Step 9a: Don't get caught...

Ivelle fell to the ground beside Eirifold, barely managing to catch his head in her lap before it collided with the ground. "No," she muttered. "Nononononono. Eirifold, stay with me. Eirifold..."

His hazel eyes fluttered weakly, then fell shut again. One of his hands lifted, fingers ghosting across her cheek—and then his hand flopped limply to the ground.

A flash of silver lace entered Ivelle's peripheral vision. "Doctor!" cried Lillian—at least, Ivelle thought it was Lillian. The world was spinning. Everything around her seemed to be happening far too slowly, but also way too fast. "Please," said Lillian. "Please help—we need a doctor—"

Abruptly, there was a flurry of sound and action. Ivelle was pushed aside to make way for a veritable onslaught of medical personnel. She huddled next to the wreckage of the soupy table, trying to still her shaking hands.

She didn't know how much time passed. It might have been minutes; it might have been hours. Vaguely she registered other voices nearby: the queen's sharp voice ("Secure the perimeter!"), the distraught gasps of Mariel in the background, the guards herding the shocked guests into various parts of the room for interrogation, the court doctor barking commands to his underlings as he performed what seemed to be a barrage of diagnostic spells on Eirifold.

These sounds entered her mind and then dissipated, without her processing them. In truth, she could not bring herself to care. All that mattered was Eirifold — Eirifold, lying limp upon the ground beside the shattered china, tea staining his priceless wedding suit, his eyes closed, his face bloodless, his chest rising slower with each breath...

A rational person might have tried to diagnose him, tried to discern what sort of poison had been used to determine an antidote. But right now, Ivelle was neither logical nor rational, and even if she had been, she knew most poisons didn't have antidotes, and most antidotes didn't work once you were comatose.

She felt like her chest was splitting open, like her heart was being crushed beneath a wave, a tsunami, an avalanche of grief.

He was going to die.

She was too late, he was going to die, and she had supplied the poison that had killed him.

One of the court doctors appeared at her shoulder. "Ma'am, I was told you were the first person to witness him collapse." Her voice held the exhausted overtones of a woman who is Having A Very Bad Day. "I need you to tell me exactly what you saw."

Why bother? Ivelle thought dully. What difference will it make at this point? We all know how this is going to end.

But she opened her mouth and said numbly, "He just collapsed suddenly, right where he's lying now."

"Did he do anything else before he collapsed? Did he give any indication that he was in pain?"

"He was clutching his chest. He looked dizzy."

"Are there any medications that he takes on a daily basis?"

"Alcohol," said Ivelle.

"That's a substance, ma'am—do you know if he takes any medications?"

"Nasal spray? I don't... I've only known him a few months. Maybe you should ask one of his guards..."

"Thanks, I'll do that." The doctor hurried over back to the other medics clustered at Eirifold's side, and Ivelle was left staring at her hands once more, grief settling back over her like a cloud.

The mage-doctors were moving Eirifold's limp body onto a stretcher. In the distance, another group of medics was carting away the king. Ivelle struggled to her feet. She'd been crouched on the floor for so long, her legs had both gone numb. Uncertainly, she tried to follow the group carrying Eirifold away but found her path blocked by a wall of guards.

It didn't matter. If Eirifold wasn't dead already, he'd surely be dead soon. She could think of no reason why Lillian—or whoever was behind this—would've been kind enough to use a poison that wasn't fast-acting, deadly, and entirely without an antidote.

Wearily, Ivelle scanned the room. In one corner sat Mariel, hugging her German shepherd puppy, her face blank. On the opposite side of the hall, Anabelle was whispering in Lillian's ear as Lillian dabbed at her cheeks.

Movement nearby caught her eye. One of the doctors had broken off from the pack surrounding Eirifold and was whispering in the queen's ear. Ivelle saw Queen Ysette nod. She gestured sharply to the commander of the guard.

"ATTENTION!" hollered the commander. "HER MAJESTY, THE DOWAGER QUEEN, WISHES TO SPEAK!"

Silence fell across the Great Hall, a tense, expectant silence that seemed to swallow all sound.

"You have all been eagerly awaiting news and answers," said Queen Ysette. She still looked impossibly frail, as though she might break at any moment, but her voice was surprisingly steady, her demeanor assured. "I thank you for your patience. It is with a heavy heart that I must announce... King Gorlin of Estrella is dead."

A wave of dismay susurrated through the room. Ivelle saw Mariel press a shaking hand to her forehead.

"Prince... no. King Eirifold still lives, though his condition is critical."

Ivelle's head snapped up.

Eirifold—Eirifold was still alive?

How could that be?

She'd been so certain—

So convinced he wouldn't make it.

Perhaps he hadn't ingested enough of the poison to die. Perhaps he had suspected something and curbed his appetite... or perhaps Lillian had made a mistake.

Fear swelled in Ivelle's chest. She now regretted not following the doctors who'd carried Prince Eirifold away. If Lillian had been behind the poisonings—and Ivelle knew, with a sudden, cold certainty that this must be the case—surely it wouldn't be long before Lillian finished the job. She now had access to Eirifold's private chambers as his wife. There was literally nothing to stop her.

"King Eirifold still lives," Queen Ysette said again. If she felt any sorrow at Gorlin's demise, or concern for the health of her son, she was doing an awfully good job concealing it. "As I'm sure you've surmised, we suspect poison. If anyone here knows anything about the dastardly criminal behind these vicious murders, I invite them to step forward now."

Ivelle's head snapped upright, her heart thundering in her chest.

Step forward... in front of this room full of people who had no reason to believe what she said?

But this might be her one chance to protect Eirifold—to set things right—

Lillian's your friend, Ivelle's inner voice chided. Yes, she's made some questionable decisions, including homicide, but the king murdered her parents and brother and treated her terribly. And I'm sure Prince Harvald also did... something... to deserve it. If you turn her in now, she'll get beheaded for sure!

And if you turn her in now, you'll have to turn yourself in, too. All to stop her from re-poisoning Eirifold, who may already be on his deathbed. There's got to be a better way.

As Ivelle waffled, torn with indecision, Lillian inclined her head. "Your Majesty." She seemed to be fighting back tears. "I... think my servant knows something that might be useful to the investigation."

Her hand came to rest on Anabelle's shoulder, and she offered the servant a watery smile. "Go ahead, Anabelle. Tell her what you saw. It's all right—you needn't be afraid."

Anabelle twisted her braids. "It was a couple weeks ago," she whispered. "I had followed Lady—I mean, Queen—Lillian into Princess Mariel's room, and—"

"Speak up!" said an irritated voice from the back of the crowd.

"It's okay, Anabelle." Lillian squeezed her servant's hand. "Just do your best, all right?"

"I had followed Queen Lillian into Princess Mariel's room," Anabelle said, louder this time. "And while we were there, I happened to notice a... flier on the princess' desk. A flier intended for desperate princesses who didn't want to get married. The woman in the flier was advertising her services... with poison."

Lillian raised a hand, gesturing gently for silence, as the tide of murmurs swelled. "A couple weeks ago," she said. "Anabelle, would you say you saw this around the time they announced the betrothal between Mariel and Prince Harvald of Luntz?"

"Yes—I—I think so. The betrothal was announced that same week."

Unease curdled in Ivelle's stomach. Her hand snaked into her pocket, seeking the invisibility chewing gum. She glanced toward Mariel, whose mouth was a thin line, her hands clenched at her sides.

"Tell them the other thing you told me," Lillian said kindly, ignoring Mariel. She clasped Anabelle's hand with an encouraging squeeze. "Tell them about the potion."

Anabelle shifted uneasily. "Earlier this evening, at dinner, Queen Lillian summoned me to bring her a hairpin, since one of hers had fallen out. As I was doing so, just before the jesting began, I... happened to see Mariel call the jester over to whisper something in her ear. I saw Mariel pass something to the court jester—some sort of vial. And then I saw the jester tip some of it onto the venison."

"Oh, this is just too much!" All eyes flew to Mariel, who was glaring—not at Anabelle, but at Lillian, fury in her gaze. "I knew you were a backstabbing snake, but this is taking it too far, even for you. You poisoned all three of them, I know you did! And now you're trying to pin the blame on me!"

"Quiet." Queen Ysette turned to her guards. "Where is the court jester? Bring her here."

Ivelle's stomach plummeted, disbelief dulling her reflexes. Where was the bloody invisibility chewing gum? She fumbled in her pockets.

But it was too late. Before she even had a chance to locate the chewing gum, much less bring it to her mouth, a guard grabbed her by the arm and hauled her forward.

"Search her pockets," said Queen Ysette.

"What're you—ouch! Leggo of me, you bastards!"

"Here," said one of the guards, shoving past her. "This was in her coat pocket, Your Majesty."

Ivelle stared at the vial of sunshade poison—the vial that definitely hadn't been there that morning—feeling sick. Rage warred with hurt in her chest. She felt dizzy with betrayal.

Lillian.

Lillian must have planted it there.

It had all been a trap, from the very beginning.

"Yes," Anabelle was saying. "Yes—that was the vial—"

But Ivelle wasn't listening. She struggled against the guard who was restraining her, fighting unsuccessfully to pull herself free.

"It wasn't Mariel!" she shouted. "It was Lillian! Lillian did this, Lillian poisoned Harvald and Eirifold and the king! If you want proof, there's a secret compartment behind her bookshelf where she keeps all her poisons!"

Lillian glanced at Ivelle, her expression politely perplexed, as though she had no idea what Ivelle was talking about. This only infuriated Ivelle more. With a burst of energy, she kicked one of her guards in the shin and jabbed her elbow into the solar plexus of the other. She might have actually succeeded in launching herself at Lillian's perfect, unflappable face, if not for a sudden blow to her spine that sent her crashing to the floor.

"It seems we need to send search parties to get to the bottom of this," said Queen Ysette, as Ivelle crouched on the ground, massaging her smarting knees. The dowager queen looked at Anabelle. "Where did you say the flier was?"

"It was in Mariel's room, on top of her desk—I don't know if it's there now."

"Have both Lillian's and Mariel's rooms searched immediately," Queen Ysette ordered.

"Your Majesty." It was Alfred, Lillian's butler. He stepped forward and offered a deep bow to Queen Ysette. "Might I be allowed to speak on Queen Lillian's behalf? I have been her loyal servant, her butler, for years... the thought of poisoning anyone would never cross her mind. I would also like to add that Mariel has a clear motive for poisoning Harvald... I spotted the princess arguing with him a few hours before the murder. And everyone knows she was unhappy that His Late Majesty, King Gorlin, chose Eirifold to be his successor over her."

Ivelle watched, fury building in her chest, as servant after servant stepped forward to defend Lillian and cast aspersions on Mariel. After the third testimony, she couldn't take it anymore, and she opened her mouth to shout.

"Don't."

Surprised, she turned toward Mariel. She hadn't even noticed the princess approach.

"Don't bother," said Mariel in an undertone. "It won't help. She's three moves ahead of us. I can see it in her eyes."

"But—"

"Save it for the trial."

The search party had returned. The lead guard was holding a piece of parchment, which Ivelle recognized—with a sickening lurch of her stomach—as her flier. "We found this in Princess Mariel's chambers, along with a sack of potions. We found nothing incriminatory in Queen Lillian's rooms."

"Did you tap on the reddish book in the middle of the bookshelf?" Ivelle asked desperately. "There's a secret compartment!"

Everyone ignored her.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Queen Ysette said to Mariel.

Mariel seemed to be gritting her teeth. "Only that I'm innocent, and I'd never poison anyone! This was a setup from the very beginning. But I suppose there's no chance you'd believe me, not when Lillian's planted so many sycophants in the crowd to sing her prais—"

A sound like a cannon erupted through the Great Hall, cutting Mariel short mid-word. The entire room trembled, plates clattering against the tables.

A second later, the doors to the hall burst open and a soot-streaked guard stumbled in, looking frantic. "Your Majesty! Riots! In the city! The tigers are escaping their enclosures—"

"Take these traitors to the dungeons," snapped Queen Ysette. "We'll deal with them later."

Guards grabbed Ivelle by the shoulders, dragging her away before she could protest. The last thing she saw before the doors slammed shut behind her was Lillian's face, smiling triumphantly from the opposite side of the hall.