She finished filming the soup, then went back to her work with the tree-wine, thinking she might find the privacy there to open her locket.

She had just reached the vats when she felt a funny scratch in the back of her throat. Her nose was numb, her head was ringing, and suddenly her heart was beating strangely.

“Slyr!” she gasped, stumbling forward. Her lungs felt like they were closing. She shut her eyes, focusing on the taste, the scent, the feel of the stuff Slyr had given her, then leaned against her cabinet, rifling for ingredients. The ringing was growing louder, and all her extremities were cold.

She built a picture of the poison in her mind, tried to think what would settle it, pacify it, break it apart, but everything was happening too fast. She fell onto the table, spilling jars and shattering vials. She let her instincts take over, just operating by smell, drinking some of this, a finger dab of that …

The ringing crescendoed, and she went away.

She came back on Toel’s balcony on a white couch draped with sheets. Toel himself sat a few feet away, looking over a scroll. She must have made a noise, because he turned, smiling.

“Well, there you are,” he said. “That was very near.”

“What happened?”

“You were poisoned, of course. She used ampher venin. Its effects are delayed, but once symptoms develop, it works very quickly. Sound familiar?”

She nodded, realizing to her dismay that under the sheets she didn’t have any clothes on.

“You should have died, but you didn’t,” he continued. “You somehow concocted a stabilizer. That kept you alive the half an hour before someone noticed you lying there. Without me, of course, you would have died anyway, but it is … remarkable.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing,” she replied.

“On some level you did,” he replied. He put his hands on his knees. “Well,” he said. “How shall I have her executed?”

“Slyr?” She felt a stab of anger, bordering on hatred. What had she ever done to Slyr to deserve murder? It was quite the opposite, wasn’t it? She had protected her.

And yet, execution …

He must have seen it in her face, because he sighed, crossed his legs, and sat back in his chair.

“Don’t tell me,” he said.

“She’s just afraid,” Annaïg said.

“You mean jealous,” Toel replied. “Envious.”

“It’s all the same thing, really,” Annaïg said. “She—I think she is not only afraid for her position here, she also desires your, ah … affections.”

He smiled. “Well, once my ‘affections’ are bestowed, they are not easily forgotten.”

“What do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes. “Are you really so naive? You don’t know?”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“How do you suppose you came to my attention? How do you think I so easily bypassed Qijne’s outer security? Why do you think Slyr fought so hard to save your life?”

“She betrayed Qijne?”

“She saw a chance to rise. I admire that in her—I came from a lowlier position than hers, and my desire to better myself brought me here. She has the ambition but not the talent—you have the talent but not the ambition.”

Oh, I have ambition all right, Annaïg thought. The ambition to bring all of you down.

But did she? If she could find some way to destroy Umbriel, could she do it, and doom all of these people?

But she thought of Lilmoth and knew that she could.

Why, then, couldn’t she bring herself to let Toel kill Slyr, who, after all, had just tried to murder her? Who had betrayed her comrades in Qijne’s kitchen to violent death? Surely this was someone who deserved to die.

But she couldn’t say it, and she knew it. It was too personal, too close.

“Let her live,” Annaïg said. “Please.”

“The terms remain the same,” he said. “She remains your assistant. What makes you think she won’t try again?”

Because I won’t be here, she thought.

“She won’t,” she told him.

He made a tushing noise. “You really don’t have it, do you? I thought you might be great, perhaps even greater than me one day, but you can’t do what must be done.”

He signed, and one of Toel’s guards pushed Slyr from just beyond the door. The woman’s red eyes brimmed with misery.

“What’s wrong with you?” Slyr asked. “I don’t understand you at all.”

“I thought we were friends,” Annaïg replied.

“We were,” Slyr said. “I think we were.”

“That’s beautiful,” Toel said. “Touching. Now listen to me, both of you. Annaïg may have no drive, but she is more than a curiosity. She gives this kitchen the edge over the others, and I will brook no threat to her. Slyr, if she slips in the kitchen and cracks her head, you will die in the most horrible manner I can conceive, and I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors. I don’t care if Umbriel himself walks down here and strikes her down by his own hand, you will still suffer and perish. Only her breathing body keeps you alive. Do you understand?”

Slyr bowed her head. “I do, Chef,” she murmured.

“Very well.” He lifted his chin toward a servant in the corner. “When Annaïg is steady enough, bring her her clothes and return her to her rooms.”

“And this one?” the guard said, indicating Slyr.

“She’s shown initiative,” he said, “misguided, but there it is. Clean her up and bring her to my quarters.”

Slyr’s eyes registered disbelief, but then her lips curled in triumph.

Molag Bal take them all, Annaïg thought. I’m getting off this damned rock.

NINE

Annaïg was still weak from the effects of the poison, but she insisted on sleeping in her own quarters that night, and Toel’s servants allowed her her wish. Slyr did not return—a fact for which she was extremely grateful.

That night she wrote Glim a note, in the same argot he’d written hers in. It was very simple.

Glim. I’m glad you’re alive. I’ve got what we need. I’m ready to go. How soon, and where? Love.

The next day, still pale and tending to tremble, she went early to the pantry. She found a skraw—not the same one—a woman this time.

“What do you have here?” she asked her.

“Thendow frills,” the skraw wheezed. “Sheartooth loin. Glands from duster stalks …”

After a few moments, the pantry workers stopped their curious stares and went back to their business. They probably figured if one of the chefs wanted to come down and do their jobs, who were they to argue?

When she was pretty sure no one was looking, she slipped the skraw the note. “I want the pearl-colored ones next time,” she said. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, lady,” the skraw replied.

“Good,” she said, and left the dock.

She returned to the kitchens, did her portion of the dinner—Lord Irrel only ate one meal a day—and then went back to the tree-wine vats. With no hesitation at all she made eight vials of tonic. She put four in her pocket and the rest in the cabinet, and it was all very much like moving in a dream, detached, without fear, as if the poisoning had somehow made her invulnerable.

It had certainly made her less visible. Toel didn’t speak to her at all, and Slyr kept her distance, although she did occasionally catch the other woman looking at her with what was probably disdain.

But it didn’t matter. It just didn’t matter.

She slept alone again that night, and the next morning she had a reply from Glim.

Midnight tonight. Meet me at the dock.

Something struck his feet, and Treb’s knees buckled, taking him straight down on his face in a bed of yellow wildflowers that smelled like skunk. He and Sul were on a hillside covered in various colorful blossoms and odd, twisting trees with caps like mushrooms.

They were on a jagged island in a furious sea beneath a sky half-filled with a jade moon.