Study Collection. Maria V. Snyder
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They pushed me into a dark pit. I plunged into blackness.
The stench of vomit and excrement greeted me when I regained consciousness. They were the unmistakable odors of the dungeon. Wondering how I had ended up back in my old cell, I sat up. A surge of nausea demanded my attention. I groped around for the slop pot and encountered the metal leg of a bed, which I clutched as dry heaves racked my body. When they stopped, I leaned against the wall, grateful to be on the floor of my room and not back in the dungeon. Beds were a luxury not included with the subterranean accommodations.
Summoning the strength to stand, I located and lit my lantern. Dried vomit caked my face. My shirt and pants were soaking wet and smelled foul. The liquid contents of my body had collected in a puddle on the floor.
Margg took good care of me, I thought sarcastically. At least she was practical. If she had dumped me on the bed I would have ruined the mattress.
I thanked fate that I had survived the poison and that I had awakened in the middle of the night. Unable to endure the feel of my sodden uniform any longer, I made my way to the baths.
On my return, voices stopped me before I reached the hallway leading to my room. Extinguishing my lantern in one quick motion, I peeked around the corner. Two soldiers stood in front of my door. The soft light of their lantern reflected the green-and-black colors of their uniforms—Brazell’s colors.
4
“SHOULD WE CHECK IF she’s dead?” asked one of Brazell’s soldiers. He held the lantern up to my door, his overloaded weapon belt jingling with the motion.
“No. That housekeeper checks every morning and gives her a potion. We’ll hear about it soon enough. Besides, it stinks in there.” The other soldier waved his hand in front of his face.
“Yeah. If the smell don’t kill the mood, taking off her vomit-soaked uniform would make any man gag. Although…” The lantern soldier’s hand briefly touched the manacles hanging from his belt. “We could drag her down to the baths, clean her up, and have some fun before she dies.”
“No, someone would see us. If she survives, we’ll have plenty of time to peel off her uniform. It’ll be just like opening a present, and definitely more entertaining when she’s awake.” He leered. They laughed.
They continued down the hallway and were soon out of sight. I clung to the wall and wondered if what I had just witnessed had been real. Was I still having paranoid hallucinations? My head felt as if it had soaked too long in a pool of water. Dizziness and nausea rippled through my body.
The soldiers were long gone before I worked up the nerve to go back to my room. I pushed the door wide and thrust my lantern in front of me, shining the light into every corner and under the bed. A harsh, acrid odor was the only thing to attack me. Gagging, I unlocked the shutters and threw them open, taking deep breaths of the cool, cleansing air.
I looked at the noxious puddle on the floor. The last thing I wanted to do was clean up the mess, but I knew I would never be able to sleep while breathing in that foul smell. After raiding housekeeping’s supplies, and stopping for the occasional bout of nausea, I managed to scrub the floor without fainting.
Exhausted, I stretched out on the bed. It felt lumpy. I turned in my blankets, hoping to find a comfortable position. What if Brazell’s soldiers came back? Asleep in bed, I would be an easy target. I had cleaned myself up so there was no need to drag me to the baths. The room smelled like disinfectant, and I had forgotten to put the chair under the doorknob.
Imagination kicked in, a vivid scene of me manacled to the bed, helpless while the soldiers stripped me slowly to heighten their anticipation and savor my fear.
The walls of my room seemed to thicken and pulse. I bolted out into the hallway, expecting to see Brazell’s soldiers lurking around my door. The corridor was dark and deserted.
When I tried to reenter my room, I felt as if someone pressed a pillow against my face. I couldn’t get my feet to move past the doorway. My room was a trap. The paranoia effect of My Love or common sense? I wondered. Indecision kept me standing in the hallway until my stomach growled. Guided by my hunger, I searched for food.
Hoping to find the kitchen empty, I was dismayed to see a tall man wearing a white uniform with two black diamonds printed on the front of his shirt mumbling to himself as he lurched around the ovens. His left leg didn’t bend. I tried to sneak back out but he spotted me.
“Are you looking for me?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “I was…looking for something to eat.” I craned my neck back to see his face.
He frowned and shifted his weight to his good leg as he studied my uniform. Too thin for a cook, I thought, but he wore the proper clothes and only a cook would be up this early. He was handsome in a subtle way, with light brown eyes and short brown hair. I wondered if this was Dilana’s Rand that Margg had talked about.
“Help yourself.” He gestured toward two steaming loaves of bread. “You just won me a week’s wages.”
“Excuse me,” I said while cutting off a large piece of bread. “How could I win you money?”
“You’re the new food taster. Right?”
I nodded.
“Everyone knows Valek gave you a dose of My Love. I took a chance and bet a week’s wages that you would live.” He stopped to take three more loaves out of the oven. “A big risk, since you’re the smallest and skinniest food taster we’ve ever had. Most everyone else had wagered that you wouldn’t pull through, including Margg.”
The cook rummaged through one of the cabinets. “Here.” He handed me some butter. “I’ll make you some sweet cakes.” Grabbing various ingredients from a shelf, he proceeded to mix up a batter.
“How many food tasters have there been?” I asked him between bites of buttered bread. Working alone didn’t seem to suit him. He seemed glad to have some company.
With his hands in constant motion, he said, “Five since Commander Ambrose has been in power. Valek loves his poisons. He poisoned many of the Commander’s enemies, and he likes to keep in practice. You know, testing the food tasters from time to time to make sure they haven’t grown lazy.”
The cook’s words crawled up my spine. I felt as if my body had liquefied and pooled into a giant mixing bowl. I was just a puddle of ingredients to be beaten, stirred and used. When the cook poured the batter onto the hot griddle, my blood sizzled along with the sweet cakes.
“Poor Oscove, Valek never liked him. Testing him constantly until he couldn’t handle the pressure. The ‘official’ cause of death was suicide, but I think Valek killed him.”
Flip. I stared as the cook deftly flicked his wrist, turning the cakes over. My muscles trembled in synch with the sound of frying sweet cakes.
Here I was worried about Brazell, when one misstep with Valek and… Flip. I would be gone. He probably held a couple of poisons in reserve just in case he decided to replace the taster. Glancing over my shoulder, I imagined Valek coming into the kitchen to poison my breakfast. I couldn’t even enjoy talking with a chatty cook without being reminded that tasting potentially poisoned food wasn’t the only danger of my new job.
The cook handed me a plate loaded with sweet cakes, took three more loaves of bread out of the oven and refilled his bread pans with dough. Piping-hot sweet cakes were such a rare treat that I devoured them despite my unsettled stomach.
“Oscove was my friend. He was the Commander’s best food taster. He used to come to my kitchen every morning after breakfast and help me invent new recipes. I have to keep things interesting or the Commander will start looking for a new cook. Know what I mean?”
I nodded, wiping butter off my chin.
He thrust out his hand. “My name’s Rand.”
I shook his hand. “Yelena.”