Page 10 of Poisoned Kingdom (Secrets of Dagome #1)

Roksana

T he familiar scent of straw and dried wildflowers teased my senses, reminding me of my childhood.

I dreaded this dream, yet I could not resist sinking into the simple pleasure of running barefoot through the Orcish Steppe.

Of hiding in the tall, dry grass, and breathing in the scent of daisies as they opened beneath my touch.

In my dreams, my mother taught me how to make flowers bloom, how to paint their petals with all the colours of the rainbow .

. . They were happy childhood fantasies, my escape from the harsh world I lived in.

The pleasant dream never lasted, though.

Fire always crept in, turning a fond memory into a nightmare.

This time, however, it felt different. The stench of burning invaded my senses, flames engulfing my ancestral home, but the screams of my family trapped inside became mine.

I struggled against the men who assaulted my body with the savagery of wild beasts until they stopped, and the scent of musk and lemongrass chased away the pain.

But I knew better than to give in. I’d trusted Jagon when he first came to take me, and where had it led me? These men were his thugs, and I couldn’t let them win.

I fought back, but my enemy didn’t let go. His grey eyes bore into mine with a hunger so terrifyingly real that I lashed out with all I had, my poison-filled pin and magic hitting him as I ran for freedom.

My eyes flew open, focusing on my hand as it stabbed upwards, my throat so tight my breath hardly filled my lungs, making me dizzy. The bed I laid on creaked as I sat up, heart racing, drenched in cold sweat from the night terror. It didn’t help that I didn’t recognise the house I was in.

What’s going on?

‘Ah, you’re finally awake. I thought I’d have to throw you back into the river.’ The sharp voice startled me. I blinked, trying to focus on the woman standing in front of me.

‘Who are you? Where am I?’ I asked, shaking my head until the reality that I was in a strange cottage, its peasant origins clear in the dawn’s faint light, finally sank in.

‘In my bed, and you’ve overstayed your welcome. Now move, you need to leave,’ said the old woman, pulling off the covers.

‘Call me Sana. I thank you for your help, and I’ll go, but could you at least tell me who you are, where I am, and how I got here?

Oh, and may I ask for my clothes and the purse that came with them?

Travelling in a thin chemise will certainly attract too much attention,’ I said, standing up.

I grasped the edge of the bed; I was as weak as a newborn kitten, and the rapid movement made me giddy.

Despite my meagre height, I towered over the woman in front of me, her back bent by the passing years. And although her skin had weathered over time, her eyes shone with intelligence and strength. Her disdainful huff at my questions nearly made me smile.

‘My name tells you nothing, but you may call me Vera. You’re in Dagome, or at least that’s what most people would say.

We’re so close to the border that we could even be in Wiosna.

As for your arrival, I found you in the river nearly two weeks ago.

Since then, you’ve been in bed, delirious from fever,’ she said.

‘I called for the healer, but he didn’t want to come.

Nobody did. They say you’re a rusalka 1 and that I should have thrown you back into the water.

’ She huffed with a shrug, ‘Like any rusalka would ever look like a drowned rat.’

Two weeks? I’ve been here for two weeks? Fever?

I sat back, trying to make sense of my predicament. ‘My clothes, please.’

‘Please . . . thank you . . . You speak like a lady, yet you wear the mark of the Brotherhood. You’re lucky I’m too old to fear an assassin under my roof,’ she said, eyeing me suspiciously before pointing to a pile of clothing on the wobbly table.

‘I burned your rags; the hands that ripped them weren’t kind to the fabric or your flesh.

Pick something from there—they’re clothes left in payment for my services. I’ll feed you, then you can leave.’

I stepped back, eyeing her sharply, but Vera just shrugged.

‘Don’t even think of killing me, girl. It wouldn’t benefit you. I won’t say a word to your masters, so just do as you’re told.’

With my senses on high alert, I rummaged through the old clothes, trying to pick out the cleanest and least damaged. Finally, I was dressed, and even though the mismatched items made me look like a ruffian ready for a tavern brawl, at least they were warm.

My mouth watered while I waited for her to put the food on the table, but my host was in no rush, apparently.

She hobbled to the fireplace, pulling Tova’s pouch from a pot and pouring a few coins on the table.

‘There. I’m taking these for the food, clothes, and the days I spent watching over you.

’ She pushed the pouch in my direction. ‘You can keep the rest.’

Well, that was unexpected. People rarely parted with money they thought they deserved, and I’d already mentally bid goodbye to Tova’s coins. She must have noticed my surprise, because she just shrugged.

‘I’m an honest woman, and assassin or not, I can see someone hurt you. I won’t add to your troubles, Sana of the River,’ she said casually. ‘Eat, take your money, and leave. The wool merchant should be heading to Truso today. If you hurry, you can catch a ride.’

An hour later, the sun barely above the horizon, I stood on the threshold of her cottage, sweating under the collar from the sheer exhaustion of moving around. I could barely stand. Nevertheless, I bowed to my saviour.

‘Makosh 2 bless your heart, Vera. I won’t forget your kindness,’ I said. She only shrugged once again in response before disappearing inside the cottage. My back creaked as I straightened, and I braced myself before strolling to the village centre to find the merchant.

***

He was exactly where Vera said he’d be, ready to set off.

The merchant eyed me warily, his wagon packed to the brim, yet his reluctance to transport me disappeared when I held out several silver coins.

The money, however, did not earn me a seat.

Instead, he threw a rancid sheepskin in the back with his goods, instructing me to keep my grubby hands to myself.

What would have taken two days to travel by horse stretched to three, but even that was better than walking, and spending most of my time lying on the sheepskin was helping me recover.

‘We’ll be at the capital by noon,’ the merchant shouted, his voice breaking through my thoughts as we stopped near the riverbank. ‘Get yourself ready.’

I jumped off the wagon to go wash myself, pausing briefly to look at my reflection in the moving water.

I smelled like a shepherd’s daughter and looked even worse.

My hair hung in oily strands, falling on the mismatched clothes stained from the natural oils in the sheepswool.

I certainly wouldn’t be returning to Truso in a blaze of glory—more like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. Still, I couldn’t arrive unprepared.

The small knife that I’d swiped with the clothing was worthless as a means of defence. However, with my talents, I could create something potent enough to make any Brotherhood lackey pause over forcing me to do their bidding.

The merchant looked at me strangely when I wrapped scraps of fabric around my hands and dived into a nearby ditch. Little did he know that what others thought of as common weeds was a cornucopia of ingredients for someone who knew what to look for.

I returned with a bundle of hemlock, and my companion’s eyes widened.

‘That stuff’s poisonous! Don’t let the oxen near it,’ he hastily called out.

When ingested, hemlock could cause weakness, vomiting, confusion, and an inability to see straight.

Introduced directly into the bloodstream, however, it could lead to paralysis within minutes.

I nodded, taking a seat near the small fire he’d lit.

Using the knife and a stone, I crushed the stems and leaves, allowing the juice to coat the blade before drying it over the fire.

Then, I repeated the process until the entire blade was covered in an oily, black coating.

Even though it was all I could muster, it would have to do.

The familiar routine had also given me time to think, and a plan slowly formed in my mind. It might not have been the best plan, but with its hint of viciousness, it was one I was proud of.

Without an invitation from the grand master, my return to Truso would be seen as a betrayal of the Brotherhood’s rules.

The risk of stumbling upon some overeager dark brother and ending up dead in a ditch was real.

But even if I couldn’t get the old man’s permission beforehand , I had no doubt he would back me up.

Years of serving as his shadow, a position that marked me as his right hand, had taught me a lot about the kind of man he was behind closed doors.

‘I can’t wait to see you again, Boyan,’ I whispered, smiling at my thoughts as I tried to think of a way to alert him to my arrival while giving him time to issue me a formal invitation to return.

Then what? Who can I count on to help me with Jagon?

I quickly catalogued potential allies. Jagon controlled the chapter of poisoners and alchemists, so they’d follow wherever he led.

I was sure the Blades—the Brotherhood’s chapter of undercover assassins and blades for hire—were entirely under Irsha’s command.

And my childhood friend would sooner fall on his dagger than betray Boyan.

That left the Mules and the Observers.

The Mules liked their money. Knowing them, those smugglers and traders were most likely helping Jagon with the srebrec ore, which left the Observers as my only unknown.

‘Bloody perfect,’ I grunted.

The Observers were a difficult bunch—spies and troublemakers. Their intelligence and cunning often led them down individual paths, and their master, Bolko, controlled his chapter in name only.

‘So, we’re at an impasse . . .’ I mused, looking at my weapon, ‘or maybe not?’

I smiled at my thoughts. If I could persuade the mages to investigate the illegal srebrec trade, the Mules would have enough troubles to deal with to continue to support Jagon .

. . The Observers, on the other hand, always followed power, and I knew exactly who could change the tide.

If the king of Dagome learned he had an enemy in the Brotherhood trying to break the covenant, he would surely support the person who brought the news.

My chaotic scheme was beginning to shape itself into a plan that made my chest ache with bittersweet sadness when I realised how easily I had slipped back into my old ways, my old life.

A life in which I was always scheming, always keeping people at arm’s length—the grand master’s shadow once again.

Well, I thought. Welcome back, Nightshade. It’s like you never left, I thought to myself.

1. Rusalka — a water spirit; a fair maiden with blond or green hair that protects the waters and sometimes lures men into dancing with her until they die from exhaustion.

2. Makosh — goddess of family and females, sometimes called the mother of gods.