Chapter Two: One Cup Kills Three Men

Ysolde set down her cup. “Indeed. Lain has not drunk, and a lamp merely changed color. Yet Lord Herbert knows there is poison.” Cassian glanced at Mordred. “Concern for a prince,” the marquis said. “Nothing more. Test the wine.” The court apothecary touched a silver needle to the spilled liquid. It did not darken. Relief crossed Herbert’s face—and vanished. True flame-eater poison did not react to silver. Only someone familiar with it would be relieved. “A misunderstanding, then.” Lain set down his pewter cup. “May I drink now?” “Wait.” Serena rose from the clerks’ benches in her plain gray robe, holding an order stamped by the Office of Ceremony. “The twelfth bluecrystal cask never entered the royal cellar.