Page 13 of Tanglewood Magic (The Three Sisters 2)
Zelaria bowed her head. “As you wish, my queen. I’ve brought the carriage. We can return to the palace together.”
“Not yet. I’d like to rest a bit longer. Thank you, Zelaria.”
Zelaria stood slowly, leaning on her staff. “Are you certain, my queen? Your duties await.”
“I’ll be there soon.” Medea dismissed Zelaria, and the adviser strode from the apothecary, looking as severe as when she’d walked in.
Once the door chimed and it was clear she was gone, Medea scrubbed her face with her hands. “Fates help us all. He might have killed any one of us if not for you and Circe.”
Rhys pressed a hand to his chest. “It’s our honor to be of service.”
Medea licked her lips. “I wonder if the two of you might be of service once more.”
Circe chose that moment to walk through the front door, the bell chiming above her head. She spotted Rhys through the door to the infirmary and hurried to him. “Is my sister okay?”
“She’s fine,” Rhys said.
But Tavyss’s expression had turned stony. “Things are not fine. Zelaria believes Medea was targeted for assassination by Paragon.”
Circe’s jaw dropped in alarm, and Rhys curbed a strong desire to take her into his arms.
“We don’t know that,” Medea said. “Zelaria captured a servant who had the remains of the poison in his room. He hails from Paragon, and Zelaria assumes that means he’s an assassin sent to kill me. But we have no proof the Obsidian Palace is behind this.”
Tavyss sniffed. “I fear her assumptions are most likely correct.”
Medea’s head snapped around. “What are you saying, darling? You think your brother and sister are behind this?”
“Isolation has never worked for Darnuith,” Tavyss said carefully. “Its witch queen needs to take her place as a leader of her kingdom. She must have a relationship with the rest of Ouros. I do think this was a warning and a threat. It’s even possible Paragon already knows about me. If the servant sent a falcon to Eleanor and Brynhoff before he poisoned you—”
“We have to question this man. We have to know the truth before we can act.” Medea scowled.
“I agree,” Tavyss growled.
Rhys met Circe’s gaze, but he had no answers for the questions in her eyes. “How can we help?” he asked.
Medea toyed with the gem around her neck, sending gold light dancing along the walls of the room. “I’m glad you asked. I was about to ask you for a favor, and I think you’ll need Circe’s help if you agree to it.”
“What kind of a favor?” Rhys asked.
“I want you to make a truth serum. When we question this man Lazys, I want to know exactly who was pulling his strings.”
ChapterSeven
Truth serum wasn’t easy to make. Circe had never mixed such a complex potion, and to her chagrin, Rhys had no experience at the task either. But the apothecary’s grimoire—inherited from his predecessor—contained the spell for one, and they perfected the potion on their third try.
Together, they escorted Medea and Tavyss into the dungeon, a vial of ruby-red liquid in Rhys’s hand. The formula looked and smelled as the book described, but testing it was impossible. Without knowing what side effects the potion might have, they couldn’t safely try it out on anyone they trusted, and anyone they didn’t trust would not make for a valid test. But Circe’s gut told her it was right and would work. She’d learned to trust her instincts when it came to potions.
Lazys was a rat of a man with a nose and chin that narrowed to a point and dark brown eyes that looked black in the shadows. His hair hung in stringy strands to his jaw. Slumped at the back of the cell, he seemed utterly worn down by his imprisonment, although the conditions in the dungeon weren’t overly harsh. Circe noted the space was clean and the air was temperate. The man had clean water to drink.
“Lazys!” Tavyss yelled through the bars. “Are you ready to talk?”
“Fuck you,” the man snapped.
The guards opened the cell and rushed in, seizing Lazys and tipping his head back. Rhys poured the potion into his mouth, and the guards held his mouth closed until he swallowed. When they released him, he thrashed against their hold. “Filthy bastards. Fucking vermin, all of you,” he muttered.
Medea stepped to the bars. “Why did you try to poison me?”
The man gritted his teeth and writhed in his chair, his face turning red as he fought the compulsion to speak. Medea looked at her, and Circe held up her hand. “Give it a chance to work.”
