The Poison Throne by Celine Kiernan

Author:Celine Kiernan [Kiernan, Celine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Speculative Fiction
ISBN: 0316077062
Google: PYk62-RzRxUC
Amazon: B00351DS8M
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2008-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

A Game of Cards

The shutters in Razi’s suite were still closed against the evening light, and the candles had been extinguished so that the retiring room was very dark. Wynter could barely see. She had to feel her way around the dim shapes of furniture and the many piles of books and scattered objects on the floor.

Shuffling, banging and quietly cursing, she eventually groped her way across the small space and peered in at Christopher’s door. The shutters let in a diffused light, which, though still very dim, allowed Wynter to make out the interior of the room.

“Christopher?” she called softly, and stepped over the threshold.

He was on the bed, curled on his side, lying atop the covers. He was dressed in his long Bedouin robe, his bare feet tucked up, his fists pressed to his forehead. Wynter thought at first that he was sleeping, but as she neared him she saw the slits of his eyes gleaming in the soft light, watching her as she approached the bed. She could hear his soft breathing.

“Christopher,” she said again, her voice laden with sympathy, “How fare you?”

He didn’t reply, but his eyes followed her as she knelt by the side of his bed.

There was a strand of sweat-damp hair caught in his eyelashes and Wynter gently pulled it free and tucked it behind his ear. He closed his eyes at her touch, but opened them again quickly and focused on his hands as though to keep his eyes shut made him feel ill. He swallowed delicately.

“Is the pain very bad?” she asked needlessly.

His lips twitched, his dimples lost in the terrible bruising that had spread down his cheek. “I’m mortal feared my head will fall off,” he whispered.

“Have you taken nothing?”

“Willow bark tea.”

Wynter snorted, he might as well be taking milk for all the good that would do for this kind of pain. “No hashish? No tincture of opium?”

“Oh, how I wish…” he moaned longingly, “but Razi is afeared to dose me too soon. He says I must wait.”

“For what?” she exclaimed. It seemed so cruel!

Christopher chuffed a little laugh at her indignance and gasped and swallowed again. “To ensure my brains haven’t run to jelly, I suppose. ’Tis just ’til sunset.”

Wynter glanced at the shutters. The light was getting old; he wouldn’t have long to wait now. She leant down to examine his damaged face, almost laying her head on the bed beside his bared arms. His warm skin had a spicy scent all of its own.

Her red hair, where it spread on his covers, glowed in the gentle light from the shuttered window. “Just like a polished chestnut,” he sighed. His breath was spicy warm like his skin, and she closed her eyes and inhaled without thinking.

“Uh…” she faltered, snapping her eyes open. What had she been about to say? “R-Razi has left my father some tincture of opium, Christopher. Would you like some?”

He shut his eyes in pained gratitude. “Oh, yes please.”

She hesitated, then she said, “My father

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