Chapter Two: One Cup Kills Three Men

But Count Tarren was angrier than anyone. He snatched it up and scraped wax from its base. “That is my crest, not my bottle. Northern obsidian is sealed with frost-wax. This is southern red wax. Someone manufactured evidence!” The last piece settled into place. Tarren’s guarantee had never proved guilt. It supplied the conspirators with a believable Frost target. Having Tarren expose the false evidence was worth a hundred claims from Lain. “Search the servant,” Ysolde ordered. They found a cellar token engraved with Herbert’s name. “Not mine!” Herbert cried. “It was stolen. Tarren hired this man—” “You knew the wine was poisoned,” Ysolde reminded him. “Because the lamp—” “What does a purple lamp have to do with poison?”