Bitter Truths and Hidden Roots

That night, Rona showed up right after dusk, as usual, draped in a minimum of three suspicious materials and mumbling to herself like a wandering catastrophe.

She didn't knock. She never knocked. She just sort of materialized in my rooms like mildew in a rainy castle.

"I experimented on the tea," she related, dropping her satchel on the chaise like something dead. "Well, we did. The Duke's own alchemist was terribly nosy. I had to slap him twice for addressing me as 'madam' as if I were a pastry merchant."

"And?" I demanded, already clutching the arms of my chair.

Rona unfurled a scroll and poked at it with a gloved finger. "Trace elements of feverfew, juniper, and something silly called silkroot. The first two are good in moderation—relaxants. Silkroot, though? Uncommon. Prohibited in three provinces. Induces uterine bleeding when used with heat."

I went cold. "So if I'd consumed that while pregnant to the point of bursting…"

"You would've been bleeding out within an hour."

She spoke so blithely, I wanted to strike her.

Rather, I breathed and sat extremely, extremely still.

Rona offered a sympathetic look that, in her presence, was almost like an embrace. "It was a slow kill, Duchess. Intended to appear natural. 'A tragic complication,' they'd report. But somebody knew precisely what they were doing."

I gulped. "And you're sure Marla made the tea?

"I checked myself. Her name's on the service rotation. Only two others in your wing—both too new to even locate the poison cabinet."

That was it.

Marla.

Quiet. Efficient. Hasn't cracked a smile in twenty years.

And now, would-be murderer.

I got up—wobbly, but resolved.

"Rona… I want everything you can find on her. Where she came from. Who she worked for before. I want to know if she's ever served another noblewoman who died. unexpectedly."

Rona's eye glinted.

"Oh," she said. "You're finally playing the game."

Later That Night

By moonlight, Rona returned with her arms full of stolen files, gossip-laced ledgers, and at least one pastry (for me, allegedly—but she ate most of it).

Marla doesn't say much," she started, thumbing through parchment with practiced haste, "but paper never forgets."

As it turned out, our sweet maid from hell hadn't spent her entire career working in this estate.

Prior to serving the present duke, she also served briefly in the household of Lady Elowen Farling, a lesser noble who—wait for it—died in childbirth five years ago. Why did she die? Sudden hemorrhage. Blame was placed on the midwife. The estate was sold.

"And prior to that," Rona went on, "she was working for a merchant's wife who fell into a coma after she had drunk contaminated 'relaxation tea.' Nobody inquired. The woman never awoke."

"So there are two unexplained deaths," I replied slowly. "And I am going to be number three."

"Not if we cut her laces first," Rona snarled.

No, not yet," I replied, getting to my feet. "If we're going to catch her, I want it to hold. I want evidence."

Rona arched an eyebrow. "You going to catch her in the act?"

I grinned. "Better.