Murder's not a hobby for the cautious

Thoughts of violence can make the timid nauseous

-- A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder (musical), Poison in My Pocket

Few things could strike a chill into Siarvin's heart like the sight of that bottle. It was through that damn bottle's contents that Haliran had ruined his life and forged the chains still binding him today.

In small doses given by sensible, responsible, sane and normal people, varnadhur was an excellent painkiller and a mild sedative. Everyone had it in their houses in case of painful accidents or emergencies. Every apothecary sold it[1]. Apart from a bitter aftertaste it was more palatable than most medicines. It was also incredibly easy to get addicted to. Centuries ago some wiser heads had seen the problems with this. They tried to have its use restricted. By and large they failed. Even today there was nothing inherently suspicious about someone owning bottles of the stuff.

There was just one problem. In large doses it would leave a person in a half-sleeping, half-waking nightmare before knocking them out completely. In especially large doses it would kill.

Years ago Siarvin had been so foolish. He had thought Haliran was just being friendly when she found him alone and offered him a drink. He had never thought he was in danger so he took no precautions. He had never been given a large dose of varnadhur before so he had no resistance to it.

What followed was something he tried not to think about. Much of it he couldn't remember at all. For the rest he had been trapped and unable to move, forced to be a spectator with no chance to defend himself.

The next day he woke, confused and disorientated, in his own room with Haliran beside him. She'd thought her plan out well. She explained it to him as he lay, still too dizzy to move.

"I need to get married quickly," she said. Even now he remembered how matter-of-fact her tone was. "Before my former lover discovers I'm with child. You're a foreigner with no friends in this city. You hardly even know anyone. No one will believe you if you try to tell them the truth. While I--" Centuries had passed but her smile here still haunted him, "--am a noblewoman from a respected family. I can claim you drugged me, dragged me here, and raped me, and everyone will believe me. A doctor will confirm that the crime happened. So you see, you have no choice but to marry me."

It was so easy in hindsight to see he should have killed her there. Unknown to Haliran, in those days Siarvin had always kept a dagger by his bedside just in case assassins came for him as they'd come for his sister. He could have reached it and stabbed her right in the heart before she realised a thing. He should have done it no matter what the consequences would be. But he was so dizzy, and felt so sick, and couldn't believe yet that this was really happening.

When reality sank in he went to the empress. He told her the truth and asked for help. But Haliran had gotten there first with her version of events. She claimed they'd slept together while drunk, that she was carrying his child, and he was now looking for a way to get out of marrying her. Within a day her lies were believed all over the city.

Life took on a horrible haze of unreality after that. The wedding went ahead. For months Siarvin fell into a sort of apathy that not even his hatred could stir him from. What did anything matter now?

In the end it was the birth of Haliran's bastard that finally woke him from his months-long indifference. Back then he thought that child was the catalyst that caused Haliran to commit her crime. It made no sense, but he hated it more fiercely than his wife herself.

The bottle of varnadhur was there for anyone to use. He didn't have to use much. A dose that was safe for an adult was fatal for a newborn baby.

Haliran showed no grief for her child's death. Just tight-lipped fury. She knew perfectly well who was responsible.

After that she began drugging him regularly. The first few times she had to get her trusted servants to hold him down and force him to drink it. Eventually he stopped trying to fight. What was the point when he knew he couldn't win?

For centuries she had visited him at least once every year. Siarvin drank the varnadhur willingly and embraced the merciful unconsciousness it brought. Eventually she left him alone. His insistence on adopting Shizuki was what finally kept her away. Haliran knew as well as Siarvin did that her unwanted son had both the motive and the ability to kill her. Venomous snakes were not common in Saoridhlém. Few doctors stored the antidotes to their poison.

Now here she was again. With that damn bottle in her hand again.

Siarvin instinctively drew back. He had no weapons. Years ago Haliran had taken the precaution of never letting him anywhere near them. She had placed a spell on the armoury to keep him out and set spies to make sure he never had a chance to buy any of his own. At some point in the past the bow and arrows he had brought with him from Tananerl had disappeared never to be seen again. Even kitchen knives were blunted before he was allowed to have them.

Ninety years ago he would have drunk the drug without protest, too defeated to even think of fighting. But now, after so many decades of his mind being his own again... He would kill her with his bare hands if that was what it took. But he would not drink that again.

Haliran set the bottle down on the table. Unnecessarily she asked, "You know what this is?"

Siarvin's mouth had gone too dry for him to speak. He nodded once, not taking his eyes off her for a second.

"Good." She sat down at the table and glared over at him. "You will tell your nephew or whatever he is that he is no longer welcome here. If I ever see him in my house again I'll make sure you drink this every day."

Everyone knew that drinking it too often would get a person addicted to it. An addict would drink larger and larger quantities with each dose. Death always followed quickly, within less than a year in most cases. All the doctors would agree on the cause of his death. Even if anyone did suspect foul play, the official verdict would be death by overdose. Self-inflicted. A tragic accident.

Shizuki had slithered off somewhere when he heard Haliran approach. No doubt he could hear every word. But Siarvin had ordered him years ago not to attack her unless in self-defense. A bastard half-breed who murdered his own mother would never be given a fair trial. Or any trial, most likely.

"Do you understand?" Haliran asked in that horrible smug tone she always used when she'd already won and she knew it.

For a minute Siarvin contemplated the practicality of throwing the table at her. Regretfully he had to admit it wouldn't work.

Anyway, she needed to be alive when Ilaran revealed her crimes in front of the entire royal court.

"I understand," he said through gritted teeth.

Too late, he added silently. You've already lost.

Shizuki reappeared as soon as Haliran left. One look at his face confirmed that he'd heard everything.

"Go and tell Ilaran not to visit any more," Siarvin ordered before he could say anything.

"But Father--!"

Siarvin gave Shizuki a Look. It was the sort of Look parents everywhere had mastered, and children everywhere knew to obey or face unpleasant consequences. Shizuki closed his mouth and accepted there was nothing else for it. His disgruntled expression showed what he thought, though.

Kitri could say with certainty that this was not how she expected today to go. She had mistaken Irímé for a sensible young man who'd support her in her anti-necromancy campaign. At first he had supported her. Then, just when she most needed him to back her up, he changed sides and went over to the enemy. Over a mouse. Kitri didn't like mice, living or dead, and couldn't imagine how anyone's opinion could be swayed by one. It was disgraceful!

Worst of all, now she was left to argue with Abi alone.

"You can't just go around raising the dead," she insisted, trying another tactic. "Why, the person is probably happy being dead. They won't want someone to come along and drag them back to life without so much as a by-your-leave. What if they've already been reincarnated?"

Abi stopped in her tracks. She stared at Kitri as if she'd just been told water was dry. "...I never thought of that."

Thank the gods, Kitri thought. I'm finally getting through to her.

Her hopes were dashed by the next words out of Abi's mouth.

"Maybe that's why I haven't been able to bring a person back yet," she said. "I wonder how long it takes someone to be reincarnated?"

Irímé piped up for the first time since they left the barn. "Quite a while, I'd think. It depends on how soon their next descendant is born[2]."

Kitri stared open-mouthed as the two of them launched into a discussion of how long it would theoretically take someone to be reincarnated. Soon they moved on to whether or not their soul would go somewhere or just float around in the atmosphere until there. It was by far the strangest conversation Kitri had ever heard. And she was the magistrate for her lands. She had heard some very strange things over the years.

The path back to Abi's parents' palace ran alongside the river for several yards. Here there was a steep drop down to the water, which was still very deep, so railings had been placed along the side of the path in case anyone wasn't watching where they were going. Kitri left the other two to their discussion and stalked ahead.

A flicker of movement in the water caught her eye. She leaned over the railing and looked down. At first her brain refused to accept what she was seeing. It interpreted the sight as sunlight reflecting off the surface, or a group of fish swimming in a line.

Then the thing broke the surface. Its purplish-green body formed several immediately-distinctive hoops. Kitri knew what it was even before its long head appeared. The horns, whisker-like appendages and dagger-sharp teeth only confirmed her fears.

It was a sea serpent.

An abrupt silence behind her showed that Abi and Irímé had seen it too. Its head continued to rise until it was level with them. It didn't spare a glance for Kitri or Irímé at all. It just glared straight at Abi.

For one awful moment Kitri thought it was something conjured up by Abi's necromancy. Sea serpents were not native to Saoridhlém. None had ever been seen here before. Wild stories of them came from Seroyawa and the seas around it. Tales that their breath was poisonous, that they could kill a person merely by looking at them, that they were larger than any ship.

The poisonous breath and deadly gaze were clearly exaggerations. Kitri wasn't so sure about the last rumour. In this part of the river it was more than fifteen feet below the path. The sea serpent's neck was long enough to reach that far -- assuming that was its neck; it was hard to tell where neck ended and body began. At least half of the creature was still in the water.

A long and dreadful silence fell. It probably wasn't as long as it felt. To Kitri it might as well have been an eternity.

Eventually Abi spoke. Her voice was a high-pitched squeak. If her eyes were any wider they'd fall out of her head.

"Kiriyuki?"