Though Regal wasn’t the only one privy to her secret. Alia’s attention idly roaming onwards over the crowd, halting as her gaze clashed with Cadell’s sulky green eyes. The bard standing on the outer edge of the seated group. His mandolin in his hands as he absently tuned it in readiness for when he would be called forth to entertain.
Still, her senses tingled. Alia hunted things for a living. Knew when she was being watched, when she was being sized up as prey. Her gaze searching now, looking for the threat. There, down by the riverbank, a large group of loitering aristos. Standing in their midst, who should it be, but Master Elliott Heathscote. Sore loser. And a man in desperate need of a fresh cashflow as his title as heir of Heathscote, from the looks of the young woman sitting beside the current Baron, and her burgeoning belly, signalled rather plainly that Elliott was about to lose his credit tokens.
Elliott met Alia’s gaze, a smug smile twisting his lips upwards at the edges. His eyes filled with malice. There was a good chance Elliott had been made privy to the information she was the Beast from one of her easily flattered kin. Plus, he’d left early, before settling his gambling accounts. He might have waited, watched, and decided to take out his anger on her along with a few of his cohorts that night she and Talac foiled the attackers in the woods.
And then there was the incident last night to consider. Regal could have sent one of his men to target Alia. But nor could rule out such a petulant entitled individual as Elliott as her nemesis. Attempting perhaps to soothe his wounded masculine ego by extracting some strange sort of revenge upon her, for declaring Master Kinnith the winner of the suitor hunt and awarding him the majority of the prize money.
It was a struggle to just sit there, sipping cold tea and look like she was enjoying the riverside event when all Alia wanted to do was walk, run, ride… do something active. Sitting here was torture. At least she could take solace in the fact that Perri likewise wasn’t as cool and serene as she liked to pretend. Her sister’s hands clenching and unclenching into fists.
Ignoring Lady Tolbeth’s mop of a dog, Sparkles, as it sniffed its way past her, Alia reached discreetly for Perri’s hand, squeezing it lightly. Her sister relaxing somewhat at the shared comfort and reassurance. Rumours could not hurt them. And unless Alia confessed, how could the title of Beast of Gloomenthrall be pinned upon her?
This was nothing but a small salvo meant to rattle them. Working in their favour actually, bringing into the light several likely suspects who had previously been lurking in the shadows, clearly wishing them ill fortune.
Alia’s thoughts interrupted by a high-piecing shriek of dismay.
“Sparkles!”
Glancing down to her right, Alia noted the white haired moppet had collapsed on to her side, panting heavily, her eyes glazed in pain. Surrounding the small dog on the grass were several half eaten pastries.
“She’s dying. You poisoned her!” Lady Tolbeth descended upon their position, large tears rolling down her cheeks, her complexion a ghostly stark white.
“Give her to me.” Perri’s demanding hiss had Alia scooping the animal up before its owner could. Who let out an even louder piercing shriek, this time in outrage. “And that vase of flowers.”
Alia trusted her sister implicitly, rising smoothly to her feet to block Lady Tolbeth from interfering as Perri plucked out a small blue flower from the decorative arrangement. Rolling the petals between her thumb and fingers to make a paste.
“You’re hurting her. You’re killing her.”
“She’s trying to save her, you foolish woman.” Alia forced to grab one of Tolbeth’s wrists as the woman appeared intent upon scratching her eyes out. “Look.” She shook Tolbeth to get her attention. “Look.” Watching as Perri prized the limp dog’s mouth open, dropping the smooshed flower inside before snapping Sparkles’ muzzle shut, rubbing the dog’s throat gently but firmly to encourage her to swallow.
“What are you-”
“You might want to stand back.” Perri instructed.
Alia always listened to her sister when it came to medial matters, taking a step to the side, dragging a still struggling Tolbeth with her. Just in time, as Sparkles’ eyes widened dramatically, her whole body arching momentarily before her mouth yawned open and she vomited… then vomited some more.
Several nearby ladies shrieked in dismay at the sight. At least Perri had managed to arrange the dog so its outpouring only hit grass. Following two final dry heaves, Sparkles took a deep breath, her panting slowing, it would seem the direst aspects of the episode were over.
Gently Perri passed over the still trembling dog to its owner, who clutched Sparkles furiously to her chest, rocking her like a baby.
Alia stared down at the plate of spilled half eaten pastries… poison. If she’d eaten one… or offered one to Perri, her gut burned with anger. Rumours could be readily ignored, but this… this demanded a response. Problem was, as much as she’d like to pin this attack upon Regal, he did have a history of poison after all, it was almost too easy to blame him. This had been a scattershot attempt. Anyone nearby could have helped themselves to that plate.
Nor could Alia rule out any of the bridal candidates or their families being responsible. Perhaps someone had decided to whittle down the numbers by means of murder. A desperate move. But there was a lot of money, prestige and a life time of luxury at stake.
Heavens, her pool of suspects was positively over brimming… all of whom most likely wanted her dead, or at least incapacitated.
* * *
So this was rage. Talac had experienced anger many times, but never rage.
Worse, thanks to his position as Prince of the Realm, he was feeling more impotent than a blind man armed with a mop. He wanted to wade in to the crowd and start swinging his sword, defend and protect Alia from vicious tongues and even more vicious heinous acts. How dare someone try to poison her. It smacked of subterfuge and cowardice… and unfortunately far too many present were fully capable of orchestrating such an act.
“Perhaps the pastries have turned under the heat of the sun.” He remarked casually. Not wanting whoever was behind this to think he truly believed poison was in play. No, better for them to think they had gotten away with their brazen move, and feel confident enough to try again. For Alia would be on her guard now, and Talac would be watching.
He tuned in to the nearest whispers, wondering what the aristos thought of all this. But the Mamas were too busy gleefully discussing the ramifications of Lady Cannon Rawn’s departure from the bid for queendom to care about some silly dog, who’d over indulged in cream filled puffs.
The number of bridal candidates had dropped by one, the odds were better than ever. All reminding their daughters – under their breath of course – to sit up straighter, smile wider and flutter those fans and eyelashes.
The dismissal had certainly provided a good distraction. No one was talking about the Beast of Gloomenthrall. If anything, from the sly looks of the Mamas, who were casting not so surreptitious glances Lady Tolbeth’s way, they were expecting the Prince to take her slowly quietening hysterics and tear stained face into account and pass some kind of judgement.
