CHAPTER 22

image

The greenhouse was hot and humid, and the fronds of trailing plants brushed Rieuk’s face as he made his way to Magus Aqil’s laboratory. The moist air was heavy with strange scents, some peppery and vivid that tickled his nostrils, others musky, tinged with a fetid odor of decay.

Aqil’s gift lay in the culture and uses of plants. Rieuk supposed that he should have guessed that such a talent would make the secretive magus a master of poisons as well.

“Ah, there you are, Rieuk.” Aqil looked up from his work; earthy tubers lay sliced open on a marble board beside a pestle and mortar. “Oranir, bring me the elixir we prepared for Emissary Mordiern.”

A dark-eyed youth appeared from the inner room, carrying a phial, which he presented to Rieuk, bowing his head. As he looked up, Rieuk felt a sudden jolt of recognition. The boy was regarding him gravely with a gaze that reminded him painfully of Imri, although the mage-glitter in his black eyes was not warm amber but the scarlet and gold of burning magma.

“Oranir?” Rieuk said dazedly. “An earth mage?” Oranir vanished swiftly into the inner room before Rieuk could thank him.

“My new apprentice. He somehow found his way to Ondhessar from Djihan-Djihar. He doesn’t say much. I’d guess from the scars on his body that he was treated very harshly when his mage blood first asserted itself.”

Aqil’s words stirred bitter memories in Rieuk. The thought that anyone could have been cruel enough to damage the boy’s flawless olive skin sent a stab of bright anger through him.

“So in spite of the Inquisition’s purges, there are still children being born with the gift?”

“Oranir is the first since you came to us, Rieuk. We are a dying breed,” said Aqil, lightly enough. “Now, this elixir works in two ways. It will give Gobain of Francia the illusion that the cancer eating away at his bowel has been cured.”

“Isn’t that more cruel than poison?” Rieuk held up the phial, examining the viscous liquid within. It had a purplish tinge, reminding him of the dusty bloom on the skin of fresh-picked grapes. “To give him false hope?”

“If you really want to be arrested and executed as a poisoner and regicide, then I can give you a far swifter poison to administer,” Aqil said mildly, taking back the phial. “But to allow you time to ‘disappear,’ you need your remedy to be seen to work.”

“And the second stage?”

“The elixir will accelerate the growth of the cancer, making it much more aggressive. By the time you’ve left Francia, the king will suffer a sudden relapse and die. So your challenge is to find a way to administer the elixir. Have you worked out a strategy?”

Rieuk did not answer. He was trying to master a growing feeling of disgust. This deadly elixir seemed an underhanded and cowardly way to carry out the Arkhan’s vendetta.

 

Rieuk took lodgings close to the Jardin des Plantes, the physic gardens renowned throughout the quadrant for their collection of medicinal plants from many countries. The most notable Francian physicians came to exchange ideas in the library and it was here that Rieuk went to present the specimens he had brought from Aqil’s greenhouse.

“I doubt any of the Francians will have seen a scarlet-speckled fritillary or a white balsam poppy before; they only bloom in the hidden valley,” Aqil had told him. “The poppy will pique the physicians’ interest, especially when you tell them of its cancer-healing properties…”


image


“I’ve been listening to you with great interest, Doctor Suriel. This elixir that you claim can stop the growth of cancer…”

Rieuk looked up and saw a smartly dressed man addressing him. “And you are?” he asked levelly.

“Vallot, personal physician to his majesty the king.”

“Emeric Suriel,” Rieuk said, bowing. Aqil had helped Rieuk construct a convincing identity for his role, even down to inventing a Djihari physician father and a Francian mother.

“What proof do you have that this elixir of yours works where other remedies have failed?” Doctor Vallot said, regarding him intensely through his monocle, as if he were scrutinizing one of his patients. “And why should we trust your methods more than our own?”

Rieuk shrugged. “Indeed, why should you? I’ve studied in Enhirre and Djihan-Djihar for several years; the Djihari physicians use many remedies unknown to us in Francia.” He could sense from his silence that Doctor Vallot was interested in his proposal. “But since you don’t trust my methods…” He picked up his bag, turned, and made for the door, hoping that the ruse had worked.

“Wait.”

Rieuk stopped but did not turn around.

“I’m sure you’ll understand my reticence in this matter.” Doctor Vallot’s tone was almost placating. “It’s the king’s health we’re dealing with here, after all.”

“Of course.” Rieuk still did not turn around.

“We’ll need to check your papers.”

“I’m sure you’ll find that everything is in order,” Rieuk said quietly. The Arkhan’s secretaries had supplied “Emeric Suriel” with Enhirran passports and testimonials, confirming his status as a qualified physician. “But please don’t take too long in making your decision. My visa only lasts for a few more days.”

“Where can we find you?”

Rieuk turned away to hide a smile of bitter triumph. “I have lodgings at the rue de l’Arbalète.”