Several things happened at once and in retrospect it would amaze her that she was able to register them all.
Before the chaos she had been gathering a number of papers on the floor. Next came the sound of bone hitting marble with a sickening thud. Then shoes skittering across the floor, a few gasps, metallic swords being drawn, shifting bodies, slamming doors. Immediately, her hands reached out to steady the form before her. The edge of her gloved finger found a solid cylinder, embedded unnaturally in the man’s upper arm. He was grasping at it, causing the needle to shift in its position. With a mental hiss she brushed his hand away, fearing accidentally lodging the instrument deeper. Next came his voice, rich and smooth with the faintest hint of an accent she could not quite place. The exotic nature of the tone was matched by the striking color of his eyes, which were fixated on her. The reason for his actions clicked into place with his inquiry, the cylinder, the sheen of sweat that had appeared on the tanned man’s forehead, the bumbling courtier making a break for the exit of the room. And then there were the guards, strong handedly attempting to pull her away and into a protective cocoon. Years of escaping panicky situations kept her from attempting to explain the situation – such an act would cost precious seconds of confusion that the man on his knees might not be able to afford. Instead she found the muscle of her mind flexing and their hands moving away as the wave of energy swept across the room – pushing them back. “No.” She replied, softly as she knelt back down by his side – feeling a bit faint herself now.
She could hear Herbert’s steady, even voice from the back of the room and it drew her gaze. Another man, even more out of place than the one before her, was holding onto the would-be assasin. “The dungeon.” She called out, in the ancient Deamone language that would go mostly unheard among the crowd of Licians. Herbert gave no reply, only took hold of the now-prisoner from the dark skinned stranger. His large hands grabbed the courtier’s wrists and kept them firmly behind him as he shoved him towards the exit. With several guards in tow, the doors opened and the figures disappeared from sight.
Now her attentions were free to be focused where they were most needed. Brushing the cold sweat from his forehead she implored the kneeling man to “S..stay calm. You’ll be all right…” She promised, hoping that her eyes weren’t betraying the panicking rhythm of her heart. A quickened heart in her caused her words to fumble a little…but a quickened heart in him would only speed up the spreading of the poison that was undoubtedly housed in the tip of the needle embedded in his arm. Faintly, she could hear the King calling for medics. They would be no good if enough of the poison hit his heart.
With a warning glance at him she grasped his hand and held it down with her own keeping as much of his arm below his heart. “I’m sorry…this might hurt a little…” She murmured, as her free hand reached up – grasping the barrel of the syringe. As she pulled it out she took extra care not to toggle the plunger, no doubt enough poison had entered his system as it was. Removing it elicited only a slight tensing of the muscles in his upper arm. Her eyes went apologetically to his face, oddly calm given the circumstances. Already, he had proved himself to be braver than most.
Then there were other hands helping, taking his temperature, flashing lights in his eyes, grabbing the discarded syringe and dripping its contents into a vial. The medics had arrived and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. If anything could be said about the Lician court…it was that their medics could keep even death at bay, at least – they had for her mother for several years past when it should have arrived. Of course- there was only one thing to do about poison. And the only person with the information necessary was currently headed for the hidden dungeons on one of the bottomost floors of the palace. A necessary evil, Orion had once said to her – when she was very young. Because not all punishments needed to be public.
The young man was floating on his back, someone’s suspension charm raising him as if upon an invisible stretcher. Realizing that she was still grasping his hand, she let it go, leaving it to hang off to his side and away from the rest of his body. Depending on the poison, there were only precious few minutes of time. “Don’t let it reach his heart.” She heard her voice say, before she broke off into a run and headed for the dungeons. Too many people had been hurt, or died in her name. But for the first time, she was in a position to do something about it. Alarice cursed the cumbersome gown out loud as she hurried past guards and courtiers alike. At some point the shoes on her feet had flown off – letting her slide along the floor and causing her to nearly fall more than once. The bodies, golden, yellow, silver, blue in various degrees of dress became blurs. Her stomach was churning with a combination of nerves and the exhaustion from the sudden use of her power – which she had admittedly not trained as well as she should have over the course of the summer. Sooner than she would have believed she was standing in the middle of the dank stone room.
It was not the one she had been held in…but they all looked so alike that it gave her cause to stop and take the next few steps with more hesitation. Herbert had already chained the man to the wall; he was suspended by his arms inches above the floor. A part of her felt sick with flashbacks and memories of dislocated shoulders. The rest of her was feeling another emotion entirely; the darklore, which had remained silent until now was hissing like a predator about to strike.
“Leave us.” She commanded the guards in the room, her hand grasping Herbert’s arm fearfully as he began to protest. “Not you.” She snapped. Orion would be on his way shortly and he would not spare a second thought of ending the man’s life without getting the information she needed. Yes, there were a million questions to be asked of this man. But only one mattered right now.
“The antidote?” The Princess asked, her voice timid and unsure and eliciting a scoff and a turned head from her would-be assassin. “I serve my employer and noone else. You can kill me now half-breed…I won’t…” The rest of his sentence was interrupted by Herbert’s fist connecting with his jaw. The fury in the guard’s eyes matched only by the depth of his hatred for the slur. It didn’t seem to affect the courtier at all – he spat out a few bloodied teeth and raised his head defiantly towards them both. “You’ll get nothing.” He finished. “So you may as well kill me now.”
“Easily arranged.” Herbert growled, one large hand wrapping around the man’s neck and pulling him higher above the ground. “Let him go!” Alarice called, to immediate obedience. Thinking quickly, she found her eyes boring into those of the man now struggling for air. “I promise you Sir that you will live a long, long, life in this dungeon. As many others have. The crown is patient…we can wait as long as you for you to break. And believe me…I will make sure you break. Even if that man dies I will have the antidote…and who knows? Perhaps the years will lessen your regard for your employer? Lord Duncan certainly does not do well when willing witnesses are available…do you think his life will be spared a second time?”
Of course, it was a partial shot in the dark. Her uncle was the most likely to have sent an assassin in such a bold, calculated move. But even if it wasn’t him, it would be someone loyal to his cause. By threatening the head of her enemies she’d hoped to tear one precious piece of information from this man before her stepfather decided other actions would be more appropriate.
“The antidote!” She repeated, her voice no longer trembling. When silence was his continued response she reached for Herbert’s holster and aimed – her finger pulling hastily at the trigger and sending the bullet through the wall between the man’s legs. “There are plenty of things to be removed that will allow you to keep your life Sir do not make me show you what they are. The antidote.”
“C…C…Calabar!” He blurted out, as she’d levied the hot barrel of the smoking gun against his earlobe. Just then, a bevvy of golden-armored guards entered the room with Orion in the center of them. “Calabar!!” He repeated desperately, as wisps of lightning began to emerge from the tips of one of the guard’s fingers. “Who sent you?!” The King asked, his voice eerily cheerful amidst the subsequent howls of pain. “Who are you working for?” He repeated – and the Princess once again found herself running away. “Wait!” Herbert called out after her, but she did not hear.
—
Calabar Beans were non-existent in Licia and difficult to find even in Deamone. Her Uncle had chosen his poison, whatever it was, well. She’d never thought to need the small bush her father had bequeathed her but she was glad to have it nonetheless. Not bothering to pluck the berry-like legumes individually, she grasped the potted bush and continued her dash around the castle. Had it not been for the deep, swirling green of her eyes she was sure she would have been detained as a madwoman. Her shoes were gone, there was a tear in her skirt where it had caught on some statue or another. Her crown had gone askew in the middle of her run and the intricate braids had come undone, leaving her hair a wavy mess around the edges of her face. The berries would be most potent if picked only just before they were injected and so she held the plant like a newborn child. Finally she was able to find a maid who was sufficiently coherent in directing her towards the room where the “third realmer and his savage“ had been taken.
When she entered the room it had already picked up a distinctly medicinal smell. The normal furnishings had been pushed out into the hall as various monitoring machines, tools and at least half a dozen white-coated individuals occupied the space. They had ripped off the majority of the man’s clothing in an attempt to combat the slow swell of muscle and tissue at the injection site, along with what appeared to be a quickly rising fever and tremors. He was propped into a sitting position in the middle of the large bed, the silk sheets slowly becoming drenched in sweat. The man who’d captured the assassin stood silently in a corner of the room – his large form looming over them all but completely focused on the man now beginning to exhibit the first signs of gut-wrenching pain. She could see where fluids were being administered to dilute the poison, another drip with a label of a medicine she did not recognize…the outskirts could never have afforded such luxuries.
A part of her wanted to scream when, upon her entrance, the medics stopped working and swept into respectful bows. Certainly even the palace had breaches of protocol for situations like these? Apparently not. Muttered the darklore as a disapproving glance was directed from one doctor to the man in the corner when he did not bow. Before she could reprimand him another, female, doctor approached her with a grave expression.
“We have slowed his heart enough to buy some time, Princess. But without the antid…” It was then that a few people seemed to notice the potted plant grasped firmly in the Princess’s shaking hands. “Injected.” She managed to gasp through panted breaths. “Prepare…Injection…” When uncertain looks passed between them she tacked on a more powerfully spoken, “Now!” and the white coats began to work.
With the plant removed from her hands she was free to peel off the now dirty white gloves, baring her arms as she shoved the sleeves of her gown above her elbows. Another glance of disapproval from the doctor and she made a mental note to fire him when she was Queen. The medics of Licia were trained well, by the time she had removed her gloves sevearl red-liquid filled syringes were placed on the tray beside the poisoned man. As the critical doctor approached to begin the injections she brushed past him and grabbed the first one. Her hand moved the hair gently out of her patient’s face as she stared down at him. She sat besides him on the bed, trying not to shift its weight too much “Hello.” She said, softly…her tone as light and calming as she could manage. As she spoke, she slid the first syringe into the red-hot skin right above the wound.
“I don’t believe.” She continued, her eyes flickering from injection site to the man’s glazed-over gaze and back to the next injection site, “You’ve been at court before?” Slim, soft hands cooled the skin of his bare arm and chest as she carefully pierced a trail of liquid antidote along his upper body. With each injection she let her hands linger a little, trying to counteract what would have undoubtedly felt like an injection of more liquid fire into his veins. Poison…to counteract poison. “Might I know your name?” His reply was met with a smile, serene and as thankful as she knew she should feel for the man who’d saved her life.
When the last syringe was empty and placed back on the tray – she found one of her hands sliding into the hand of his poisoned arm. “Well then Francois…welcome to Licia. Now squeeze.”
