And so she told him. The story came spilling out, a torrent of fear and guilt she had kept dammed up for seven long years. She told him how the steward had given her the silver goblet, how she had been on her way to Aelina's chambers. How Lord Malrec had intercepted her in the corridor. He had taken the silver goblet from her, his touch cold, his eyes merciless. He had given her a pewter one in its place, already filled with the same dark, red wine. He had told her it was a special vintage, a gift for the lady, and that she was to say nothing of the change, or her family would pay the price.
She had done as she was told. She had delivered the wine. She had seen the Lady Aelina drink it.
And the next morning, the lady was dead.
A week later, Lyra had been accused of stealing a silver locket and dismissed, sent away with a bag of coins and a threat that had kept her silent for seven years.
