by lunch.” He shook his head in annoyance. “It’s a shortcut. I hate shortcuts.”
“Why? You won’t have to risk yourself anymore.” I regretted the words as soon as they had left my mouth.
Valek’s gaze was lethal. “In my experience, shortcuts usually lead to death.”
“Is that what happened to my predecessor?” I asked, unable to stifle my curiosity. Would Valek confirm or deny Rand’s theories?
“Oscove?” Valek paused. “He didn’t have the stomach for it.”
8
WHEN I AWOKE THE NEXT morning, Valek’s list of poisons was still clutched in my hand. I reviewed the poison inventory until the medic discharged me.
Bruised muscles protested every movement as I headed for the door. I should have been happy to leave the infirmary, but my nerves preoccupied me. My stomach felt as if it contained a live mouse, trying to chew its way out.
The guards stationed outside the infirmary door startled me. But they weren’t wearing Brazell’s colors, and I belatedly remembered that Valek had assigned them as protection until I reported to his office.
I glanced around to get my bearings, but had no idea which direction led to my room. I had been living in the castle for eighteen days, but I was still uncertain of its inner layout. The basic shape of the castle itself eluded me, having never seen it from the outside.
The prison carriage that had brought me to the castle had been a square box with airholes. I had refused to peer out like some caged animal. When I reached the castle, I squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to block out the anguish of being chained, groped and dragged to the dungeon. I guess I could have focused on potential ways to escape, but I had accepted my punishment when I had killed Reyad.
As much as I hated to ask the guards for directions to my room, I had no choice. Wordlessly they guided me through the castle. One walked in front, the other followed. Only after the lead man inspected my room was I allowed inside.
My uniforms hung undisturbed in the armoire. But instead of being hidden inside a drawer, my journal lay open on the top of the desk. Someone had read my impressions of poisons and other information. The queasy feeling in my gut was replaced by a cold, hard sensation. The mouse had died, reflecting my sour mood perfectly.
I suspected Valek. He was bold enough to have gone through my personal papers. He had probably even reasoned that it was his duty to make sure I wasn’t plotting something. After all, I was just the food taster, and not entitled to any privacy.
Grabbing the journal and uniforms, I left my room and headed for the baths. The guards waited outside while I soaked in the water. I took my sweet time. Valek and his test could wait; I wasn’t going to carry out his orders like some idiotic drone.
Chased by Brazell’s guards, finding poison in almost all of my meals, and being wagered on like some damn racehorse didn’t cause me to be as angry as I was about Valek reading my journal.
Arriving at Valek’s office, I cut off any smart remark he could make by demanding, “Where’s your test?”
Amusement touched Valek’s face. He rose from behind his desk. Sweeping his arm with a dramatic flourish, he indicated two rows of food and drinks on the conference table. “Only one item isn’t poisoned. Find it. Then eat or drink your selection.”
I tasted each item. I sniffed. I gargled. I held my nose. I took small bites. I spat. Some of the food had grown cold. Most of the meals were bland, making the poison easy to spot, while the fruit drinks masked the poison.
Finishing the last item, I turned to Valek. “You bastard. They’re all poisoned.” What a nasty trick; I should have suspected he would pull a stunt like that.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t touch anything on that table.”
Valek’s gaze was stony as he walked toward me. “I’m sorry, Yelena. You’ve failed.”
My heart plunged into my stomach. The dead mouse resuscitated and began to gnaw holes in my gut. I searched the table. What had I missed?
Nothing. I was right. I challenged Valek to prove me wrong.
Without hesitation he raised a cup. “This one is clean.”
“Drink it.” I remembered that cup. It was laced with a bitter poison.
Valek’s hand wavered a bit. He sipped. I bit my lip. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was the cup next to it. Valek held my gaze as he rolled the liquid around his tongue. He spat.
I wanted to jump, to cheer, to dance little circles around him. Instead I said, “Blackberry poison.”
“Yes,” Valek said. He alternated between examining the cup in his hand and absentmindedly staring at the rows of cold food.
“I passed?”
He nodded, still distracted. Then he walked to his desk, and he gently placed the cup down. Shaking his head, he picked some papers up only to put them back unread.
“I should have known you would try to trick me.”
My heated tone drew his eyes. I wished then that I’d remained silent.
“You’re all fired up. And it isn’t because of the test. Explain yourself.”
“Explain? Why do I have to explain? Maybe you should explain why you read my journal.” There, I’d said it.
“Journal?” Valek looked at me in amazement. “I didn’t read anything of yours. But if I had, it would have been within my rights.”
“Why?” I demanded.
An incredulous look settled on Valek’s face. His mouth opened and closed several times before he was able to voice his thoughts. “Yelena, you confessed to murder. You were caught straddling Reyad’s body with a bloody knife in your hand. I searched your file for a motive. There was none. Only a report that you refused to answer all questions.”
Valek stepped closer. He lowered his voice. “Since I don’t know what motivates you to kill, I can’t predict if you’ll do it again or what might set you off. I’m bound by the Code of Behavior, so I had to offer you the choice of becoming the new taster.” He drew a deep breath and continued. “You’ll be very close to the Commander on a daily basis. Until I can trust you, I’ll be watching you.”
My anger leaked away. Why should I expect Valek to trust me when I didn’t trust him?
My composure returned. “How do I win your trust?”
“Tell me why you killed Reyad.”
“You’re not ready to believe me.”
Valek averted his gaze to the conference table. I covered my mouth with my hand. Why had I used the word ready? Ready implied that he would believe me at some point. Pure wishful thinking on my part.
“You’re right,” he said.
