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‘Yes,’ Torj confirmed.

‘Harenth’s gift is poison, correct?’

The Bear Slayer gave a shrug. ‘Yes, but that’s hardly —’

‘What does the poison do?’ she cut him off.

Torj’s brows shot up. His hand went to his pocket and he pulled out a small vial, placing it on the table before him with a perplexed expression. ‘I don’t actually know,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve never used it.’ He looked to Wilder. ‘Hawthorne?’

Wilder tensed. ‘Lost mine when I was taken prisoner. I’d never used it either.’

‘You bothneverused them?’ Wren said, clearly baffled. ‘Have you seen any other Warswords use them over the years?’

Torj’s cheeks tipped pink then. ‘No… Not now you mention it.’

‘Why is that, do you think? Surely it would have come in handy at some point in history?’ Wren pressed, raising a brow as though she had her suspicions.

‘Uhh…’

Don’t say it, you fool. But Wilder knew he couldn’t save Torj from himself.

‘I suppose there’s a feeling among Warswords… Why use poison when you can end a man with your blade or your hammer or your fists? It’s just that… Well, poison… It’s a woman’s weapon.’

Beside Wilder, Thea shook her head with disdain. ‘Idiot,’ she muttered, only loud enough for Wilder to hear.

Wren gave a derisive laugh. ‘You’re telling me that in all the years of Warswords fighting for the midrealms, none of you know what sort of poison Harenth gifts those blessed by the Furies?’

Torj looked as sheepish as Wilder felt when he answered: ‘Uh… none of us here.’

‘As much as I enjoy watching warriors squirm at the questioning of our alchemists,’ Audra mused, ‘perhaps you can get to the point, Elwren?’

Wren nodded. ‘My point is that if we could link the poison gifted to the Warswords from Harenth to whatever is tainting the Pools of Purity, then you’d have your proof about Artos.’

‘Or another Warsword,’ Adrienne added. ‘There’s one of you who’s not here, yes? The one with a reputation for cruelty and malice…’

Wilder groaned. ‘Not this again. Vernich is a bastard, to be sure, but he’s no fallen Warsword.’

Adrienne considered him. ‘Then where is he? Why haven’t you rallied him to our side? No doubt we could use someone called the Bloodletter.’

Raking his fingers through his hair, Wilder grimaced. ‘Vernich has always been difficult. Unpredictable.’

‘So you can’t trust him?’

‘I would hesitate to divulge the intricate plans of a rebellion to him, yes,’ Wilder admitted. ‘But he’s not aligned with the reapers. That much I’m sure of.’

‘If you say so.’ Anya didn’t look convinced. ‘Which means we come back to Artos, then. He caused the diversionandhad his lackeys infect the pools.’

Silence followed. Several people shifted in their seats, while Kipp nodded enthusiastically at the far end of the table.

‘Why would they not just use shadows, then?’ Dratos blurted, ribbons of darkness flickering at his back.

Anya sighed. ‘I’m not sure. But Thea and Hawthorne said they felt empath magic at the prisoner camp… It seems unlikely to me that if Artos is behind it all, he’d leave everything in the control of others.’

‘How do we find out what the poison is, then?’ Cal asked.

Torj’s chair groaned beneath him as he leant forward and slid the vial across to Wren. ‘It’s yours.’

Wilder noticed the slight shake of Wren’s fingers as they closed around the vial.