Poison—excerpt

Prologue

“What is my name again?” Arel asked.

Lem cast Arel a look of disapproval. “Geln.”

“God, it sounds like I’ve been castrated.” Arel gazed at himself in the mirror. The long leather boots were soft and comfortable, as were the baggy pants that ended at the knees, but he disliked the high-necked jacket and the padded gloves. No doubt he didn’t fully appreciate the importance of giving people the impression he had long fingers.

Arel sighed. How had he managed to land this assignment? He’d kept his head down in training, charmed his instructors, been a good student. Too good, he supposed. Now they thought he could infiltrate an alien society—or they could afford to throw him away if he failed.

What an appalling idea.

Don’t show you’re tense. The mirror is two-way. He forced himself to relax, though that act of will left him with the uncomfortable impression that he didn’t belong to the mirrored green-eyed waif lost in layers of clothing. Thin but muscular, Arel felt too old to appear waiflike. His gaze rested on his face for a moment, in order to convince himself he was there, just undercover. His lips curved as if the entire prep amused him. Or perhaps he just looked weary.

“Geln, try to muster up a bit more enthusiasm.” Lem was an ass. Arel didn’t want to enter a feudal society and Lem knew it, but saying no to one’s first assignment was unwise, if not impossible. “Do you think you’re prepared?” A bit late for that question to be asked.

“Don’t worry. I’m ready.” Arel turned his green eyes on Lem. Were they lit with enthusiasm? Perhaps not, but the new emerald irises were stunning. Considered beautiful and lucky in the city of Riman, the green didn’t quite match his dark complexion. He felt a pang of nostalgia for his liquid browns.

But the big greens worked. Lem relaxed and began to make soothing noises about Geln’s talent and how the Alliance wouldn’t have chosen Geln if he wasn’t fully capable.

Arel tried to feel flattered. He was to accomplish two things—acquire information about the political situation on Rimania and pave the way for greater contact with the Alliance. Unfortunately, he was also a secondary operative. Someone else was in charge of where he should go and what he should do. Someone he would be forced to blindly trust.

“It’s a typical first assignment,” Lem added cheerfully.

Arel nodded in a manly, decisive way. After all, he was ambitious, arrogant, and poor enough to take this highly paid assignment in a violent culture on the cusp of change. He didn’t have deep personal ties to hold him back. His ability to connect to and inspire confidence in different types of people would serve him well.

“Geln?”

Arel’s head flipped up. Lost in thought, he’d been staring at his boots.

“Great!” Lem grinned. “You’re responding to your name.”

Great. Geln displayed a most winning smile through the mirror. He wanted them to remember his enthusiasm for this assignment.

Chapter One

Sunlight streamed in through the full wall of window. Tobias Smator squinted into overwhelming brightness while his mother lectured him, her voice clipped with purpose.

“You’re now third in line for the lordship. Have you considered what you might do with your new position?”

“No.” He rubbed his aching forehead. Even the tablecloth was too bright.

“Tobias. Look at me when I speak to you.”

He shouldn’t have agreed to lunch with his mother. He had thought she might be upset about her brother-in-law’s recent death, but the event had only fueled her ambition for her son.

She eyed him. “Don’t tell me you haven’t examined the consequences of your uncle’s passing.”

“No.” He did not intend to tell her he was sad.

She clicked her tongue in disapproval.

Annoyed, Tobias blurted out, “If I kill Serge and Ruel, the lordship will be mine. Is that what you mean by consequences?” Okay, immature, but he didn’t care. “No? Good, since I don’t want to commit murder.”

Her long fingernails clattered against the tabletop in rhythmic irritation. “Must you sound like you’re ten years old? Besides”—she looked over as if sizing him up—“you’re quite incapable of any such action.”

Tobias laughed too loudly at her odd response. “Don’t get excited because there’s one less warm body between the lordship and I. It won’t even last. Serge’s wife is pregnant.”

“It might be a girl.”

“It might. Leave me alone, Mother.”

“You’re not like your father.”

Tobias pushed back his chair. “God, I hope not. Father’s ambition got him killed. I have no desire to be lord and Serge knows it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, your goal in life is to amount to nothing.”

He blinked, trying not to reveal how much her attack surprised him. “Not entirely. Someone killed Uncle Perrin. I intend to find out who.”

“Don’t start that again. Lord Eberly, the Minister of State”—his mother did like to stress that oh-so-important title of her latest conquest—“has himself concluded that Perrin died of a heart attack.”

“He was fit,” Tobias muttered. His mother was either flirting or having an affair with Perrin’s old nemesis, so she chose not to see a conflict of interest in Eberly heading the too-brief investigation into Perrin’s death. “Times are changing, Mother. If Rimania wants to have the benefits of becoming an affiliate of the Alliance, namely its gifts of technology, the ruling class must behave. Killing each other indiscriminately is rather frowned upon.”

“Of course I don’t think you should kill your cousins,” she declared wearily. “But you can use some political savvy to gain power. You’re closer to the lordship now and people will notice. If you let them.”

He was not closer to the lordship. He was the son of Tomas, the second brother, the one who was not supposed to become lord. Serge and Ruel, the two sons of the first brother, were directly in line for the prize. Both were willing and eager to inherit the post. Tobias was not.

“You will attend the funeral tomorrow night,” she said.

“I was planning to.” He stood.

“For goodness’ sake, Tobias, I’m talking to you. Sit down.” She pointed to his chair.

His face heated.

“You are twenty-three-years old. Is it possible to start acting your age? All you do is hang out at those stupid pubs and have affairs with the stupid women Ruel passes on to you. The intelligent women all leave him.”

Unable to stomach this conversation, he turned and walked away. She chased after him, her tone less strident, even a hint of apology in her voice. “You’re young. But not so young you can’t appreciate intelligence in your partners.” She placed a hand on his arm and he had to stop. “I know I like intelligent men.”

Tobias stared down at his mother in consternation.

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard rumors about you,” she said delicately, tilting her head up. “Anything you’d like to share with me?”

God, no. What was with her today? He wanted to escape. He stared out the windows that no longer made him squint. The sky, as was its wont, had clouded over. Weather changed quickly in the city.

“You don’t need to run away, Tobias,” she persisted. “I am your mother. Even if you’re not the only young man in my life.”

Wonderful. She wanted to discuss her latest sycophant with him. Something must have shown on his face because she removed her hand and a sneer marred her features.

“Prude. You’re like your father in some ways.” His mother had always made it clear that she thought his father a wastrel who’d managed to get killed while trying to wrest the lordship from his older, cleverer brother. Tomas Smator had left his infant to be raised by a woman whose main desire in life, despite her occasional political sallies, was to be fancied by young men or older men if they were powerful. Preferably both.

Tobias despised his mother. Technically, as his father’s heir, he could kick her off his estate.

She smoothed her expression, as if aware she’d gone too far. “Come, come, it’s not so bad. Go to Georg’s for a new outfit and charge it to me.” Her mouth fixed itself into a stiff smile.

Not trusting himself to speak, Tobias bowed and walked out of the house, then veered off the stone path onto the lawn. It was early spring and the heels of his boots cut into the new grass, spattering the good leather, leaving half-circles of mud in his wake. He didn’t see where he was going. A blur of green surrounded him.

He ran a hand through his hair until the gesture irritated him and then he swung long arms in rhythm to his stride, a motion that reassured him. It took a while for the ball of anger in his chest to dissipate, for his heartbeat to subside to one consistent with a brisk walk.

Why had she ambushed him like that? Bringing up his social life when she had never before shown interest? Was it a new game? His private life had always been off limits.

He could threaten to remove her from the house, he thought a little desperately. But it wouldn’t assuage the anger he felt about his uncle’s death, his murder. Everyone else accepted the heart-attack story, but Perrin had been in excellent health. And two weeks ago, Perrin warned Tobias that politics could be dangerous. It made Tobias sick to think someone had killed a good man. There were so few of them. The back of his throat tasted of acid.

He wasn’t looking forward to the funeral. Serge, with his heightened status, would be smug, not mournful. Not that his cousin was bright enough to arrange such a deceptive death as his father’s. In fact, neither of Perrin’s sons were strong men.

With his uncle gone, the political movement to withdraw Rimania from negotiations with the Alliance had lost its leader. Tobias hadn’t necessarily agreed with Perrin’s politics, but he had loved his uncle.

In mid-stride Tobias changed direction and headed across the estate. He ignored the light rain that began to fall, though he should have grabbed a hat before he left the house. No matter. The tailor wouldn’t judge his matted hair and his mud-spattered boots.

*

“Shall I add another half-inch to the fingers, sir?”

Tobias sighed. “No, thank you. My hands are large enough as it is.”

“Yes, sir,” said the tailor doubtfully while Tobias ignored the old man’s muted disapproval. Padded tips were awkward and stupid, and his hands were already long and big, though not elegant. Much like the rest of him.

The bell over the door rang and Tobias turned to see Ruel walk in. Tobias looked a mess and Ruel would notice. On the other hand, Ruel might distract Tobias from his morbid thoughts.

“Hey, Tobias, preparing for the funeral?”

Well, maybe not. “Yes.”

“Mommy sent you here, eh?” Ruel clapped Tobias on the shoulder.

Tobias frowned.

“Oh come on, Tobe.” Tobias hated being called Tobe. “Try not to look like such a bedraggled pup. You’re positively forlorn here.”

Tobias found Ruel’s determined manner of not being affected by his father’s death wearying. It made him angry. Both sons had, like their mother, the depth of a tablecloth. They’d laughed off Tobias’s suggestion that Perrin had been murdered.

Finger by finger, Tobias tugged off his new gloves. “I liked your father,” he said quietly.

Ruel tousled Tobias’s hair. “Such a sentimentalist. A mess of a sentimentalist,” he added, theatrically shaking his now-wet hand. “What have you been doing? Wading through the family ponds? I suppose I should be so fortunate as to have family ponds to wade through but I’ve been denied the extravagance. They belong to my brother.”

The tailor waited patiently for the two young men to finish their inane conversation. Tobias slapped the two gloves together and held them out. “Can you wrap these, please?” he asked the old man. “I’ll pick up the suit tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tobias, wait for me and we’ll head over to Fargo’s.”

“No.” Since Tobias never said “no”, Ruel looked taken aback. Tobias shrugged.

“Are you in one of your funks?” Ruel demanded and Tobias didn’t react. Ruel smiled, charmingly. “I have a certain Ann-Marie on my back, Tobias. I know you find her green eyes beguiling.”

Remembering his mother’s words, Tobias felt his stomach churn.

Puzzled, Ruel let his charming smile fade. “Well, a sour face wasn’t quite the reaction I expected. I thought you liked her. We usually have similar tastes. Doesn’t Ann-Marie attract you?”

“No.” Tobias wiped his face. He was beginning to sweat.

“But what will I do with her?” Ruel appeared genuinely stumped.

“I have to go.”

This time, Ruel shrugged. “Met your mother’s new boyfriend yet?”

Tobias took the barb full on, as Ruel planned. “Fuck, no.” It was really time to leave. “Bye, Ruel.” Tobias stalked out of the shop.

*

Through the sealed glass case, Tobias examined his uncle’s face one last time. Death and cosmetics couldn’t quite erase the humor and kindness of the man. Nor could they tell Tobias who had killed him. Not everyone had loved Lord Perrin Smator, but he, perhaps out of guilt, had watched over Tobias, even protecting him from Serge from time to time.

Tobias didn’t want to think about Serge. He looked at the people milling about, forming clusters and breaking apart. This funeral was a thinly disguised excuse for a party and no one seemed to care much about Perrin.

Miffed by yesterday’s rebuff, Ruel ignored Tobias, so he stood by himself while Ann-Marie stuck to a disgruntled Ruel like glue. About one-quarter of the women Ruel ended up dumping took Tobias’s soft landing. After all, Tobias had an estate and if he lacked charm, well, at least he was tall. Women seemed to like that.

His affairs never lasted long. He didn’t want them to. Tobias ground his teeth, annoyed at the direction of his thoughts.

Serge walked up, drink in one hand, the other extended, expecting Tobias’s. They shook. Once Tobias had grown to his cousin’s size, Serge had stopped trying to squeeze his hand to its breaking point during their formal greetings. They were alike, people said, which didn’t please Tobias. Serge looked stupid, dull and mean.

“Tomorrow you can milord me,” Serge said. “Wouldn’t do to start protocol before Father is interred.” He jerked his head towards Perrin’s body with a wry grin that quickly disappeared.

Tobias nodded stiffly, hoping Serge would wander off. Instead his cousin stood there, drinking, as if they had something to say to each other. Perhaps Tobias should ask after Serge’s wife. “And Lira? How is she—?”

“Fine, fine.” Serge swept his hand between them, as if to clear out the question. Lira and Serge’s marriage had not been a love match, but she would soon bear him an heir. “When are you thinking of settling down, Tobias? You can’t take Ruel’s castoffs forever, you know.”

Tobias tried not to step back in alarm. He didn’t quite understand what was going on. No one had ever felt the need to discuss his sex life before yesterday. Were his mother and Serge talking?

“Marriage needn’t be restrictive,” Serge added silkily.

Tobias thinned his lips, trying not to grimace.

“You know”—Serge did little to conceal his impatience—“in order to serve in any political capacity you will have to marry.” He leaned forward and Tobias could smell smoke on his breath. “Your mother has asked me to initiate this conversation, but you must contribute beyond this stunned expression of yours.”

“I’ll tell her you did your best.”

Serge stared in disbelief. “Don’t be an ass, Tobias. I’m going to need advisors. Family members I can trust.”

Tobias tried not to gape. He didn’t trust Serge an inch and had thought the feeling mutual.

“If you ever find your tongue, let me know.” Serge turned on his heel and walked away while Tobias let out a long, shaky breath.

It was going to be a long evening. Tobias tried to ignore the odd rising panic. People were discussing a part of his life he considered deeply private. A line of pain throbbed across his temple, so he reached for another drink. Sometimes he found it hard to believe he had been born into Riman society. He belonged elsewhere.

A place that allowed him to be himself, that allowed him to breathe. He sometimes imagined himself living on an entirely different planet, although those fantasies were vague on specifics. Like how he would possibly get there. No one had actually left Rimania for hundreds of years.

Half an hour and a couple of drained glasses later, a servant approached a numb Tobias with yet another drink. He didn’t recognize the man. New, or perhaps he’d been hired to work the funeral. Tobias lifted the glass off the tray.

“Your brother requests your presence in the courtyard.”

Huh?

The servant bowed politely and withdrew.

Tobias didn’t have a brother, but he wasn’t going to yell that at the retreating servant’s back. He gulped down his drink, placed the glass on a side table, and tried to walk in a straight line through the hall. At the moment, in his stupor, he was grateful that he knew this house and estate well. He’d spent too much of his youth here while his mother scampered off here and there.

The fresh air hit him with some relief. His head cleared a little. Enough to appreciate the light of the first moon on the patio. The way it fell across the tiles…

Tobias frowned. Why was he here? Something to do with Serge probably. Fuck, he hated Serge. His boyhood torment, though whenever he felt the need to unburden his old secret terrors, he became aware of how stupidly melodramatic and unexceptional the bullying had been.

Now Serge wanted him as an advisor. That made no sense. Serge despised him.

Tobias’s head felt wavy. Not his usual reaction to alcohol…

This was the courtyard. Where was the supposed brother? He walked farther, glancing behind one bush, then another, feeling rather sick and rather sad.

He couldn’t become weepy in a strange place. But, no, this was familiar. His childhood terror…

Yes, yes, he’d just been through that.

Despite his difficulty focusing, Tobias straightened in alarm. In the moonlight, he saw someone’s feet, pointed up, and the rest of the body lay in shadow. Tobias very slowly—time seemed wrong now—moved closer. With some trepidation, his gaze followed the legs up to the torso, to find the hilt of a jeweled knife. Its blade embedded in a man’s very bloody chest.

Shit. Finding it impossible to believe what he saw, Tobias blinked as sweat ran into his eyes. That’s Serge. Tobias’s heart pounded harder than his aching head.

He could hardly move, despite his desire to vomit.

“Tobias?” His mother’s voice floated out to him.

With supreme effort, Tobias turned to look at her.

She appeared in his line of vision, attached to the arm of a tall, slender green-eyed boy. Or man. It was difficult to see clearly. The waves now extended to Tobias’s sight.

His mother spoke and her distorted words echoed. “What is the matter with you?”

Then she seemed to notice something behind him.

“Tobias?” Her voice rose on his name, high and out of control, reverberating. Or maybe it was Tobias who shook.

She leaned on the boy-man. Her mouth continued to move but Tobias could no longer hear. He dragged his gaze over to her companion whose face blurred and all Tobias could see were his exceptional, weirdly green eyes. Leaning forward, Tobias lost his balance. The cement tiles rushed up to his face and obliterated consciousness.