"She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful: something to be admired from a distance, not up close."

—From Good Omens,

By Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

Jovana sat at the bedside of George Siward, the librarian breathing peacefully as he slept on a cot in the hospital wing of Mordania Castle. A slice of guilt went through her every time she looked at him, threatening to tear her in two. Had it been her fault that he was on the brink of death? Was it for her own sake that he lay beneath those mounds of blankets, shivering from fever as a cool compress was laid across his forehead, with healers surrounding him?

"Will he live, Healer Berger?" Madame Siward bent over her husband's frail, unconscious body, tears sliding down her cheeks as she clutched his bony hand in her firm grip. "The poison... is it poison very harmful? Have you found an antidote?"

"This is a very grave poison, madame," the healer said, squeezing Madame Siward's free hand. "Please understand that we shall do everything we can."

In her early forties, only a handful of creases by her eyes betrayed Madame Siward's age. Rich chestnut hair without a touch of grey tumbled down her spine, her warm brown eyes crinkling as she dabbed at them. She was a good two decades younger than her husband, who was typically so spry that he seemed the same age as his wife. They had one child, a daughter who had recently been married off to a nobleman, one of the Clements. 

"Where is the poison from?" Jovana asked, wrapping her arm around her tutor's shoulders as the older woman sat by the bed, her normally stoic and sunny exterior replaced by tears and sorrow. "Is it Mordanian?"

"No, no..." the healer murmured with a frown. "This is some strange toxin that courses through his veins. It is foreign."

"Foreign?" Madame Siward repeated, looking up from caressing her husband's face and fluffing his pillows. "Do you mean the poison is... Atlan?"

"We are still unsure," Healer Berger said, a furrow between her blonde brows. "Either way, please rest assured. We shall take the very best care of your husband, Madame."

"Of course," Madame Siward said softly. "I know you shall."

Jovana looked at the healer, locking eyes with her for a moment. "May we speak in private, Healer?"

The healer nodded. "Of course, Your Majesty."

Squeezing her tutor's shoulder before following the Healer into a small room, Jovana folded her arms across her chest, her mind humming with thoughts of blame and remorse. If only she had not ordered the tea... Perhaps then, he would not be here... But no, regret had never benefited her before. She steeled herself, pulling her shoulders back and straightening her spine. She would face this as she had faced other things in the past. With courage and with confidence, as well as a healthy dose of paranoia. 

Healer Berger drew a heavy curtain shut, sectioning off the storage room to give them a modicum of privacy. The smells of herbs surrounded them, wafting over from the jars and vials that sat on the shelves. Stacks of towels were neatly folded next to them. 

"Who do you believe poisoned him? Do you know whether the poison is Atlan, Otharian, or from somewhere else?" Jovana asked, her questions spilling out rapid-fire. 

Healer Berger held up both hands, cautioning her to slow her pace of speaking. "Please, Your Majesty, I know about as much as you do."

"It was in his tea," Jovana said slowly. "Is there some sort of poison that could be covered by the tea's taste?"

"Did he take it with sugar?" the healer asked. "Sugar could mask the taste of many poisons..." 

Jovana frowned, tapping her chin with a finger. Her normally well-manicured nails were a horror to behold, the nailbeds having been gnawed at in her distress. "I do not recall... No, not at all. He did not ask for sugar."

"I see." Healer Berger frowned again. 

"What are his symptoms?" Jovana asked. She wanted to assuage her own sense of blame by helping in some way, by learning more about his poisoning. 

The Healer rattled off a list from a piece of parchment, which was resting on a heavy tome. As the paper shifted, Jovana noticed the title. It was a familiar one, she realized as the gold embossed letters caught her eye. 

"You are reading Weddings, Funerals, and Deaths?" she asked, remembering that she herself had been leafing through the volume a few weeks ago. Trying to understand why or how she seemed to feel the same physical sensations as Alastair Durand. How long ago that seemed now. Nearly a lifetime, before this colossal mountain of secrets, lies, and betrayals had been placed in her path. "I read it as well."

"Was there anything you found interesting about it, Your Majesty?" Hearer Berger asked, tucking a strand of hair back into her chignon. "Anything that stood out to you?"

Jovana thought about telling the other woman the truth. Healer Berger seemed young for a Healer, a few years older than Jovana herself. Jovana remembered that her father had been hired when Jovana was a child, but he must have been killed during the attack, as so many Mordanian nobles and other people had been.

"The section about betrothals and engagements intrigued me," Jovana admitted, worrying her lower lip. It was unlikely that the other woman knew about Alastair's sudden return from the dead. "You know, I was wondering as I read it... Was there ever a case in which the effects of a betrothal lasted longer than one year without the betrothed pair getting married?"

The Healer cocked her head to one side. "Not that I have ever heard of, Your Majesty. But I believe I have heard that, well, it is rare. It is rare, but in some cases, the betrothed are not simply married. They are... mated, Your Majesty."

Jovana would have choked on her drink if she had anything in her mouth, her throat suddenly dry. "Excuse me?"

"There is not much known about such instances, since they are so rare, but they do exist. Was that helpful, Your Majesty?" Healer Berger asked, setting down her quill.

"That was extremely informative, Healer Berger. Thank you," she said with a cordial smile. "I pray that Master Siward would recover quickly and that you would soon discover the source of his problems."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I shall keep you updated on his recovery," the healer said. 

Jovana waited momentarily for her to leave before remembering that she needed to dismiss her. Her mind felt scrambled, her thoughts tumbling through it in haphazard waves. "You are dismissed, Healer."

She thought of his symptoms as she hurried back toward the library. Vomiting, fever, chills, and the strange greenish tint to his skin... What was it that had poisoned him? As she strode through the halls, she stumbled, tripping on a sheet of paper that had landed on the ground. Brushing off the footprint that she had left on it, Jovana squinted at the page.

From the desk of Lord Regent Ilyas Durand

An order for:

one (1) cask of creme de menthe

three (3) vials of unknown substances of Atlan origin

Folding up the paper, Jovana tucked it into the bodice of her gown, her heart pounding. Was Ilyas Durand responsible for the librarian's poisoning? And why?