Damien followed Lane into the dining room. A long, cherry table filled the center of the room, the surface covered with elaborate settings for each guest, including five forks, three knives of various shapes, two spoons, and an odd hooked device that looked more appropriate for a torture chamber than a formal dining room. On each plate rested a vellum card with a guest’s name written on it. Lane sat at the end of the left-hand row next to Baron Trasker. It may have been meant as an insult to stick her at the end of the table, but it pleased Damien as she at least wasn’t surrounded by potential enemies.

A crystal chandelier hung over the center of the table, its scores of candles casting a warm glow throughout the room. In each corner a large green potted plant spread wide leaves.

Lane and most of the barons took their assigned seats. The other guards stood against the wall behind their charges and Damien mimicked them, standing behind Lane. At the head of the table, Baron Kannon remained standing. He whispered something to Miles. The majordomo nodded and hurried out through another door. Behind it Damien caught a glimpse of the kitchen. The smell of spices and roasting meat wafted through the momentarily opened door.

Baron Kannon raised his hands and the mumbled conversations fell silent. Two young, female servants emerged from the kitchen, each bearing a bottle of red wine. Damien quickly scanned the wine as well as Lane’s glass, plate, and utensils.

No poison. So far so good.

When everyone had a full glass Baron Kannon said, “A toast, to another year of cooperation with my fellow barons, and continued good relations with the kingdom.”

He addressed that last bit to Lane, who offered a polite nod. They all raised their glasses. “Hear, hear!”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Everyone drank and Baron Kannon took his seat at the head of the table. More servants emerged from the kitchen. They carried platters covered with little disks of bread smeared with some sort of gray mush. Damien didn’t know what it was, but he was glad he didn’t have to eat any.

He scanned the food and found no poison. The next two courses were salads, also poison free. By the time the soup came out Damien was starting to think they weren’t going to try and kill Lane tonight. One of the pretty, young servants set a bowl of deep-red soup in front of Lane.

Damien’s nerves jangled when he encountered an especially nasty poison floating in the steaming liquid. Lane lifted the larger of her two spoons as Damien rushed to gather all the poison into a small ball.

He managed it with half a second to spare before she dipped in for the first bite. He wrapped the poison in a soul force bubble, turned it invisible, and dumped it in the dirt around the farthest plant. It didn’t instantly turn black, so the poison must not have been quite as bad as he feared.

For her part Lane chatted away with Trasker and the baron across from her, as fat a man as Damien had ever seen. No one gave her any searching looks like they were expecting her to fall face first into her soup. The poison was probably a slow-acting one, something that would sicken her overnight. Part of Damien wanted badly to kill them all on the spot, but he had to be sure all the barons were involved and not just Trasker.

The next three courses were clean, and smelled delicious. Dessert was some sort of whipped concoction topped with flames. Another poison was mixed with whatever accelerant produced the flames. Damien purified the food again and dumped the second poison in the same pot as the first. The edges of the plant’s leaves turned brown.

The second poison must have enhanced the effects of the first. That was risky. If Lane hadn’t cared for either the soup or dessert their plan might have failed even without Damien’s interference.

“I don’t know about you,” Sloan said. “But I’m starving.”

Spending the evening removing toxins from Lane’s food had soured Damien’s appetite. “I think I might be coming down with something. My stomach is a mess.”

Sloan nodded. “I hear you. Some of this rich food is poison.”