was right, none of it should be happening. There was, at this very moment, an assassin heading towards Eraton and she was powerless to stop it.
Or was she?
Katia opened her eyes and stared at the greenwood box, positioned in front of the chunk of indigon on the altar. She was the only one who knew about the assassin, the only one who could warn the prince. And if she was going to go to Eraton to deliver a message, then—
“I’m sorry,” Katia whispered to the gods she hoped were listening. “I know I’m not supposed to touch this, but . . .” She flipped the lid of the greenwood box open and grabbed the Kingstone in less time than it took to blink. “I’ll take good care of it, get it to Eraton and the prince. Arolf won’t succeed, I’ll make sure of it,” she promised.