Page 89 of The Tainted Cup

My eyes fluttered. A voice swam up in my memories: Princeps Topirak, bruised, weeping in the healing tub, and whispering—The Engineers make the world. Everyone else just lives init.

“You just remembered something,” said Fayazi’s axiom.

It was the first time she’d spoken, and her voice was soft and husky. I found it startling. “Beg pardon?” I asked.

The axiom was watching me carefully now. “You just had a memory—yes? What was it?”

I chose to ignore her question, and instead turned to Fayazi. “Tell me what your father did after his arrival, please, ma’am,” I said. “Did he encounter any steam or hot water during the party?”

If my rudeness offended the axiom, I noted, I could not see it in her face.

“Not during,” said Fayazi. “But after. He took his steam bath, directly after the party ended in the middle of the afternoon. It’s important for his joints.”

“Had anyone tampered with his bath?”

“The porters and attendants, surely. But they would have mentioned it if they had seen anything.”

“Then what?”

“He went to bed. As I said, he is very old and frail.”

I asked her more questions then, about the party and the grounds and the defenses at the gates (“We employed tarsa plants and clothseed vines at the entry,” her engraver said, “which should have alerted us to any contagion present, be it of the fumic or verdant variety”); about the comings and goings of the attendees (“We had threehundred ewers of mulled sotwine at the start of the event,” Fayazi said wryly, “and only sixteen at the end, so things got rather muddled, yes”), and on and on. When I was satisfied, I asked her if anything suspicious had happened at all during the event.

“Nothing suspicious,” she said, shrugging. “Not that I can recall.”

Her engraver twitched. “There was the fire, ma’am,” he said with a slight cough.

“A fire?” I said.

“Oh, that,” Fayazi said. She waved her pale hand again—her favorite gesture, apparently. “That seemed as nothing, to me.”

“We had blackwood burning in the fireplaces,” explained the engraver. “Laced with silverdust, so the fires burned silver and green. One popped and sent an ember onto the carpet.”

“And then?” I asked.

“It caused a flare,” said the engraver. “A very small fire. Smoke and a stir in the crowd. It is not uncommon. The madam and I attended to it ourselves, and it was quickly dealt with.”

“The greater damage was probably done,” said Fayazi, “by me showing up with porters and guards and starting everyone’s tongues a-wagging.”

“When was this?” I asked.

A flicker to the engraver’s eyes. “At two in the afternoon.”

“And did you account for the presence of all your guests after this?”

“It took time,” said Fayazi. “But yes.”

“How much time?”

“An hour, perhaps.” Her face changed as some thought struck her, a sudden sadness coursing through her eyes: real grief, real sorrow. “You…you think that’s when they did it, don’t you. That’s when they…they planted the poison.”

I studied the gleam of grief in her eyes, surprised by it. “How close were you and your father, ma’am?”

“Why?” she asked. “You don’t thinkIam the plotter behind this,do you?”

“I’m obliged by my role to ask about all relationships.”

She looked me over. “You are young. And altered recently. Probably for the pay, yes? Sending your dispensations home to your family, like so many Iyalet officers do?”