reserved for the Lord of the Land and his officers.
By savage custom, it was a sign of honor and friendship for two people to drink from the same goblet, and so Lenardo offered the wine to the cook, saying, “Will you try some?”
She blushed but dared not refuse. Although she rarely had wine for her own pleasure, she knew the varieties, which to choose to complement various dishes. This was an ordinary white wine, of which they had brought several kegs, but a good one. She held it for a moment to savor the bouquet before tasting.
Amused and happy that he could please this hardworking woman with such a simple gesture, Lenardo Read her reactions, careful not to invade the privacy of her thoughts.
As she sniffed the wine, her delight turned to puzzlement. She frowned and took another whiff. “Could the heat have spoiled it?” she asked, and started to tilt the cup to taste.
Lenardo Read the wine curiously and then in panic grabbed the cup out of the woman’s hand, sloshing wine over both of them. “It’s poisoned!”
Cook gasped, “No! Oh, no, me lord, I never—”
“I know you didn’t do it, but someone did—someone with access to the wine casks.”
Facing a life-threatening situation, Lenardo Read openly. Cook was trying to think of a suspect, still convinced that he would find her the most likely. She followed him into the bathhouse, where he Read the kegs. Only one was poisoned: the half-empty one he and his retainers had been served from.
“The wine was good yesterday,” he said. “It was done last night or this morning.”
“But I’ve had thirty people in and out all morning,” said Cook. “I knew we shouldn’t have pressed those townspeople into service so near me lord’s food, but where was I to get help?”
“Cook, I’m not blaming you,” Lenardo insisted. “Your keen sense of smell just saved both our lives.”
“But you Read—”
“Only after you noticed something wrong. I’m not in the habit of Reading for poison in everything I eat or drink.”
Satisfied at last that he would not blame her, Cook asked, “Will you Read the workers, me lord? Find out who did this?”
“If he—or she—saw what just happened out there, the culprit is the person running away,” Lenardo said.
But no one had run off. Most of the kitchen staff were resting; only the cooking staff—all of whom had come from Aradia’s land—were beginning work on the evening meal. Lenardo sent for Arkus and then walked among them, Reading, finding neither hate, fear, nor resentment.
Arkus arrived as Lenardo confronted the puzzled, fearful townspeople pressed into scullery service. The terror of being called before the Lord of the Land so obscured individual thought that Lenardo wondered whether he would have to interview each one alone to find his would-be murderer. Although there was plenty of resentment, he could find no hatred strong enough to account for an attempt on his life.
He had not told them why he had gathered them; the thought in most minds was that they were to be pressed into some other work. But why would the lord himself bother with that? The Lord of the Land dealt with ordinary people only to punish, although this one had been heard to offer praise....
That gave Lenardo an idea. “Arkus, these people are doing a fine job of keeping everyone well fed.”
Puzzled, Arkus replied, “Yes, my lord.”
“I wish to thank them. Instruct Cook to have wine brought from the open cask so that everyone may have a cup.”
Thoroughly bewildered now, Arkus kept his composure only by reminding himself that he had sworn loyalty and obedience. Why is he making me an errand boy for this riffraff?
But blazing beyond Arkus’ justified concern came a flare of fear and guilt and hatred, standing out clearly from the others’ relieved pleasure. A man began edging his way toward the door.
“Arkus!” Lenardo’s voice stopped the young commander in his tracks. “This man—” he pointed “—poisoned the cask of wine that you and I and our staff have been drinking from.”
“No! It’s a lie! I never—”
The man backed to the wall as Arkus advanced on him sword drawn. But he was not suicidal: he stood pinned, sword at his throat, sweating, eyes popping, cursing himself for having moved.
To the other startled, frightened men and women, Lenardo said, “I’m sorry to trick you, but I had to find the culprit. And you shall have your wine—from a fresh cask—as soon as I determine what to do with this would-be murderer.”
By the time they were left alone, the man was radiating stormy defiance and contempt. Lenardo Read that he thought the new lord weak and stupid.
“What is your name?” he asked the man, who was dressed in tatters of what had recently been elegant clothes.
“I won’t tell you.”
“Your name is Bril. Why did you try to murder me?”
“You’re not going to make me work like a scullery maid.”
Lenardo knew the words a Lord Adept would say at that point: “You are my property.” He did not say them. Instead, he said, “You are my responsibility, along with this city and all the surrounding countryside. I expect you to work for your food, clothing, and shelter like everyone else.”
Arkus said, “Bril’s a moneylender, my lord. He doesn’t know what work is.”
“It is not a motive for murder. What did you think to accomplish, Bril? Had you killed me, the Lady Aradia would have given Zendi to someone else or taken it herself. The new lord would be my friend and would avenge my death.”
“Yes, a Lord Adept who would do something,” Bril spat. “If anyone had tried to kill Drakonius, he wouldn’t have wasted time talking. He’d have the person tortured to death in the forum as an example.”
“You are quite right, Bril,” said Lenardo, sick at heart. “Your punishment must be an example. Arkus, you may proceed with the flogging you’ve been wanting.”
“At once, my lord,” Arkus said with grim satisfaction. “I’ll tell the whipman to make sure he takes a long time to die.”
“No, I will not rule by torture. Bril will be flogged, but not to death.”
“But my lord—”
“I want him alive so that people will remember that he did not succeed. The men who ambushed you and Helmuth and me did not succeed, but they are dead, and people have already forgotten.” He turned to Bril. “I’m not like the Lords Adept you are accustomed to. You cannot fool me, Bril. You accomplished nothing, and yet you must suffer. Whether you admit it aloud or not, you will deliver this message to my people: Attacks on Lenardo are not worth trying.”
Trembling inside but outwardly composed, Lenardo assessed Bril’s physical condition. “Ten lashes,” he ordered.
“For trying to kill you?” Arkus gasped.
“Look at him. He’s never felt the lash before, and he’s not young or strong. It will be the worst thing he’s ever suffered, but he will recover and be able to work.”
“You may be right,” said Arkus, “but others, more hardened—”
“The idea,” Lenardo said, “is for there to be no others!”
Arkus suddenly understood. “You really won’t be able to...shut it out?”
“To a degree,” Lenardo admitted, “if I stay at a distance.” But he would have to witness his order being carried out.
Steeling himself, he stood on the bathhouse steps. There were plenty of witnesses: Arkus brought in all his soldiers and work