“I thought you said we wouldn’t be bothered here,” I gritted through my teeth, fitting the old woman with a cool stare.
“Don’t worry, she can help you better than I can,” Tarra murmured. “Right?”
The woman shrugged, hobbling over to the table where Tarra had just been working.
“What did you mean the poison isn’t from a plant?” I asked.
“What are you doing with this?” Fontaine snapped, snatching the knife out of the bowl and waggling it under my nose.
I took a couple hasty steps back, narrowing my eyes. “That’s the weapon that almost killed me. I wanted to know what poison was used.”
Fontaine eyed the knife. “Why?”
“I was curious—”
“Lies do not become you, Princess,” Fontaine said, lowering herself onto the stool I’d vacated, her joints creaking. Tarra rushed to get her a beaker of water, and I cleared my throat.
“I’m not—”
“So, this has nothing to do with the fact that you think your intended wants you dead?”
Tarra gasped beside her.
“Um. . .”
Fontaine cackled before fixing me with her one-eyed stare. “I know you think you’re right, Princess, that Ryker is the same man you saw the night of the Harvest Festival, but are yousure?”
I gulped. “Of course I’m sure. You think I haven’t thought this over a thousand times? That I don’t want it to be true, and if there was any way it might not be, that I’d hang on to that hope like a lifeline?”
“I think that’s the truth you’ve convinced yourself of. The actual truth? Now, that remains to be seen.” Fontaine sipped her cup of water. “So, you want to recreate the poison your attempted assassin used and wield it against Ryker?”
Was I really that transparent?
“Kaleah,” Tarra whispered, her blue eyes wide as she approached my side. “Is that true? You were going to use what we discovered to k-kill someone?”
“No!” I flinched. There was a reason I hadn’t told her.
“How could you use me like that?”
“The weapon would only be a precaution to use in self defense. I don’t have a choice if I want to live!”
Tarra shook her head, stalking toward the door. “There’s always a choice.”
“So, what, you’d rather I just lay down and die?”
Reaching the door, she paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Of course not, but I don’t think you’re right. The empress would never allow an assassin into her home, let alone to be the future bonded of her heir.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re overthinking things, and if you do kill him, I’ll never forgive you.”
Tarra left the room, slamming the door behind her, and I slid to my knees. I wrapped my shaking hands around my chest as I struggled to breathe.
“Death is a hard burden to bear,” Fontaine rasped, and I jumped. “Especially for one so young and gentle as Tarra.”
I lifted my head, staring at the old woman as she braided her wispy gray hair over her shoulder. “You don’t agree with her?”
Fontaine’s eye met mine, considering me for a moment. “I do agree with her that murder is wrong, but not that there is always a choice. . . No one chooses to enter this world, and rarely does one choose to leave it. What happens between those two points is a game of fates. You had no choice whether you wanted to be an heir for the empress, andifyou are correct in assuming Ryker’s true identity, then I fear you are right; it’s only a matter of time before he attacks again.”
My eyes widened. “So you’ll help me?”
Fontaine offered me the ghost of a smile, tossing the dagger onto the cluttered table. “The poison on that knife will not help you, I'm afraid. It’s from a manticore’s stinger—a rare find this side of the divide—and a favorite weapon of the Outlanders.”