Chapter 27 The Poison Pill
Who could save Brielle…
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The sun had risen. Brielle, bound to a chair in the middle of the room, drifted in and out of a restless sleep as morning light spilled through the open doorway.
Then the exorcist approached, his shadow falling over her and blocking the sun.
Startled awake, Brielle looked up to see him shake a single pill from a small glass vial.
“Take this,” he said with grave authority, extending his hand toward her lips. “With this, no evil spirit will dare come near you.”
Brielle narrowed her eyes, her gaze turning icy. “Are you certain this will drive away spirits?”
“I have dealt with many cases like yours. Once you take it, you will be protected from all darkness. Then I can purge the Whitmore household of these foul forces for good. Please, cooperate,” he urged, softening his tone as though coaxing a child.
But at this closeness, Brielle caught the distinct scent of the pill-a blend of bitter herbs and something unnervingly chemical.
A cold smile touched her lips. “Drive away evil? No. This will cloud my mind, induce madness, perhaps even steal my memory. Isn’t that so?”
For an instant, the exorcist froze. His murky eyes, usually sharp with greed, widened in clear shock.
He recovered quickly, forcing a laugh. “Why would I use such wicked medicine? What purpose would that
serve me?”
Yet his voice had lost its conviction, and guilt now hung plainly about him.
“It would serve you very well,” Brielle replied coolly. “Once I lost my senses, you could claim the spirits were resistant, requiring you to remain here longer-and demand greater payment. And when the medicine finally erased my memory, you would declare the evil gone. With me docile and no longer upsetting my father, you would be hailed as a true master of your craft. Isn’t that your plan?”
She spoke slowly, each word peeling back his deception like a layer of rotten parchment.
She had heard of such schemes before. In her former life, exorcists never dared approach someone of her standing. Yet here she was, facing one in the flesh.
The exorcist’s hand, still holding the pill, began to tremble. Brielle saw flashes of cruelty-and fear-in his
eyes.
She smiled calmly. “Do not think of forcing it on me. This poison takes half an hour to take full effect. In that time, all I need do is raise my voice, and the household guard will come running. Then not only will you be exposed as a fraud-you will be fortunate to leave Whitmore Manor alive.”
At that, the exorcist clenched his fist around the pill and stared at her, utterly bewildered. “You… how could you know it takes half an hour?”
Had he stumbled upon a fellow practitioner of deception?
“Could it be… you are also of the same profession?”
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Chapter 27 The Poison Pill
Brielle scoffed. “A fraud like you dares name me colleague? We are nothing alike.”
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The man frowned deeply. This had never happened before. How could a noblewoman know such tricks? Who was she?
“How many have you harmed with this poison of yours Brielle’s voice dropped low. “Look at the shadow of crimson staining your brow. A great calamity follows you. Lately, has your luck not turned? Misfortune upon misfortune, one thing after another?”
The exorcist shuddered. His legs gave way, and he crumpled to his knees beside her chair. “Who are you truly?”
Had his luck not been foul? A falling branch had broken his arm, leaving him abed for a month. Then two months passed without a single client. He nearly choked on his wine just days ago.
And now, when he finally secured a wealthy household like the Whitmores, he encountered this unsettling girl. The greatest peril in his deceitful trade was meeting someone who knew true craft-a misfortune so rare, it felt like a curse. And it had fallen upon him.
Brielle shifted her bound arms and gave a meaningful glance.
Quickly, the false exorcist untied the ropes. “Master! My luck has been wretched. Can you help me? Can you turn it aside?”
Seeing the genuine terror on his sweating face, Brielle knew his fear was real.
She rose, stretching her stiff limbs, and answered slowly “I cannot turn it aside completely.”
His face paled. He scrambled forward on his knees. “I know I was wrong-I never should have tried to deceive you. But if you possess true sight, I beg you, save me!”
As he spoke, he drew out handfuls of banknotes from inside his robe-ill-gotten payments from past deceptions. “I want none of this silver, none of it. Please Master, tell me what to do!”
Brielle studied the notes, her brow faintly lined. Once, she would have scorned such money. But now, planning to sever ties with the Whitmores and with no support from the Clarke family, she needed means of her own. Without coin, she would be vulnerable.
She took the notes, weighing them in her hand before speaking. “The calamity upon you is not easily undone. Harm too many, and fate will collect its due. But I can guide you away from the bloodshed that now draws near. Go to the Abbey of St. Luthra. Seek there the tonic of clarity and deliver it, in person, to every soul you have wronged. Then return to the abbey and pray for half a year. Live humbly. Perform honest labor. Perhaps that may spare your life.”
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Fate Binds Me to Lord Clarke
