The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [148]
Petryen frowned. “Of course I let her in. The prince was fostered at her court. Why would we deny her entrance?”
They were too late. Aryn couldn't stop shaking. “Is there anyone else in there with him?”
“The Mournish man Sareth came to pay a visit to His Highness,” Petryen said. “His company seems to cheer the prince, so we allowed him in. Why do you ask?”
Lirith stared at the door. “By the gods—Sareth!”
A muffled crash sounded from behind the door. The duke gave the women a shocked look, then turned and pushed open the door. Aryn and Lirith rushed into the chamber on his heels. The scene within froze Aryn's blood.
Ivalaine had fallen against the sideboard, upsetting a pitcher of wine. Teravian lay on the floor, his face white with fear. Sareth bent over him, clutching the prince's tunic.
“By Vathris, get your hands off of him, you dog!” Petryen shouted.
Before Sareth could react, Petryen grappled him, pulling him away from Teravian. Sareth tried to break free, but then the man-at-arms was there, and both men held Sareth, knocking his wooden leg out from under him, wrestling him onto the bed.
“Murderer,” Petryen said through clenched teeth. “I should have known it was someone the prince trusted, someone who could get close to him. Now you're trying to finish the deed.”
Lirith flung herself at the men. “Leave him alone! You're hurting him!”
The two men ignored her cries, and Ivalaine was already moving. She lurched toward Teravian, who still lay stunned on the floor. Something glinted in her hand: a needle, its tip covered with a green substance. She poised the needle above the prince's throat as he looked up with wide eyes.
“I failed once to protect you from them,” she said. “I will not fail you again.”
Aryn had less than the time between two heartbeats. She reached out and gripped the threads of the Weirding, and as the power of life flowed into her all fear was forgotten. With a single, swift thought, she wove the shining threads into a shimmering new pattern.
Ivalaine cried out. Her feet left the ground, and her body flew backward, as if she had been dealt a blow by an invisible hand. She struck the wall, and the needle flew from her hand. The queen moaned—a sound of fear and rage and pain—and she writhed, but her hands and feet were held fast against the wall, as if bound by ropes no eye could see.
No eyes save Aryn's, for she could see the shining strands of magic that held the queen in place, just as she could sense the way Ivalaine fought against them. However, the queen's power was no match for Aryn's own. Aryn gazed at her hands—the left that was whole, perfect, the right that was twisted and withered. Neither trembled.
“By the Blood of the Bull,” Petryen swore. He let go of Sareth and indicated for the man-at-arms to do the same.
Sareth sat up on the bed. He touched his chin gingerly. A bruise was already forming along his jaw. Lirith ran to him, and he held her tight.
“It was the queen,” Petryen said, disbelief written across his face. “It was she who tried to murder the prince.”
“Twice.” Aryn bent down and picked up the needle, taking care to avoid the tip. “This poison would have stopped his heart in an instant.”
“But why would she do such a thing?” Petryen said.
Teravian had regained his feet. He gazed at Ivalaine, a hand to his throat, the expression in his eyes unreadable. “Maybe you should ask her.”
Aryn knew there was no use in that. Ivalaine had stopped struggling, and she sagged in the invisible bonds. Her eyes were rolled back, her lips wet with spittle. She seemed to be speaking something, only she made no sound.
“Inform the king what has happened,” Petryen said to the guard. “And bring more men to carry her to the dungeon.”
The dungeon? By Sia, it wasn't right—she was a queen. However, the guard nodded, then turned on a heel and left the room.
Aryn moved closer, laying a hand on Ivalaine's cheek. She shut her eyes, probing with the Touch, but Ivalaine's thread was dull gray, and when Aryn grasped it she could sense no light, no spark of consciousness.
Aryn turned around,