Chapter 170: Poisoning

Fengling's heartbeat pounded against her throat. She smelled the lady's perfume, a blend of rosemary and ambergris, ten times stronger than Robin's locust‑flower scent, yet it could not hide the lingering sweet, oily coconut shavings on her fingertips.

"Just—" she swallowed, the pearl pendant on her hairpin trembling into a phantom, "the new charcoal fire in the back kitchen makes people dizzy."

Madam Aisharu released her grip, lifting Fengling's laurel bracelet on her wrist with a peacock‑feather fan: "The laurel of the Northern Border can ward off evil."

Gold dust fluttered from the fan onto her apron, perfectly covering the smiling face on the oil‑paper edge. "But the steward said a bard has been selling firefly lanterns at the market lately," she whispered, drawing close, her warm breath mingling with perfume. "The little girls who buy lanterns are all waiting for their lovers to take them out to sea."

Fengling's nails dug into her palm. She recalled Robin's words last night about "the third lantern in the back alley," remembered the faintly visible Sword hilt beneath his cloak, and the copper whistle engraved with a little fish. It was a legend Southern Border fishermen used to trick little girls, yet he recounted it so earnestly.

"Madam is joking," she said, lowering her head as a laurel leaf brushed her chin, itching like someone's fingertip, "I wouldn't dare think such things."

When Madam Aisharu turned, her jade bracelet clinked against the edge of the makeup case: "It's only interesting if you dare imagine." She fished a small glass bottle from a drawer; pale gold powder swirled in the moonlight, and said, "Tomorrow night, bring me a cup of wine to the study."

As she slipped the bottle into Fengling's palm, she suddenly seized the maid's wrist, "If you meet someone you shouldn't," the lady's nail pressed into the other's pulse, "consider it a favor to the little girl under the lantern—let her feel the sea breeze, okay?"

The maid clenched the glass bottle, the laurel leaf snapping crisply against her wrist.

She didn't know whether the bottle contained mute powder, only saw her own reddened earlobes reflected in the lady's mirror.

From afar came the clang of a gong, the signal for the guards' shift change, while the smiling‑face note in her pocket was now wrinkling from cold sweat.

"I understand," Fengling bowed, a button suddenly popping off her garment and rolling to the lady's feet.

Madam Aisharu stared at the button, then let out a light laugh—how fitting, those male favorites' hearts beating in her palm, all round, fragile, and wet with the dew of desire.

"Don't worry!" she lifted Fengling's chin with the peacock‑feather fan, the jade bracelet pressing against her throat, "Once this is settled, I'll reward you with a lad who can sing Southern Border folk songs—women always need something to warm the bed, after all."

Fengling's nails dug deep into her palm, but she forced a timid smile onto her face: "Madam has broken me," she said, bending to pick up the button, her fingertip brushing the bite marks on it.

As she turned toward the wine cabinet, the pale gold powder in the glass bottle suddenly swirled into an odd silvery glow under the moon, strikingly like the reflection on the copper whistle Robin had given her last night.

The moment the poison entered the wine, Fengling's fingertips trembled; it wasn't mute powder but the "Heart‑Breaking Dust"—a thousand‑gold bounty item from the Western Border black market.

This lethal toxin, extracted from the tentacles of a mechanical sea monster, can pulverize a victim's heart into dust, yet the death appears like a sudden illness.

She suddenly recalled three days earlier in the secret collection room, a rib gap in a male favorite's skeleton had been embedded with such silvery powder.

The Sean, third son of Hok, whom Madam Aisharu intends to poison, is probably still in the study reconciling accounts, unaware that his name has already been etched onto the lady's "cleanup list."

"Sean always says the nightingales I keep are noisy," the lady's voice came from behind, the peacock‑feather fan sweeping Fengling's back, "but he doesn't know the nightingales' beaks are stained with honey and blood."

The maid clenched the wine jug; the rose emblem at its base dug into her palm, a mark of the duke's manor's special‑issue vessel—and a summons to death.

She suddenly understood why the lady had been so obedient lately—no intimate dealings with her male favorites, not even making a move on Robin, who she'd just taken an interest in—because she herself had become a target.

Footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor; it was the personal guard of Third Young Master Sean on night patrol.

Fengling retrieved the copper whistle hidden in her sleeve—it was the one Robin had given her; holding it now seemed to calm her heart.

She sprinkled the Heart‑Breaking Dust into the cup; the powder, upon touching the wine, caused fine blue ripples on the surface, then the liquid settled back to calm.

Fengling's fingertips paused on the wine jug; she stared at the greedy flame flickering in Magic Power's eyes, suddenly recalling three months earlier when she first delivered poisoned wine for the lady, her palm likewise slick with fine cold sweat.

Back then she thought the silvery gleam of the Heart‑Breaking Dust was merely a noble's toy, until she saw a male favorite spurt blood repeatedly and was later diagnosed with a shattered heart—then Fengling first grasped the lady's horror.

"The young master will audit the winter grain stores tonight," she heard her own voice syrupy sweet, like honey laced with poison, "This wine is mixed with Eastern Border aphrodisiac honey; after drinking, one will only hear the voice of one's beloved."

Magic Power's nails dug into the embroidered gold hem of her dress; this maid, constantly scolded by the young master, now had wildfire in her eyes. She of course didn't realize that the wine also contained Madam Aisharu's newly acquired "Ice Silkworm Essence," which makes the drinker's vessels burst in ecstasy, the death resembling a blissful ascension.

"Make good use of the opportunity; I'm leaving now," Fengling said after delivering the wine, preparing to depart.

At that moment the mechanical clock at the corridor's end struck eight times, moonlight filtering through the glass window carving light and shadow across her face.

Madam Aisharu had said that an excellent executioner must stay calm wherever and whenever, yet as she watched Magic Power's trembling fingertips, she suddenly saw her own reflection from when she first arrived at the duke's manor—gripping a carved wine cup, believing she had seized a straw to change her fate.

"Remember to lock the door," she adjusted Magic Power's crooked hair ornament, the pearl earring sweeping over the other's reddened earlobe, "The lady said she'll reward you with new clothes once this is done."

The maid nodded hurriedly, the wine jug rattling a faint sound against her chest.

The night wind lifted the corner of her apron, revealing a tiny embroidered anchor on the inside.

That was the mark of the Viscountess's private troops.

From afar came the gong of the night‑patrol guards; when she counted to the third beat, Fengling heard the first giggle from Magic Power's room and instantly reverted to an expressionless maid.

The gears of the mechanical clock turned in the shadows; she produced the tiny Heart‑Breaking Dust bottle hidden in her cuff and poured the remaining powder into the flowerbed.

The roots of the night rose instantly coiled, exuding black sap under the moonlight.

Fengling stared at her reflection on the glass window, suddenly unable to tell whether the chill in her eyes came from the duke's manor's twenty‑year breeding program or from the shell Robin handed her, which held a Southern Border warm current.

When Magic Power's scream pierced the night sky, Fengling was already standing before Madam Aisharu's door.

"Madam, Young Master Sean says this wine is stronger than the rosemary you brewed."

Madam Aisharu instantly let out a bell‑like laugh.

(End of Chapter)