"Okay," Margaery replied with a smile. "But then we'll play cyvasse."
"Go ahead." I kissed her on the cheek. Margaery showed Tommen where the board and pieces were, and my brother took the set from the cupboard, placed it on the table, and began arranging the pieces.
It was my gift to Margaery—a board and pieces made of precious stones.
Margaery truly liked cyvasse. I was pleased that it was I who had introduced her to the game and gotten her hooked on it. She quickly mastered many of its intricacies and was now playing quite well. Still, I had not been idle either, having learned a few tricks under Tyrion's guidance.
Myrcella sat down to play against Margaery—she had already become familiar with the game in Dorne. Tommen and Sansa remained nearby as spectators.
"Your Majesty?" My cupbearer and steward entered the room. The figure of Herald Orm flashed briefly in the corridor.
"Ser Josib, come in," I waved him inside. "Your work awaits you. Try the wine and water on the table."
"With pleasure, Your Majesty." The fat knight headed for the table, and I turned to Robert.
"Did you bring the jug of water?"
"No, Your Majesty."
"Perhaps Lyddon did?"
"I'll ask him."
"Go ahead. We'll wait."
The boy disappeared behind the door again. What was happening began to trouble me. Perhaps the cupbearer should not drink just yet?
Spicer sat down at the table with a satisfied expression, poured himself some wine, and took a few sips. Nothing happened for a while—Margaery and I even managed to make several moves. Then Spicer poured himself some water and drank it as well.
"Is everything all right, Ser Josib?"
"Wonderful, Your Majesty. May I go?"
"In a few minutes. For now, enjoy my hospitality and try some of that fruit. It's from the Summer Isles—sent to us by Ser Garlan Tyrell."
"Excellent," the fat man said, selecting one of the fruits and biting into it. Juice ran down his chin.
Imelia arrived and brought an amphora from Dorne. Robert opened it, and Spicer sampled the new wine. From the way he closed his eyes in pleasure and clicked his tongue, it was clear the drink was beyond praise.
My paranoia had already begun to fade when Lyddon arrived. To my surprise, he also did not know where the water jug had come from. That alarmed me—only stewards were permitted to bring anything to Margaery's table or mine.
The girls continued to play, occasionally casting me expressive glances. I did my best to appear calm, to show that everything was fine.
Then I noticed Spicer yawn and rub his face. I looked at him with concern.
"Is something wrong? Should I call the maester?"
"It's nothing, Your Majesty. I'm just feeling sleepy. Probably the heat."
As he spoke, I saw the man quite literally fall asleep before my eyes. Another yawn escaped him; he leaned his elbow on the table, propped his head on his hand—and his eyes closed.
As I watched Spicer, a sudden thought struck me. Qyburn had once described a poison with a similar effect—one that lulled a person into sleep from which they never awoke.
Spicer's hand slipped from the table. He struck his forehead against the tabletop and slid to the floor. Fruit scattered across the tiles, and a decanter crashed down and rolled beneath the table.
"Rob—quickly! Bring Pycelle and Qyburn. Tell them to bring their antidotes. Jack, inform my grandfather and Lord Mace. Hurry!"
Margaery and I rushed to Spicer. A moment later, Herald Orm burst into the room and joined us.
Commotion erupted throughout the castle.
Margaery looked tearfully at the cupbearer as I slapped his cheeks, desperately trying to rouse him—without success. The poison that caused a person to fall asleep gently and without pain was called Nightshade. And if I was right, nothing could help Spicer now. There was an antidote—but it had to be taken within the first few minutes, at the first hint of drowsiness, not when the body was already numb and refusing to obey.
Myrcella knelt beside Margaery. I could see what they were thinking—one of us should have been lying there instead. Pale Sansa stood a little behind them, staring in horror at the "sleeping" cupbearer.
Lord Mace Tyrell and Ser Loras were the first to rush into our chambers. Both looked shaken.
"My daughter!" Mace hurried to Margaery and embraced her. "Thank the Seven—you are alive." Then he turned to me. "And you, Your Majesty…" Unable to restrain himself, he embraced me as well, pulling us close and kissing us both in turn. "My children, I am so glad all is well…"
Ser Loras nodded to me, kissed his sister, and then bent over Spicer. Qyburn appeared soon after. Cersei came with him. Then, groaning softly, Grand Maester Pycelle hobbled over, knelt over the cupbearer with a crunch of his bones, and tried to feel his pulse.
"Joff!" Cersei embraced me, then stepped back and looked into my eyes for a long time, checking to see if everything was okay.
"I'm fine, Mother. And so is Margaery. Everyone is safe. Praise the Seven!"
"Praise the Seven," Mace, Qyburn, and Loras echoed.
The guards arrived, led by Jaime.
Tywin was the last to come—it took him the longest to reach us from the Tower of the Hand. By then, despite the antidote forcibly administered by the maesters, it was clear that Spicer could not be saved…
(End of Chapter)
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