Chapter 169: The Poison in the Cup

Sha's pov

The estate was quiet and the halls were empty and the silence was suffocating.

I sat in my room and the windows were tall and the view was vast and the world outside was white and still. The fire was crackling and the candles were flickering and the room was warm. But the warmth did not reach me and the comfort did not touch me and the peace did not find me. I had been confined to this room for weeks and the walls were closing in and the days were blurring together and the anger was burning.

I had been refusing food and the servants had stopped bringing trays and my mother had stopped trying and my father had stopped caring. I was wasting away and I was fading and I was disappearing. But I did not care. I did not care about anything except the hatred that was consuming me.

The door opened and a servant walked in.

Her face was pale and her hands were shaking and her voice was small.

"Miss Sha," she said.

"What?"

"Your mother has sent a tray."

"I am not hungry."

"She insisted."

"I do not care what she insisted."

The servant set the tray on the table and her hands were shaking and her eyes were down.

"I am sorry," she whispered.

She turned and walked out and the door closed behind her.

I stared at the tray and the food was steaming and the smell was rich. My stomach turned and my throat tightened and my anger flared.

I did not want the food and I did not want the pity and I did not want anything except revenge.

But I was hungry.

I picked up the spoon and I ate.

The pain started an hour later.

It was sharp and sudden and it doubled me over and it stole my breath. My stomach twisted and my head spun and my vision blurred. The room tilted and the walls closed in and the floor rose up to meet me.

I fell to my knees and my hands were shaking and my body was burning and my throat was closing.

"Help," I whispered.

No one answered.

"Help!"

The door burst open and my mother was standing there and her face was pale and her eyes were wide.

"Sha!"

"Mother."

"What happened?"

"I do not know."

She knelt beside me and her hands were on my face and her voice was sharp.

"What did you eat?"

"The tray."

"The tray?"

"The tray you sent."

She stared at me and her face went white and her hands went still.

"I did not send a tray."

The healer arrived and her hands were cold and her eyes were sharp and her voice was steady.

"She has been poisoned," she said.

"Poisoned?" my mother asked.

"Poisoned. Someone put something in her food."

"Who?"

"I do not know."

The healer pressed her fingers to my throat and her eyes were dark and her voice was low.

"Who had access to the tray?"

"The servants. The kitchen staff. Anyone who wanted to hurt her."

My mother's face was pale and her hands were shaking.

"Who would want to hurt her?"

"Many people."

The healer looked at me and her voice was soft.

"Who have you wronged, child?"

I stared at her and the anger was still there and the hatred was still there and the pain was still there.

"Everyone," I said.

The night came and the fire crackled and the candles flickered and the room was dark.

I lay in bed and my body was weak and my mind was racing and my heart was pounding. The poison was still in my system and the healer was still working and the questions were still coming.

My father stood by the window and his face was hard and his voice was cold.

"Who did this?" he asked.

"I do not know."

"You must have some idea."

"I do not."

He turned and his eyes were sharp and his voice was low.

"List everyone who has a reason to hurt you."

I was quiet for a moment and the words came out like stones.

"Cressida Ashcroft."

"Cressida Ashcroft?"

"She hates me. She wants me dead."