Eryshae

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The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of the chamber, casting gold-flecked lacework over the stone floor. A tray of delicate fruit, honeyed bread, and softly poached eggs sat beside a silver cup of water etched with an old druidic motif; leaves curled into spirals and suns blooming with thorns. Vael sat at the table, the velvet of her robe drawn close around her arms as she flipped the page with deliberate slowness, though she hadn't absorbed a single word.

Vael leaned back in her chair, legs crossed, one brow slightly raised as she turned a page in Thrust and Temper. The prose was laughably unsubtle, but she welcomed the distraction. It was either this or stare into the hearth and spiral.

Slick with Oil: Lubrication in the Forge lay facedown beside her tea tray from the day before; abandoned after a scene involving a forge, a misplaced hammer, and dialogue that had nearly made her blush. She'd switched to Thrust and Temper: A Metalworker's Guide to Penetration and Patience; not because it was better written; it wasn't; but because it at least pretended to be about metallurgy.

If anyone barged in now, she could claim she was researching forging techniques. The fact that the protagonist had just said, "I need a firm grip on your shaft if I'm to temper it properly," was simply... incidental.

Her quarters were hushed, save for the slow creak of timber in the high ceiling. A plate of untouched breakfast sat cooling on the table beside her; perfectly arranged, entirely ignored. The scent of cinnamon and bitterroot lingered, but her stomach churned.

Despite the elegance of the breakfast, her thoughts tasted of ash.

The vote loomed like an axe overhead, its fall inevitable. She had not slept well, nor deeply, though none would know it to look at her. The night was full of dreams of the Moon and Sam. Her face, composed in a sculptor's calm, betrayed nothing of the weight she carried. She had risen early, reviewed the roll of electors, and sent for Bryndel; ostensibly to question his baffling nomination, but more truthfully to ask if he had found Sam.

Where are you? she thought, fingers tightening slightly around her fork. And why did he pick you?

The knock at her chamber door made her jump slightly, snapping the book shut and slipping it into the folds of her robe. "Enter," she called, schooling her expression into cool neutrality.

"Lady Vael," came the attending voice of Kinan. "Lord Durnan and his son, Ruwan Eberflame, request an audience." Her fingers paused mid-turn. Them? Now? She had summoned Bryndel; not the Eberflames. "Send them in."

Moments later, the door swung open to admit the Eberflames. Durnan entered first; stately, silvered, dressed with precision. Ruwan followed, carrying a lacquered tray with a teapot and cups carved from agate and obsidian. It was a beautiful set, ceremonial in style, and Vael; tense and distracted; allowed herself a moment of aesthetic appreciation.

"A gift," Ruwan said smoothly. "A calming blend. You look like someone preparing for battle." Vael didn't rise to the jab. "I am." She nodded once and gestured toward the low table. "Pour, then. Say what you came to say."

As Ruwan stepped forward to pour, the scent of the tea rose; jasmine bark, red moss, and something deeper beneath it. Familiar in a way she couldn't quite place.

Durnan, meanwhile, took the offered chair with the grace of a seasoned manipulator. "We ask only a few minutes, Lady Vael. The vote ahead demands clarity and unity. My son and I hope to provide both," Durnan gave a slight bow, "before this morning's decisions cast their longest shadows."

Vael accepted the cup from Ruwan with a graceful nod, her fingers curling around the carved obsidian. The heat of the liquid bled into her skin, grounding her for a breath. She didn't sip; yet. She only held it, the way one might hold a blade in the dark before knowing which way it pointed.

The scent rose; jasmine bark, red moss, and something else. Earthy, metallic, like iron and secrets. She narrowed her eyes slightly, as if she could puzzle it out by scent alone. It reminded her of something. Not a taste. A memory.

She shifted the cup in her hands, letting the scent unfurl. The room, for a moment, seemed too still. The Eberflames watched her closely, though they masked it with civility: Durnan with that ever-patient diplomat's calm, Ruwan with something more eager beneath his lashes.

Vael raised the cup to her lips, pausing only as the scent tugged again at some buried memory. A familiar blend? She couldn't say why, but her instincts whispered caution. Still, she'd played this game before. With Ruwan and Durnan, hesitation would read as weakness. She tilted the cup, the rim brushing her lower lip;

The door burst open without warning.

"Vael, don't!"

A blur of movement: Sam. Faster than thought. His palm struck the base of her wrist just as she began to sip. The cup flew from her hand, shattering against the floor in a splash of dark amber and obsidian shards. Vael stared, frozen. Her breath caught halfway between shock and fury.

Sam stood in front of her, his chest rising with rapid breath. One arm flung protectively out. His other hand glowed faintly green at the fingertips, veins alive with light that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat; visible through the skin in subtle lines of bioluminescent warning.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"I; what in the gods' names do you think; " Vael began, rising to her feet, but stopped when she saw his face.

Not anger. Fury.

Real, raw fury.

Ruwan's expression hardened, and Durnan rose in kind, a picture of offended decorum. "This is an outrageous breach," Durnan said coldly while looking at Vael. "Is this the boy who's up for Cardinal?"

"Bryndel," Vael snapped, turning toward the door just as the older man entered, panting slightly from the exertion of catching up. "I tried to stop him," Bryndel said, breathless. "He wouldn't wait."

Sam didn't look away from the tea. "There's something in it. I don't know what, but; I smelled it. Same blend you offered me the night I was taken; Ruwan."

A beat of silence.

Ruwan's brows lifted. "I assure you, it's a family recipe. Not... poison."

"Of course," Sam said softly, his voice edged like steel wrapped in silk. "Just your family's way of brewing tea." Vael glanced down at the spilled tea. A slow knot of unease coiled in her chest. She turned to Ruwan, voice cold. "You brewed this yourself?" Ruwan's smile was steady, but his eyes flickered. "Naturally."

Vael stepped forward, now in command again, ignoring the dampness at her feet. "Then you'll drink it." The silence that followed was deeper than stone.

Sam's voice cut through the tension, low but unwavering. "It's a LiangXin teapot. Ancient design. Elegant, deceptive."

He moved closer, careful not to step in the tea. "There are two chambers inside, completely separate. What you pour depends on how you cover the airholes; one hidden near the handle, the other near the base of the spout."

Vael's eyes narrowed, attention fixed on the teapot like it might shift on its own.

Sam continued, every word deliberate. "Cover one hole, and it pours from one chamber. Cover the other, and it pours from the second. It looks like a simple pour; until you know what to look for."

He turned to Ruwan, voice darkening. "You must have covered the airhole with your finger when you handed her the cup. Just like you did when you served me that night."

A slow, visceral realization coiled in Vael's chest. Sam didn't blink. "One chamber held harmless tea. The other? Whatever you meant for her to drink."

Vael's voice was steel beneath velvet. "For fairness," she said, gesturing toward the spilled tea and then the intact pot, "you'll pour a cup. Right now. With both hands open. No clever fingers."

Ruwan's jaw tightened. "Lady Vael, surely;"

"Now."

Even Durnan hesitated, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Ruwan moved to the table, lifting the teapot with slow, deliberate precision. Sam stepped closer, watching every motion. "Hold it with both hands at the base," he instructed. "Thumbs away from the handle. Pour into that cup." He pointed to one the servants had brought, still clean and dry.

Ruwan obeyed. The pour came slower this time, the amber stream thinner, scent slightly different. When he finished, Vael gave a short nod. "Drink it." He hesitated; half a second too long. "Is there a problem?" Vael asked. The room felt ten degrees colder.

Ruwan lifted the cup and drank. A long pause. He set it down, dabbing at his mouth with the back of his hand. "There. Harmless." But Sam didn't relax. "Different smell. That's the neutral chamber. You poured from it just now." Ruwan looked at him, expression carefully flat. "I followed your instructions."

"And yet," Sam murmured, "only one of those chambers made me black out for two days." Vael turned slowly toward Durnan. "This audience is over." Durnan gave a shallow bow, lips pressed thin. "We regret the misunderstanding."

"You'll regret more than that," Vael said, voice barely a whisper.

Vael moved to the bell-cord beside the hearth and gave it a sharp tug. The chime rang once; low, resonant, and unmistakable. Within moments, the door opened and Kinan stepped inside, eyes alert.

"My Lady?" he asked, noting the broken cup and the guarded posture of Sam at her side. Vael stepped back from the spill of broken obsidian and tea, her expression cold as a drawn blade. "Kinan," she said, voice calm but cutting.

Vael didn't look at him. She looked at Durnan and Ruwan Eberflame, both standing with rigid, practiced dignity. "Escort Lord Durnan and his son to the holding cells," she said. "Separate chambers. No contact."

Durnan gave a shallow bow, his pride unshaken. "As you wish, Lady Vael. I trust this is temporary, and clarity will prevail."

"I imagine it will," she replied coolly. "Once Myrtle confirms what your 'family blend' contains." Ruwan handed the teapot to one of Kinan's men without protest. "A misunderstanding, no doubt," he said, smiling thinly. "We'll cooperate fully."

Kinan gestured, and two guards moved to either side of the Eberflames. Neither father nor son resisted. They moved as if to a diplomatic meeting, not detainment; shoulders squared, heads high.

As the door shut behind them, Vael let out a slow breath. The scent of the tainted tea still clung to the air. "Cooperate all you like," she murmured. "You're still going to answer."

Silence lingered; dense and vibrating with the tension they left behind. Sam's hand was still faintly aglow, though his breath had begun to steady. Vael remained still for a beat, staring down at the damp fragments of the teacup on the floor.

Then, Bryndel spoke. "I'll send for Myrtle," he said quietly, already stepping toward the outer hall. "If there's anything in that pot that shouldn't be, she'll know."

Vael didn't answer at first. Her gaze was still locked on the teapot. The spout still glistened with its last pour. A vessel split in two. A trick. A trap. "Make sure she brings her full kit," Vael murmured, voice low. "And tell her to hurry."

Bryndel gave a tight nod and disappeared through the doorway. Left alone with Sam, Vael looked at him, her expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, softly: "Thank you."

Sam didn't speak. His hand twitched once at his side, still faintly green. "You could have let me drink it," she added, her voice quieter still. "That would've made your nomination a great deal simpler."

That made Sam look up. "Don't joke about that," he said, voice rough, something raw flashing across his face. "Nothing will harm you." The silence stretched between them again; but this time, something warmer moved through it. Not relief. Not yet.

But the beginning of trust. Vael stood still. Her hands were clenched, her pulse steadying inch by inch. Then she felt it; warmth, steady and grounding; his hand brushing hers.

Sam didn't speak right away. He only stepped closer, his glow softened now to the faintest thread of green beneath his skin. "I acted without thinking," he said, quiet. "I didn't know what they meant to do. I just… reacted." She didn't flinch from his closeness. "You saved me," she murmured. "Thank you."

He offered a small, wry smile. "You are very welcome." She turned to him then, resting her forehead against his for a breath of stillness neither of them had known in days. "I appreciate you," she whispered. Her hand slid up his chest, pausing over the faint glow of his heart. "It's green," she said softly.

"Because I'm furious at what they did," he answered, the truth of it in his voice. "Because I care." For a moment, the world narrowed to shared breath and quiet presence.

Then Sam glanced past her, his eye catching on the small side table where a book lay face down and slightly askew. He reached for it with idle curiosity and turned it over, brow arching. "Slick with Oil: Lubrication in the Forge?" he read aloud, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth.

Vael stiffened. "It's… a technical manual." Sam gave her a look, the edges of his grin deepening. "Clearly." She snatched it from his hands, cheeks faintly flushed for the first time in hours. "I liked the hammer scene," she added with mock thoughtfulness. A sultry smirk on her lips and her cheeks blushing brightly. She leans in and kisses him.