The Poison Throne Read Online Free Page B

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    “Where is Alberon, Razi?” Wynter asked. She kept her voice low and only glanced sideways at him. They had had no contact for the last five years; had, until now, not even been sure if the other had survived. Now, questions, if asked at all, would have to be asked gently, obliquely, for fear of opening old wounds or uncovering secrets best left hidden.
    Razi cleared his throat and shook his head. “I don’t know where Albi is, little sister. He is not here. Father says… Father says that he has sent him to the coast, to inspect the fleet.” Their eyes met briefly and Wynter looked away.
    Razi’s face told her that he doubted the King’s story, and Wynter’s mind filled with questions and her chest tightened with fear.
    Why would Alberon, legitimate son and sole heir to the throne, be sent so far from home after such a long and dangerous period of unrest? On the other hand, why would the King lie to Razi – his eldest boy and bastard son, much loved and trusted by the throne? Wynter had no answers, only fear, sly fear, skittering about in her heart like a secret disease.
    She glanced around the kitchen, at the sweating, toiling faces, the familiar domestic scene, and sensed the cold waters of politics running beneath it all. Vast and dark and rushing, ready to sweep any of them away. We must be careful , she thought, we must be careful .
    So much that she wanted to ask, but in court life there are things you cannot ask, not aloud, not in a crowded kitchen, not even of your oldest friend.
    Razi was tense as a horse at a starting gate, his dark eyes roaming the room, his agitation almost audible. He rubbed his fingers anxiously against his palms and Wynter longed to lay her hand on his, to stop him betraying himself so obviously.
    Behind Razi there was a tray of jam tarts cooling on the rack near the high window and, as Wynter watched, the Hungry Ghost lifted two of them to its invisible mouth and they disappeared into mid-air, a bite at a time. Wynter nudged Razi with a smile and stole a glance at Marni, waiting for her usual stormy response to the pesky spirit. Things would be thrown! Curses would be bellowed! Marni’s ongoing feud with the Hungry Ghost had always been good for a laugh.
    Razi lifted his eyes to see what Wynter was nudging him for and his dark face lost some of its colour. Wynter just had time to register this, when she saw Marni notice another two tarts float up and disappear in a shower of crumbs. The cook’s face clouded over with a moment of pure rage, and her expression stole Wynter’s smile from her. This wasn’t Marni’s usual melodramatic overreaction, this was something deeper rising to the surface, some seething undercurrent, tapped and exposed as if Marni’s head had been cut open for a moment and its contents revealed.
    Wynter saw the cook’s hand tighten around her ladle, her whole body shaking with the ferocity of her emotions. Then the giant woman turned her back, her face still wicked with feeling, and pretended not to see, as the invisible spirit demolished the tray of tarts.
    Wynter turned to Razi, her eyes wide. He was sighing with huge relief, his eyes on Marni as she stalked away.
    “I met Rory on my way here.” Wynter said it quietly, her voice purposely inaudible to anyone but her friend. Still, Razi’s reaction was shocking. He turned on her, spinning completely around in his seat to face her, his fists clenched, and she pulled away from him, momentarily frightened by the anger in his eyes.
    “Did he speak to you?” he hissed, his voice a deadly whisper.
    She shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t. I…”
    All the anger drained from Razi’s face in an instant, to be replaced by the same shaky relief he’d shown when Marni had allowed the tarts to be eaten. He slumped against the table and put his hand to his forehead. The breath seemed to be knocked out of him and it was only when he murmured, “Good man, Rory. Decent fellow,” that Wynter realised that his