Page 44 of Poisoned Kingdom (Secrets of Dagome #1)

‘Ah, my sweet Nightshade,’ he murmured, all warmth and charm. ‘Always so generous. The Blades have no objection to having mages in our ranks. This misguided soul . . .’ he said, watching as I pinched the man’s jaw and tipped a vial’s contents into his mouth. ‘I’ll handle his punishment myself.’

I caught Irsha’s smirk and responded with a raised brow and a roll of my eyes.

Whatever price he’d promised his man for this performance must’ve been high.

My mind raced as I glanced around, gauging everyone’s reactions.

The room, once silent, was filled with whispers spoken behind my back, but all eyes followed my movements.

‘Thank you for your mercy, my lady,’ Irsha said, his fingers stroking my forearm. ‘Might you also spare a little pity for a man still pining for you after all this time? I have some sweet wine in my chambers.’

‘I don’t know if I can stay,’ I replied, my eyes trained on Jagon.

‘Your Blades may have no objection, but what is the opinions of the others?’ I leaned into Irsha, playing up my interest, before continuing, ‘If I’m forced to leave, visit me at Lilies.

I also have sweet wine . . . and a bed that’s far more comfortable. ’

This little performance wouldn’t work if not for our past, but knowing how adamant Jagon had been about the king’s touch, I’d played my wild card, hoping he’d believe that only by having me in the Brotherhood would he have access to me.

He was silent, but without his acceptance, the remaining chapter masters would never tolerate a mage.

Irsha frowned, then pulled me into his arms, his voice rumbling through his chest. ‘If you’re staying, you must join the Blades. The army has battle mages—why not magical assassins in the Brotherhood?

Despite the severity of the situation, the urge to laugh at our charade nearly overtook me.

‘No, she won’t.’ Jagon stepped forward, voice sharp and eyes narrowed in anger. ‘Sana was, and is, a poisoner. I don’t care if she has magic. She will remain as my poisoner or not at all . . . isn’t that right, my dear?’

Irsha didn’t move until I gave him a subtle nod. Then, with a shrug and his signature smirk, he raised his hands in surrender and backed off.

‘Does that mean you accept my return?’ I asked, eyes on Jagon. ‘And what of the others?’

After a moment’s silence, the two remaining chapter masters—Bolko and Tymon—exchanged a glance with Jagon, then nodded.

‘Thank you,’ I said, grinning as I turned to the grand master. He raised his glass of wine and dipped his head in silent approval.

‘Welcome home, child. I’m afraid that your former position is taken, but if we’re to have a mage in our ranks, I shall claim you as my own.’

Jagon looked like he was about to have a stroke. I could practically see the steam rising from his ears, and it took everything in me not to laugh while I waited for him to gather himself.

‘My lord,’ he said tightly, ‘her proximity to you and our secrets under such . . . unusual circumstances could become problematic. I’ll admit, I’m curious about Roksana’s choice to align with the arch healer. However, ties like that could make her becoming your mage . . . dangerous.’

He reached for my wrist but I stepped back, just out of reach, offering him a demure bow that only barely masked my smirk.

‘Dangerous?’ I echoed, tilting my head. ‘I don’t compromise on my principles, and you should know that better than anyone.’

I placed my hand on Jagon’s chest, stroking my fingers over his velvet kaftan. His expression tightened, confusion flickering behind his frown. I gave him my most coy smile, as if there were an unspoken agreement between us that no one could ever know.

Jagon’s heart quickly sped up beneath my palm, his pupils widening at my tender gesture, but I had already turned towards the others. ‘You cannot doubt where my loyalty lies; after all, I’m here, aren’t I?’ When Bolko and Tymon reluctantly nodded, I knew I’d won.

‘Well then,’ I said, offering a gracious smile. ‘Since the matter is resolved, let’s return to dinner. I’ve caused enough of a disturbance as it is.’

‘Roksana!’ Jagon hissed, grasping my wrist just as a tremulous hand landed lightly on my shoulder, making me turn my head.

‘You won’t deny me this last pleasure, I’m sure.

If you step into this position, you would also like to have your own mage, Jagon,’ Boyan said.

I wondered if anyone had noticed that the grand master said ‘if,’ not ‘when.’ I did, and I was sure Jagon did, too.

‘Come, Roksana, sit beside me and share the tales that earned you the attention of the king’s mage. ’

Jagon’s hand fell away. His jaw clenched, but he bowed and returned to his seat. I stepped forward, offering Boyan my arm and discreetly supporting him as we walked to his place at the table. I made sure my voice rang loud enough to carry.

‘Oh, nothing much,’ I said lightly. ‘He was just surprised I was healing dwarves.’

‘I admit, that baffles me, too.’ Boyan chuckled, motioning for a servant to pour the wine.

‘Those people are built as tough as the rocks they mine. You never fail to surprise me, child. Please tell me more. Caring for our brethren keeps me in Truso, but I enjoy hearing about events from around Tir ha Mor.’

I sat beside him, taking the goblet from his unsteady hand and squeezing it gently when our fingers met. Boyan’s patronage had saved me more times than I cared to count. He’d championed me when no one else would, his attention often shielding me from cruelty. But it came at a cost.

Whispers trailed me like smoke—accusations that I shared his bed, that my rise as his shadow was unearned. They only quieted when the first body was found, Nightshade scrawled in blood beside it.

Sharing a meal with him again was bittersweet.

I recounted my time in Wiosna, and he teased out forgotten memories with the ease of someone who had always known me better than I knew myself.

It should have felt like old times. And yet, I couldn’t stop noticing the pallor of his skin, the tremble in his limbs.

Whenever I tried to ignore his condition, my gaze landed on the others at the table—their cold stares, the bitter twist of their mouths. None more intense than Jagon’s, who only watched me, his food forgotten on his plate.

I may have won this battle, but the war wasn’t over, and my former master knew I’d outmanoeuvred him at his own game.

The question was, how would he make me pay?