CHAPTER 41: CHAPTER 41 - THE QUIET SWEEP (1)

The night had thinned to a cold gray when she rose from the bed. Dawn softly painted the sky, its light stretching through her curtains.

The room still held the sharp reek of the spilled poison. Lira lay where she had fallen, jaw slack, eyes clouded. Morena looked at her for a long, even breath—then moved.

She took the jug and the cup first, wrapped them in a cloth, and tied it tightly. The scrap of stitched thread she tucked into a small pouch at her belt. She opened the shutters a finger’s width to let the air turn, then crossed to the door and listened.

Quiet.

She moved into the corridor with a slight crack, locked the door behind her, and walked.

The house was still empty at this hour; many servants who would normally be shuffling along the halls had yet to wake, and only the occasional cough from a drowsing guard down the hall could be heard.

She moved without hurry but kept her pace brisk. Anyone who saw her in these halls at dawn would think nothing of it; the lord’s daughter walking with ledgers to read or patrols to check.

Adolf’s chamber sat a turn past the small accounts room, a thin line of light slept at its threshold.

She knocked once and waited.

"Enter."

He was still wide awake, his voice normal.

She slipped in and shut the door behind her. Adolf was at the small table with a ledger open and the stump of a candle guttering near his elbow. He took in the bundle in her hand, her eyes, and the way she stood.

He did not ask a useless question.

"What happened?"

"Poison. Attempted assassination; it got messy."

His face didn’t change, but the lines at the corners of his eyes deepened.

"Who?"

"Lira."

He exhaled, not quite a sigh.

"Lira has been with us for quite a while. How could she do this? Tell me what happened."

So she did. She kept it brief, told him about the water, the smell, how she waited for the assassin to show up, and how she dealt with her. She even told him about her sons, the reasons she did it all, and her own suicide.

When she finished, he didn’t speak at once. He looked at the cloth-wrapped jug, then at her hands.

"Are you unhurt?"

"I am untouched. Don’t worry."

"Good."

He stood, the candle caught the gray in his hair and made it shine like steel.

"I’m glad you decided to trust me, my Lady."

Truth be told, Morena didn’t trust him; she trusted her father. Adolf had been by her father’s side for years, much longer than she had been alive; he had even cared for her mother once.

If her father trusted him enough to tell him the deepest, darkest secrets not only of himself but the family, then she had no reason not to trust in that.

"Yes."

"Then you’ll have my hands and my silence."

He reached for the cloth bundle, and she pulled it back a fraction before giving it to him.

"Careful. The resin’s strong."

"Of course, we need to find out more about it. We might need Marta."

"I believe Marta could be clean."

Morena said.

"But keep the circle small. Only her, and only alone. Don’t tell her too much either, on a need-to-know basis."

"Understood."

He picked up a second candle, lit it, and cupped the flame so it didn’t gutter as they walked. He didn’t ask to see the body yet; he didn’t need to. They moved through the halls and took the path with the least eyes, avoiding being seen.

At the infirmary door, Adolf knocked twice, paused, knocked again—an odd rhythm. Marta opened it in a plain dress thrown over her shift, hair tied roughly, eyes already sharp. When she saw them both, without attendants, at this hour, her mouth pressed into a thin line, and she stepped aside.

"Please come in."

Adolf set the bundle on her worktable and Morena loosened the knot. Marta leaned in and inhaled, a small, clinical breath.

Her nose wrinkled as she stepped back.

"That’s no common house poison. Definitely not one of ours."

She reached for a porcelain stick and touched it to the rim.

It blackened.

"Bitter resin, as you said. Ash. Something sour beneath. It’s quick and keeps quiet. Meant for a quick and painless death."

"Can you save a sample?"

Marta nodded, already pouring a thin thread into a small stoppered vial.

"If it’s possible, can you weaken the effect—just enough so it doesn’t kill, but weakens."

Marta’s eyes flicked to Morena’s face and back to the jug.

"A draft that dulls and slows. No taste. I can brew it by noon."

"Do so. Alone."

"As you wish. It may take a bit longer if I have to hide it. But by day’s end."

Marta said as she wrapped the jug again, tighter than before.

"And the knife?"

Morena thought of Lira’s blade, her desperation to use it as she lunged at her.

"In her hand. She won’t need it again."

Marta’s mouth didn’t soften, but her eyes did.

"Whoever did this won’t stop with just one attempt. This time it was poison you noticed; the next time, you might not."

"I know."

Morena slid the stitched scrap from the pouch and set it on the table. Marta turned it with a fingernail, the white thread catching the candlelight.

"A lay mark."

Marta said.

"Not high clergy. This is a symbol for the church’s order of warriors; the patterns seem like the light branch. But they all serve the same altar."

"Keep the cloth and the sample locked."

Adolf said.

"If anyone asks—"

"No one will."

Marta said flatly. Then, after a beat, softer, to Morena,

"I’m sorry, Lady."

Morena gave one small nod.

"After you’re done, send word to Adolf."

Marta dipped her chin. They left her to her work and turned back toward Morena’s rooms.

They did not speak until they stood outside her door. Adolf held out his hand; she gave him the key without a word.

Inside, he paused only a second when he saw Lira. Then he moved. He drew the blanket from the bed, covered the woman’s face first, then the rest with a steady, practiced motion that said he had done such things before. He checked the mouth, the fingers, the wrists, then rose.

"She has no ring; her husband had passed a few years back in a famine; her children were all she had left."

"It’s a pity what happened, truly."

He nodded once.

"I’ll take her by the east stair."

He said.

"Past the ash room. Hark and Dima can manage the rest without tongues wagging. By daylight, she’ll be a quiet sorrow that happened in the night."

"Give her a good grave; she might have tried to kill me, but she had her reasons. What are you going to tell her sons?"

"I’ll find them and explain it to them."

Adolf said.

"If they exist at all, I’ll ensure they’re safe. Or bury them properly if that was a lie told to force a mother’s hand."

Morena nodded her head.

"Thank you."

"It’s my work."

He gathered the blanket and lifted. Lira weighed less than her years. He turned at the door.

"This won’t be the last, Lady."

"No."

"What do you intend to do?"

"I have some plans, but they require your help, and the help of some others. Once you’re back, we will discuss things."