She pulled a cricket from Jorani's feeding cage and dropped it in the web. Smiling at the bug's impotent struggles, she watched the little spider move on its struggling prey. She watched it feed.
When it had finished and rested with legs outstretched in an all too perfect parody of a sated human, Ilsabet took from her pocket a second lace-trimmed kerchief exactly like the one holding her black nettle poison. This one however contained a black molasses cookie, which she had crumbled and reformed with a bit of water. It did not exactly resemble the nettle tar, but Ilsabet doubted Greta had taken a good look at the noxious ball.
Once she had done this, she slipped on a pair of leather gloves and carefully brushed the fake ball against the web, creating a poison far more potent than the one Greta had discovered.
She wrapped the contents carefully in the kerchief, wrapped the kerchief itself in another scarf, and hid the deadly package in her pocket. After a quick glance around to assure her nothing had been disturbed, she returned to her room by the same dark route.
She had been gone less than an hour.
As soon as she had everything safely packed away in her cupboard, she dressed and rang for Greta, not at all surprised when the woman did not appear. Now that she had her excuse, she went downstairs. The cook gave her some slices o' f warm bread and honey. While she ate them, she kept an eye out for Garvin, the Sundell guardsman whom Greta often mentioned.
Peto's guards ate in shifts. She was fortunate Garvin was in the early group. When she saw him, she called him over.
'I understand you've been paying some compliments to my servant,' she said.
His eyes narrowed. He frowned. Ilsabet hardly thought him handsome, but she wasn't over fifty and half again the weight she ought to be. Greta could hardly afford to be choosy. 'No one told me I couldn't,' he muttered.
'Her work has suffered. I prefer that she keep her mind on it.'
'Is that an order, then?' he asked.
'A suggestion.' Ilsabet slid a pair of silver coins across the table. 'Be firm when you let her down today,' she said in a low voice. 'I would not want her to pine away, thinking you've any interest in her.'
'And if I still do?'
'One more is all you'll get and only if you act tonight,' Ilsabet replied coldly.
She left him to his supper and his thoughts, certain he'd do as she wished.
She found Greta upstairs, dusting her room. The cupboard had not been dusted, and Ilsabet was certain the woman was deliberately avoiding it.
After Greta had helped her dress for the evening meal, Ilsabet said, 'I saw that Sundell guard in the kitchen. He was asking about you.'
'He was?'
Ilsabet laughed, 'Go on down, I can finish here.'
Later, when she left the room, she didn't blow out the candle. All the better for Greta to see her way when she returned.
Greta had spent all afternoon thinking about Ilsa-bet's revelation. The temptation to take some of the concoction was tremendous, but she resisted until Garvin made it clear he had no interest in her.
She found out in a simple enough way. When she walked into the kitchen, one of the scullery maids was sitting on his lap, running her fingers over the dome of his bald head.
He stood up too quickly when he saw her. His face went red, and he muttered something about the difference in years between them.
Fighting tears, Greta returned to the upstairs chambers. Ilsabet had gone, and Greta was thankful.
When she was feeling sad, Greta would often sit at Ilsabet's dressing table, looking into the priceless silver mirror, dreaming of what it would be like to be the lady of this castle, the mistress of all around her.
She did so now, but the daydream held no comfort. All she could see were the lines in her face, her thinning hair.
Ilsabet would never miss the loss of a tiny bit of her magic. And if Greta were careful, she could hide the changes. Ilsabet would never know.
She opened the cabinet and rummaged inside until her hand closed over the red silk scarf that hid the kerchief. Frightened of discovery, she unwrapped the contents quickly.
As she pinched off a small piece of the soft black mass, she kept her senses focused on the hall. It would not do for Ilsabet to come back unexpected and find her in the act.
The very feel of it in her hand made her dizzy. She ate it quickly, but as she tried to wrap the package to return it to its hiding place, her hands went numb, her knees gave way. Even then, she thought it was the magic working, and fell without making a sound. Though she still breathed, she could not speak. Though her eyes were still open, she saw nothing.
Kashi found her and screamed for help.
Ilsabet was summoned from dinner. Peto and Jorani followed her to her chambers. As she knelt beside Greta, her attention fixed on her servant, Peto saw the kerchief. His hand moved toward it.
'No!' Ilsabet cried and grabbed his wrist.
'Ilsabet is right,' Jorani said. 'Greta may well have been poisoned. The touch alone could be deadly. Leave it where it is until I return.'
Peto pulled his hand back and looked at the dour man. Friend and advisor to his enemy, poisoner if the rumors about him were correct, yet Peto was now twice in his debt. He wondered if the deaths since he had come to Nimbus Castle were some sort of deadly play designed to push him into some unknown action. If so, who was writing the script, and was his own death a part of the plot?
If it were, Jorani could have killed him a dozen times over. As for Ilsabet, holding her servant close to her chest, whispering endearments, she could only be innocent.
Greta died minutes later, with Ilsabet still holding her. Even then, Ilsabet remained where she was, kneeling on the floor, hugging her until Peto reached down and gently pulled her to her feet.
As he did, he was struck with the same incredible passion he had felt the evening she swore loyalty to him. It was the brightness of her eyes, he thought, and the way she so stoically hid her grief. As he held her, he wished they were still on the riverbank, discussing happier days.
Jorani returned moments later, carrying a mongoose the cook kept in the kitchen to kill the rats that were constantly trying to destroy her larder.
He placed the creature on a table, then slipped on a pair of gloves and put the kerchief beside it. The animal sniffed at the dark mass. Smelling only molasses and flour, it tried to nibble at the edge, but Jorani held it back. Instead, he placed the animal's paw on the sticky lump and waited. The mongoose shuddered, rolled onto its side, and died that instant.
Ilsabet gave a strangled cry and turned to Peto. 'It's not you they want to kill, is it? The poison was wrapped in my kerchief. If I had come back early from the meal and touched that horrid thing, it would be me lying there,' she said, then pressed against him, trembling like a frail bird in his arms.
'You and Mihael have come to mean a great deal to me in the last few months. I won't let any harm come to you,' Peto said.
'No harm? Your servants are in our halls. Your cook prepares the meals. Your healer treats our illnesses and injuries. Which of them was untouched by our invasion? Which has no reason to hate the Obours?'
He winced at the truth of what she said. 'Hatred means nothing without knowledge,' he reminded her. 'I'll find the one who has both.'
'My father. My stepmother. My sister. Now the servant who raised me. You'd best hunt quickly, Baron Peto, or there won't be any of us left.'
Peto kept his word. By the following evening when the servants were laying the wood for Greta's funeral pyre, his surgeon, his healer, and two of his soldiers who had lost relatives during Baron Janosk's ill-fated invasion were already on their way back to Sundell. In doing this, Peto acted against the advice of his own advisors, as well as Jorani.
'The poisoner could easily be one of our own servants,' Jorani had argued. 'We caught a great many spies
