I carried him over by the fire, where he promptly puked all down my shirt. At closer range, the smell was overpowering. As I set him down and pulled my shirt off, I caught an underlying scent, more bitter than vomit even. Even as I opened my mouth to speak Chade confirmed my suspicions. “Varta leaves. Crushed fine. The spiciness of the sausage would conceal the taste well. Let’s hope the wine wasn’t poisoned as well, or we’re both dead.”
Every hair on my body stood up in horror. Chade looked up to see me frozen, and pushed gently past me to pick Slink up. He offered him a saucer of water and looked pleased when Slink sampled it. “I think he’ll live. The little pig stuffed his mouth full, and got a better taste of it than a human would have. Up it came. The stuff on the table looks chewed, but not digested. I think the taste made him gag, not the poison.”
“I hope so,” I said faintly. Every one of my nerves was tuned to an inner waiting. Had I been poisoned? Did I feel sleepy, nauseous, dizzy? Was my mouth numb, dry, watering? I broke out in a sudden sweat and began to tremble. Not again.
“Stop it,” Chade said quietly. “Sit down. Drink some water. You’re doing this to yourself, Fitz. That bottle was well sealed with an old cork. If the wine was poisoned, it was done years ago. I know of few men with the patience to poison a bottle of wine, and then age it. I think we’re fine.”
I drew a shaky breath. “But such was not someone’s intent. Who brought your food?”
Chade gave a snort. “I prepared my own food, as always. But that on the table was from a gift basket left for Lady Thyme. From time to time folk seek to curry favor with her, as it is rumored she has the King’s ear. I did not think my masquerade woman a likely target for poison.”