The guard nodded, cried for assistance and rushed down the hall with her behind him. At Mihael's door, he paused, not certain how to proceed. Ilsabet pushed past him and flung open the door.
In the few moments since she'd seen the beginning of the fight, Mihael had drawn the dagger. Jorani had managed to get a grip on the young man's wrist, but though he was more powerful than Mihael, anger and fear gave the youth enough strength to resist. The dagger was still in Mihael's hand, Jorani's hand around Mihael's wrist. Jorani had just managed to turn the tip of the blade toward Mihael when Ilsabet barged in.
Jorani let Mihael go. Mihael stumbled backward. Ilsabet stepped aside, and he fell against the guard's blade.
It wasn't a deep cut, one more painful than serious, but Mihael whirled and saw Ilsabet. Certain he was being attacked by a paid assassin, he held up the knife and charged the guard.
"What's going on here!" someone bellowed.
Mihael recognized Shaul and backed off. "I'm being attacked in my own chambers," he said and pointed to the guard.
"The baroness came to me and said she'd heard arguing in here and thought someone might be attacking her brother," the guard said and went on to describe what he'd seen.
"Isn't that your own knife you're holding?" Shaul asked Mihael.
"It is," Mihael admitted.
Shaul sighed. "I'll send someone to dress your wound. I'm sure the baron will want to see all of you in the morning," he said.
"I'll stay with you until someone comes," Ilsabet said to Mihael.
"Mo! I'd rather be alone."
Ilsabet looked at Mihael as if he'd lost his mind. "Please stay with him," she said to Shaul with an apologetic smile and followed Jorani into the hall. "We'll sort this insanity out tomorrow." She spoke loudly enough for Shaul to hear, then went into her own room and bolted the door.
Jorani exchanged a few words with Shaul, keeping his side of the incident as close to the truth as he dared, and went upstairs. There he heard a tapping from the hidden room beneath his floor. As he expected, Ilsabet was waiting for him.
She had lit all the candles and her hair glowed in the light. She wore the same robe as earlier, the lace hem of the nightshirt just visible above her slippered feet. She stood in the corner of the room, flanked by the hanging web-filled globe and the glass bowl of ants, as if she were a part of some deadly tableau.
"Tomorrow morning, Mihael is probably going to accuse you of murder," Jorani told her.
"I know. I doubt Peto will listen, especially when Shaul tells Peto how Mihael was raving tonight."
"He was hardly raving," Jorani countered.
"I know what Shaul thinks he saw." She picked up one of the candles and held the flame against the side of the glass ant bowl.
"What are you doing?" Jorani asked.
"Watch." The creatures nearest the heat fled to the surface and milled around, climbing over one another, their legs and antennae flailing. She kept the heat on the side of the bowl for a few more moments, then pulled it back. The ants gradually calmed and made their way back into their nest.
"Fire seems to truly terrify them. The powder is much more potent now." She picked up the mortar and spooned a pinch of the sand into it. Wrapping a scarf around her face to keep from breathing in the drug, she stood at the table, slipped on some leather gloves and began grinding the sand into a fine powder.
"When they are truly terrified, you need so much less to create complete hysteria in your victim."
"How did you discover it?" he asked.
"By accident when I held up a candle to get a closer look at them. I tested the powder on the blind rebel leader. He knew what I had done but had no choice. He rushed after me. I stepped aside and he went over the edge."
Jorani thought of Mihael's accusation. He doubted Ilsabet would tell the truth, but he had to ask, "Did you kill your sister?"
She looked at him, as if weighing her answer. "Do you really think I would kill my own kin?"
"Mihael does," he said. He expected her to be angry. Instead, she continued grinding the sand. "What are you going to do with it?" he asked.
She held up the pestle, showing him the grinding end coated with the powder. "Does it look like dust?"
"Quite. But it's such a little bit."
"It's more than enough." She smiled as she took a length of hollow reed from the vase in the corner. Using a folded piece of parchment, she tapped the powder into the reed. Laying it carefully on the table, she cleaned her tools, then carried the powder-filled reed to the secret door.
"What will you do with it?" he asked.
"You'll see tomorrow," she said. "Rest easy, Jorani. Peto will never believe him when he sees how Mihael acts tomorrow. Incidently, when Peto summons you, don't rush down." As she walked past him, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the lips. Some of the dust must have leaked through her makeshift mask because he felt suddenly confused himself, and a bit dizzy. He sat at the table and stared at the spider in its hanging crystal home.
So deadly. So innocent. So like the child.
The pounding on his door woke Mihael the following morning. He'd intended to get up early and speak to Baron Peto before anyone else did, but apparently he'd misjudged the time. Still hoping to tell his side of the events before Ilsabet and Jorani met with Peto, Mihael dressed quickly, taking time only to wet down and comb his unruly hair and to brush his mustache-or what there was of it.
People had been laughing at him ever since he began growing it in the hopes of looking older, more worthy of respect. Even though it was finally thick enough to be noticeable, he still heard comments that it seemed out of place on a face that otherwise only needed a shave every three days or so.
"Compensating for youth," he repeated aloud, wondering why the taunt that he usually ignored seemed so galling this morning.
His nerves were on edge, he decided, and rightfully so. Peto wasn't likely to believe him, but then Peto was a fool for a pretty face. As he bent over to wash his face, he grimaced from the pain of last night's wound. They were all fools, including himself for letting Jorani enrage him so.
Vowing to keep his temper today, he went downstairs. When Mihael arrived, Peto and Shaul were sitting at the table and a servant was pouring tea. Peto had apparently just risen. His hair was uncombed, his feet bare. "Would you like a cup of tea while we wait for the others?" Peto asked.
"Actually, I'd like a chance to speak to you in private," Mihael replied.
"I believe this is private enough," Peto replied and placed a cup and saucer in front of him. The cup was large, the handle delicately curved. The rim was trimmed in gold and a painted black dragon curved around the inside of the cup.
Mihael was used to two meals a day; one late in the morning and the other at dusk. To him, Peto's habits seemed far too civilized. And having his lieutenant sit at his table clearly created a lack of respect. Peto was the ruler, but all too often he seemed to forget it, giving his iackeys a respect they did not deserve. For the first time, he considered that Peto's sophistication might be a handicap in Kislova. Indeed, as he thought of it further-with incredible speed-he reached the conclusion that it was amazing that Sundell had managed to defeat Kislova at all.
"I understand that you and Lord Jorani were arguing last night?" Peto began.
Mihael nodded. Now that his hair was almost dry, the locks fell forward and Mihael ran his hand through them, pushing them back. He felt dull from lack of sleep and nervous as well. Last night anger and fear had made him impetuous. Today, he wasn't certain how to approach this matter.
"Can you explain?" Peto asked.
The baron's voice was too gentle, patronizing. But Mihael was no child, and this was not his imagination. "I believe that the poison in my sister's room was left there by her. I think she killed Greta deliberately."