Daughter Of The Forest by Juliet Marillier Read Free Book Online

say poison and then stop. Anyway, I can tell what you’re thinking. I’m twelve and a half now, Finbar; I’m old enough to be trusted.”
    “I do trust you, Sorcha. It’s not that. It’s just that if you help me now, you’ll be at risk, and besides, it’s…” He was twisting the end of his hair with his fingers again. He shut his words off, but I was tuned to his thoughts, and for a moment he forgot to shield them. In the darkness of the quiet room I caught a terrifying glimpse of a glowing brazier, and mangled, burning flesh, and I heard a man screaming. I wrenched myself back, shaking. Our eyes met in the horror of our shared vision.
    “What sort of poison?” I asked unsteadily, my hands fumbling for tinder to light a candle.
    “Not to kill. A draft strong enough to send a man to sleep for the morning. Enough of it to doctor four men; and tasting fair, so they will take it in a tankard of ale and not know different. And I need it before sunrise, Sorcha. They take their breakfast early, and the guard changes before midmorning. It’s little enough time. You know how to make such a potion?”
    In the dark, I nodded reluctantly. We two need not see each other, save in the mind’s eye, to reach an understanding.
    “You’re going to have to tell me,” I said slowly. “Tell me what this is for. It’s him, isn’t it? That prisoner?”
    The candle flared and I shielded it with my hand. It was very late now, well past midnight, but outside there were subdued sounds of activity, horses being moved, weapons sharpened, stores loaded; they were preparing already for a dawn departure.
    “You saw him,” said Finbar with quiet intensity. “He’s only a boy.”
    “He was older than you,” I couldn’t resist pointing out. “Sixteen at least, I thought.”
    “Old enough to die for a cause,” said my brother, and I could feel how tight stretched he was, how his determination to make things right drove him. If Finbar could have changed the world by sheer effort of will, he would have done it.
    “What do you want me to do? Put this Briton to sleep?” By the dim light of the candle I was scanning my shelves; the packet I wanted was well concealed.
    “He held his tongue. And will continue to do so, if I read him right. That will cost him dearly. Briton or no, he deserves his chance at freedom,” said Finbar soberly. “Your draft can buy that for him. There’s no way to save him the pain; we’re too late for that.”
    “What pain?” Maybe I knew the answer to my own question, but my mind refused to put together the clues I’d been given, refused to accept the unacceptable.
    “The draft is for his guards.” Finbar spoke reluctantly. Plainly, he wished me to know as little as possible. “Just make it up; I’ll do the rest.”
    My hands found the packet almost automatically: nightshade, used in moderation and well mixed with certain other herbs, would produce a sound slumber with few ill effects. The trick lay in getting the dose just right; too much, and your victim would never wake. I stood still, the dried berries on the stone slab before me.
    “What’s the matter?” asked Finbar. “Why are you still holding back? Sorcha, I need to know you will do this. And I must go. There are other matters to attend to.”
    He was already on his feet, eager to leave, his mind starting to map out the next part of his strategy.
    “What will they do to him, Finbar?” Surely not—surely not what I had seen, in that flash of vision that had sickened me so.
    “You heard Father. He said, keep him alive. Let me worry about it, Sorcha. Just make up the draft. Please.”
    “But how could Father—”
    “It becomes easy,” Finbar said. “It’s in the training; the ability to see your enemy as something other than a real man. He is a lesser breed, defined by his beliefs—you learn to do with him what you will, and bend him to your purpose.” He sensed my horror. “It’s all right, Sorcha,” he said. “We can save