Sidra hadn’t anticipated this speech from Innes, and she nervously rushed her hands over her thighs, feeling the vial of Aethyn hidden in her skirt pocket and the small blisters that had risen on her forefinger and thumb. She had a moment of doubt—should she nix her plans?—but then she met Blair’s steady gaze. He was standing across the table from her, just behind Adaira’s chair. He gave her a subtle nod of reassurance.
Innes took a chalice of wine in her hands and held it up. David followed suit, as did the others seated at the table, preparing for a toast. Sidra’s hand was slick with sweat as she reached for her chalice. She gazed down at the dark red liquid, her face reflecting upon its surface. Perhaps it was all in her head and she was being ridiculous, worrying about a poisoned drink. But when she thought of her child growing within her, she knew she couldn’t risk it. Nor could she risk the ones she loved fiercely at the table—Jack and Adaira, who had both declined taking the Aethyn doses as well. All three of them were vulnerable now. Sidra stood.
Her action took Innes by surprise, who looked at her with an arched brow.
Sidra smiled and said, “Thank you for the warm welcome, Laird. It is an honor to be among you and your clan, to walk the west at your side not as an enemy but as a friend. While I can utter no promise that a cure will be found, I will make the most of my time here to find one.”
Innes nodded, lifting her cup to begin the toast.
Sidra dared to add, “And out of precaution, I would request that my guards serve as a cupbearer for me, as well as for my bard, Jack Tamerlaine, and your daughter, Adaira. It would be impossible for me to move forward with my collaboration should I fall prey to poison, and as Jack and Adaira are two of my closest confidants, I cannot allow them to take such a risk either.”
No one moved. Sidra’s words seemed to cast an enchantment over the table. Not even Jack and Adaira had known of her plans, and Adaira was the one to move first, as if she wanted to protest.
Sidra’s gaze flickered down to hers. Whatever was in Sidra’s eyes made Adaira shut her mouth and nod, even though she looked anxious.
A second later, Sidra knew why.
“Of course, Lady Sidra,” Innes said in a careful tone, but Sidra could hear the twinge of irritation it held. As she expected, her request had offended Innes, and yet Sidra couldn’t let herself worry about it, even if it did cause more trouble for her later. “Although,” Innes added, “I have taken great pains to ensure this wine isn’t poisoned.”
“All the same, Laird,” Sidra said, “my guards are willing to serve as cupbearers, and I must be entirely certain before I take a single sip.”
“Then let them come forward.”
Blair walked to Sidra and took the cup from her hand.
Mairead took Adaira’s cup from her, and Keiren took Jack’s. Sheena, the one guard who wasn’t going to drink, stood beside a rowan pillar, holding Sidra’s healing satchel, ready to move forward if she needed to.
Sidra watched Blair drink from her cup without hesitation. There was no fear in him, though she didn’t know if his courage came from having faced countless dangers in his life or from his complete trust in Sidra to save him if need be.
Mairead drank for Adaira. Keiren drank for Jack.
The moments felt long, hot, and tense as everyone in the hall waited. Sidra could feel the heat in her face, the perspiration shining on her skin. The Breccan nobility had stood, eager for a good view as the three guards stepped back and prepared to cut themselves and bleed on the floor.
In unison, Blair, Mairead, and Keiren withdrew the dirks from their belts and cut their palms. Their blood welled and dripped from their fingertips.
Sidra watched the blood gather on the stone floor. Her breath turned ragged when Blair’s blood hardened into the telltale blue jewels. So did Keiren’s. Mairead’s blood flowed clean and red.
Someone had poisoned Sidra’s cup, as well as Jack’s.
And now two of her guards were going to die if Sidra had misinterpreted her previous studies.
There was a strange minute of calmness, as if everything was slowing down. Innes stared at the gemstones, as did Adaira and Jack. Finally, the shock broke when Innes looked at her nobles and said, in a cold, pointed voice, “Which of you did this? Who poisoned their cups?”
A medley of answers and accusations rose and tangled like smoke—“Not I, Laird!” and “It was them!”
Sidra could scarcely think straight amidst the noise. Thanes were protesting and arguing, and Innes’s voice was rising in fury. The deaths of two Tamerlaines on Breccan soil would start a war—a war that neither east nor west could afford. Sidra shivered as she beheld the chaos.