Poison Study - Study 1 s-1 Read online

  “You’re dead,” I said. “Aren’t you supposed to be burning in eternal damnation?”

  Reyad wasn’t banished so easily. “Teacher’s pet,” he said, waving the book in the air. “If only you had worked this hard for me, everything would have been different.”

  “I like the way it turned out.”

  “Poisoned, pursued and living with a psychopath. Not what I would consider the good life. Death has its perks.” He sniffed. “I get to watch your miserable existence. You should have chosen the noose, Yelena. It would have saved you some time.”

  “Get out,” I said again, trying to ignore the touch of hysteria in my voice and the trickle of sweat down my back.

  “You do know you’ll never get to Sitia alive? You’re a failure. Always were. Always will be. Face it. Accept it.” Reyad rose from the bed. “You failed all our efforts to mold you. Do you remember? Remember when Daddy finally gave up on you? When he let me have you?”

  I remembered. It had been the week of the fire festival, and Reyad had been so preoccupied with General Tesso’s visiting retinue, especially Tesso’s daughter, Kanna, that he hadn’t bothered to check on me. Since I’d been meekly obeying his every command to gain some trust, he was smug in the assumption that he’d cowed me into submission. As a result, it was more than a month since he’d locked me into my tiny room that was next to his suite.

  But the festival had once again tempted me into disobeying Reyad’s instructions to stay away. The beatings and humiliations of the year before were insufficient to deter me this year. In fact, I felt a stubborn pride in refusing to be intimidated by him. I was terrified of getting caught, knew deep down in a small corner of my mind that I would get caught, but I threw all caution to fate. The fire festival was a part of me. The only time I tasted true freedom. Even though it was for but a few moments, it was worth the consequences.

  My defiance added an edge to my acrobatic routines, making me bold and reckless. I sailed through the first five rounds with aplomb, dismounts steady, flips tight, energy level unlimited. I advanced to the final round of competition, which was scheduled for the last day of the festival.

  I scrambled to put the finishing touches on my costume for the competition, while Reyad guided Kanna and a group of friends on a hunting party in the countryside.

  I had scrounged around the manor for the preceding two weeks to acquire the necessary supplies for my attire. Now I stitched scarlet silk feathers onto a black leotard, and then outlined them with silver sequins. Wings tied to a harness completed the outfit, but I folded them small and flat so they wouldn’t impede my motion. Braiding my hair into one long rope, I wound it tightly around my head and secured two flaming red feathers in the back. Pleased with the results, I arrived early at the acrobatics tent to practice.

  When the competition started, the tent bulged with people. The crowd’s cheers soon dimmed to a dull roar in my ears as I performed my routines. The only sounds reaching me were the thump of my hands and feet on the trampoline, the creaking of the tightrope as I launched myself in midair to execute a two-and-a-half twist and the crack of the slender rope when I landed on it without falling.

  The floor routine was my last event. I stood on the balls of my feet at the edge of the mat, breathing deeply. The heavy earthy smell of sweat and the dry scratch of chalk dust filled my lungs. This was my place. This was where I belonged. The air vibrated like a thunderstorm poised to blow in.

  Energized as lightning, I started my first tumbling run.

  I flew that night. Spinning and diving through the air, my feet hardly touched the ground. My spirit soared. I felt like a bird performing aerial tricks for sheer delight. At the end of my last run, I grabbed my wings with both hands. Pulling them open, I raised them over my head as I somersaulted and landed on my feet. The bright scarlet fabric of the wings billowed out behind me. The crowd’s thunderous cheers vibrated deep in my chest. My soul floated with crimson wings on the updraft of the audience’s jubilant praise.

  I won the competition. Pure uncomplicated joy consumed me, and I grinned for the first time in two years. Face muscles aching from smiling, I stood on the platform to receive the prize from the Master of Ceremonies. He settled a bloodred amulet, shaped like flames and engraved with the year and event, on my chest. It was the greatest moment of my entire life—followed by the worst, as I spotted Reyad and Kanna watching me from the crowd. Kanna was beaming, but Reyad’s expression was hard and unforgiving as suppressed rage leaked from his twitching lips.

  I lingered inside the changing room until everyone had gone. There were two exits to the tent, but Reyad had positioned his guards at both. Knowing Reyad would take my amulet and destroy it, I buried it deep under the earthen floor of the room.

  As I expected, Reyad grabbed me as soon as I stepped from the tent. He dragged me back to the manor. General Brazell was consulted. He agreed that I would never be “one of his group.” Too independent, too stubborn and too willful, Brazell said, and gave me over to his son. No more experiments. I had failed. That night, Reyad just managed to control his temper until we were alone in his room, but once the door was closed and locked, he vented his full anger with his fists and feet.

  “I wanted to kill you for disobeying me,” Reyad’s ghost said as he glided across my room. “I planned to savor it over a very long period of time, but you beat me to it. You must have had that knife tucked under my mattress for quite a while.” He paused, creasing his brow in thought.

  I had stolen and hidden a knife under Reyad’s bed a year before, after he had beaten me for practicing. Why his bed? I had no real strategy, just a terrible foreboding that when I needed it, I would be in Reyad’s room and not in my small room next door.

  Dreaming of murder was easy; committing it was another story. Even though I’d endured much pain that year, I hadn’t crossed the threshold of sanity. Until that night.

  “Did something set you off?” the ghost asked. “Or were you procrastinating, like now? Learning to fight!” He chuckled. “Imagine you fighting off an attacker. You wouldn’t last against a direct assault. I should know.” He floated before me, forcing the memories out.

  I flinched from him and from that night’s recollection. “Go away,” I said to the specter. Picking up the book on poisons, I stretched out on my bed, determined to ignore him. He faded slightly as I read, but brightened whenever I glanced his way.

  “Was it my journal that set you off?” Reyad asked when my eyes lingered too long.

  “No.” The word sprang from my mouth, surprising me. I had convinced myself that his journal had been the final straw after two years of torment.

  The painful memories flooded with a force that shook me and left me trembling.

  After I had regained consciousness from the beating, I’d found myself sprawled naked on Reyad’s bed. Flourishing his journal before me, he ordered me to read it, taking pleasure in watching the growing horror on my face.

  His journal had listed every single grievance he had against me for the two years I’d been with him. Every time I disobeyed or annoyed him, he noted it, and then followed with a specific description of how he would punish me. Now that Brazell no longer needed me for his experiments, Reyad had no boundaries. His sadistic inclinations and overwhelming depth of imagination were written in full detail. As I struggled to breathe, my first thought was to find the knife and kill myself, but the blade was on the other side of the bed near the headboard.

  “We’ll start with the punishment on page one tonight.” Reyad purred with anticipation as he crossed to his “toy” chest, pulling from it chains and other implements of torture.

  I flipped back to the beginning with numb fingers. Page one recorded that I had failed to call him sir the first time we met. And for lacking the proper deference, I would assume a submissive position on my hands and knees, and then be whipped. He would demand that I call him sir. With each lash, I would respond with the words, “More, sir, please.” During the following rape,
I would address him as sir, and beg him to continue my punishment.

  His journal slipped from my paralyzed hands. I flung myself over the bed, intent on finding the knife, but Reyad, thinking I was trying to escape, caught me. My struggles were useless, as he forced me to my knees. With my face pressed into the rough stone floor, Reyad chained my hands behind my neck.

  The anticipation was more frightening than the actual event. In a sick way, it was a comfort, because I knew what to expect and when he would stop. I played my part, understanding that if I denied him his intended moves, I would only enrage him further.

  When the horror finally ceased, blood covered my back and coated the insides of my legs. I curled into a ball on the edge of Reyad’s bed. My mind dead. My body throbbing. His fingers were inside me. Where he would always be, he breathed into my ear as he lay beside me.

  This time the knife was within my reach. My thoughts lingered on suicide.

  Then Reyad said, “I guess I’ll have to start a new journal.”

  I did not respond.

  “We’ll be training a new girl now that you’ve failed.” He sat up, and dug his fingers deeper into me. “Up on your knees. Time for page two.”

  “No!” I screamed. “You won’t!” Fumbling for a frantic second, I pulled the knife out and sliced at his throat. A surface cut only, but he fell back on the bed in surprise. I leaped onto his chest, slashing deeper. The blade scraped bone. Blood sprayed. A warm feeling of satisfaction settled over me when I realized I could no longer determine whose blood pooled between my thighs.

  “So that’s what set you off? The fact that I was going to rape you again?” Reyad’s ghost asked.

  “No. It was the thought of you torturing another girl from the orphanage.”

  “Oh, yes.” He snorted. “Your friends.”

  “My sisters,” I corrected. “I killed you for them, but I should have done it for me.” Anger surged through my body. I cornered him. My fists struck out even though I knew in a tiny part of my mind that I couldn’t hurt him. His smug expression never changed, but I punched again and again until the first rays of dawn touched Reyad’s ghost. He vanished from sight.

  Sobbing, I sank to the floor. After a while, I became aware of my surroundings. My fists were bloodied from hitting the rough stone wall. I was exhausted and drained of all emotions. And I was late for breakfast. Damn Valek!

  “Pay attention,” Ari said. He jabbed me in the stomach with a wooden knife. “You’re dead. That’s the fourth time today. What’s the matter?”

  “Lack of sleep,” I said. “Sorry.”

  Ari gestured me to the bench along the wall. We sat down and watched Maren and Janco, engaged in a friendly bow match on the far side of the storeroom. Janco’s speed had overpowered Maren’s skill, and she was on the retreat, backing into a corner.

  “She’s tall and thin, but she’s not going to win,” Janco sang. His words aimed to infuriate her—a tactic that had worked before. Too often, Maren’s anger caused her to make critical mistakes. But this time, she remained calm. She planted the end of her bow between his feet, which trapped his weapon close to his body. Then she flipped over his head, landed behind him, and grabbed him around the neck until he conceded.

  My bleak mood improved a notch watching Maren use something I had taught her. The indignant expression on Janco’s face was priceless. He insisted on a rematch. They launched into another rowdy duel. Ari and I remained on the bench. I think Ari sensed that I had no energy to continue our lesson.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said in a quiet voice. “What is it?”

  “I—” I stopped, unsure of my answer. Should I tell him about Valek’s cold shoulder and change of heart? Or about my nightlong conversation with the ghost of the man I’d murdered? No. Instead I asked him, “Do you think this is a waste of time?” Reyad’s words about procrastination had held a ring of truth. Perhaps the time I spent training was merely a subconscious ploy to avoid solving my real problems.

  “If I thought this was a waste of time, I wouldn’t be here.” A trace of anger colored Ari’s voice. “You need this, Yelena.”

  “Why? I might die before I even have a chance to use it.”

  “As I see it, you’re already good at running and hiding. It took you a week to get up the nerve to talk to Maren. And if it was up to you, she’d still be calling you Puker. You need to learn to stand and fight for what you want.” Ari fidgeted with the wooden knife, spinning it around his hand.

  “You hover on the edges, ready to take off if something goes wrong. But when you can knock the bow from Janco’s hands, and sweep my feet out from under me, you’ll be empowered.” He paused, and then said, “If you feel you need to spend your time on something else, then do it… in addition to your training. Then the next time someone calls you Puker, you’ll have the confidence to tell her to go to hell.”

  I was amazed at Ari’s assessment of me. I couldn’t even say if I agreed or disagreed with him, but I did know he was right about my compulsion to do something else. He didn’t know what it was, but I did: find the antidote to Butterfly’s Dust.

  “Is that your idea of encouragement?” I asked in a shaky voice.

  “Yes. Now quit looking for an excuse to stop training, and trust me. What else do you need?”

  The quiet intensity of Ari’s voice caused a chill to ripple up my spine. Did he know what I was planning, or was he guessing? My intentions had always been to get the antidote and run to Sitia. Run away, run away, run away. Ari had been right about that. But running south would require me to be in top physical condition, and to have the ability to defend myself from guards. However, I had been evading one important detail: Valek.

  He would follow me to Sitia, and crossing the border wouldn’t make me safe from him. Even Irys’s magic couldn’t protect me. He would consider my recapture or my death a personal responsibility. And that was what I’d been so afraid to face. What I’d been dancing around. I’d been concentrating on training so I wouldn’t have to deal with the dilemma I feared I wasn’t smart enough to solve. I had to enhance my strategy, to include not only obtaining the antidote, but dealing with Valek without killing him. I doubted Ari had the solution.

  “You might beat Valek with these blows.” Janco puffed while blocking Maren’s bow. “He’ll laugh himself silly at how pathetically weak they are, giving you the perfect opening.”

  Maren remained silent, but increased the pace of her attack. Janco backed off.

  Janco’s words stirred in my mind. An odd little long-shot plan began to take shape. “Ari, can you teach me how to pick locks?”

  He considered my words in silence. Finally, he said, “Janco could.”

  “Janco?”

  Ari smiled. “He seems harmless and happy-go-lucky, but as a boy he got into all kinds of mischief until he was trapped in a tight spot. Then he was given the choice of either joining the military or going to jail. Now he’s a Captain. His biggest advantage is that no one thinks he is serious, and that’s exactly what he wants.”

  “I’ll try and remember that the next time he’s cracking jokes and my ribs.” I watched Maren beat Janco a second time.

  “Best three out of five, my lady can not deny,” Janco called tirelessly.

  Maren shrugged. “If your ego can handle it,” she replied, swiping at his feet with her bow. He jumped, avoiding her attack with an athletic grace, and lunged. The rhythmic crack of wood striking wood filled our practice room.

  Ari stood, assumed a defensive stance, and somehow I found the energy to face him.

  After the workout, the four of us were resting on the bench when Valek arrived. Maren shot to her feet, as if she thought being found sitting idle was a crime, but the rest of us kept our relaxed positions. I found it fascinating to watch the small changes in Maren’s behavior whenever Valek was around. Her rough edge softened, she smiled more and tried to engage him in conversation or a match. Most of the time he would review fighting tactics with her, or conduct
a practice, and she would preen like an alley cat attracting the biggest tom. But this time he wanted to talk to me. Alone. The others left the room. Maren shot me a dark look with the force of one of her bow strikes. I would pay for this tomorrow, I thought.

  Valek paced. With an uneasy feeling, I hoped that he wasn’t searching for a rock to throw.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked him. “Is it about tonight?” Excitement over exposing Margg soured to nervousness when I thought of the risk I’d be taking. The idea that this might be another waste of time surfaced. Damn Reyad’s ghost! He was making me doubt everything. The leak impacted my life. Someone had tipped off those goons at the fire festival, and Irys had known I was in the forest. Margg needed to be plugged.

  “No. We’re all set for tonight,” Valek said. “This is about the Commander.” He paused.

  “What about him?”

  “Has he been meeting with anyone strange this week?”

  “Strange?”

  “Someone you don’t know or an adviser from another Military District?”

  “Not that I’ve seen. Why?”

  Valek paused again. I could see his mental wheels turning as he considered whether or not to trust me. “Commander Ambrose has agreed to admit a Sitian delegation.”

  “That’s bad?” I asked, confused.

  “He hates southerners! They’ve requested a meeting with him every year since the takeover. And for the last fifteen years, the Commander has replied with a single word: no. Now they’re due to arrive in a week.” Valek’s pacing increased. “Ever since you became the food taster and that Criollo showed up, the Commander has been acting different. I couldn’t put my finger on it before, it was just a nagging feeling, but now I have two particular incidents.”

  “The change in his successor and now the southern delegation?”

  “Exactly.”

  I had no response. My experience with the Commander had been the complete opposite of what I had expected from a military dictator. He considered other opinions, was firm, decisive and fair. His power was obvious; every command was instantaneously obeyed. He lived the spartan life that he endorsed. There was no fear in his advisers and high-ranking officers, just an unflappable loyalty and immense respect. The only horror story since the takeover that I’d heard was about Rand’s mother. Of course, the assassinations before were infamous.