Page 66 of Poisoned Kingdom (Secrets of Dagome #1)

Roksana

I walked into the Geas Hall, wondering at the grand name for such an obscure cave. The stone block was stained the colour of old blood, and the shudder that travelled down my spine left me feeling vulnerable.

Two men emerged from the shadows, looking at me with unsettling indifference. The older male drew a sigil in the air, the symbol flickering briefly before the runes on the doorframe lit up as if struck by lightning.

‘Should I come closer?’ I stalled, the severity of the situation catching up to me.

I knew it was inevitable, but I couldn’t stop shaking.

I wiped my sweaty hands on my kirtle, trying to control my breathing, but I couldn’t even manage that.

The fear of the unknown, of the pain I expected, got the better of me.

‘What must I do?’ I whispered, wishing I were brave enough to face it with dignity.

‘Just survive.’ Ciesko patted my cheek in a fatherly gesture, concern and sadness mixed in his expression.

‘The man on your left is a geas custodian. He will witness and record the words that define you. Don’t worry, he will never speak it—both of them are mute.

The man on your right is your judgment, a broken mage who won’t stop until you reveal the secret of your soul.

The rock behind you, the Veil Stone, will unveil your past, revealing who you truly are.

Humans are rarely prepared to see the reflection of their soul, but still, try not to resist if you can,’ he said before he gestured to the men. ‘I leave her in your hands.’

That was the only explanation I received before he walked away as I stood frozen in place, at the mercy of the stone’s guardians.

I observed them warily, clenching my jaw so they couldn’t see my teeth clattering.

The geas trial was a mystery. No one talked about it because the survivors preferred not to remember the scars left on their souls, while those who performed it were made mute to protect the mages.

Ciesko’s words were the first bit of genuine information I’d been given, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

The hollow thud of the door sounded like the slamming of a coffin lid, and the surrounding symbols flashed brighter, blinding me. When my sight returned, the door was replaced by a smooth rock wall.

‘How?’ I asked, releasing the breath I’d been holding, but there was no answer.

The older man touched my shoulder before gesturing for me to undress. His touch was gentle, his eyes kind, but I had no illusion that if I didn’t comply, I would be forcibly stripped.

So I did, removing the layers of clothing until I stood in nothing but a thin chemise, the contours of my body clearly visible beneath the thin linen.

When I reached to take it off, the older man stopped me, then motioned to the rock.

I followed him, my heart beating so hard I could feel it in my throat.

He positioned me next to the stone, and my shivers intensified when my back touched the cold, moist surface that looked like a strange vertical altar.

Like a lamb to the slaughter, I thought when he fastened a collar around my neck, forcing me to lean back.

The manacles followed, and as the heavy metal settled against my skin, the other man came over.

Both mages began casting an elaborate aethereal design, weaving the threads in intricate symbols.

Once complete, the energy alighted over me and sank into the stone.

The Veil Stone awakened—its hungry consciousness probing my mind, seeking answers, as if I was an enigma to be unravelled.

Its magic burrowed into my brain, parasitic and hungry, while I panted hard under its merciless touch that threatened to strip me of my sanity.

The manacles rattled as I jerked in pain, but despite doing my best to calm my breathing and not resist the invasion, my body didn’t want to listen.

You survived the steppe, the beatings in the Brotherhood, and the times Jagon forced you to drink poison just to see how it worked. It can’t be worse than that. It just can’t . . .

The broken mage approached me then, his cloudy blue eyes seeing through me. Not with hate or compassion, but with the cruel gaze of a child who wondered how many legs they could pull from a bug before it finally died.

I looked on in horror as he took a small blade from his belt and drew a thin line on my skin. It was so sharp it barely registered at first, but the stinging sensation soon followed. His gaze met mine, and he pressed his hand to the wound.

A curse died on on my lips, as power flooded through me, and I screamed.

I was wrong, so very wrong.

It was so much worse than any beating, any poison I’d ever ingested.

The pain was . . . I struggled to form a coherent thought.

It felt as if my soul was being forced into the stone, and what returned was .

. . oh gods . Every memory, every hidden feeling and thought—the stone fed upon them, gaining strength, forcing me to relive every moment.

The broken mage carved my skin over and over, each cut an ice flame spearing me to the stone. But it didn’t matter how much I screamed—there was no respite or hope, only endless darkness filled with memories and torment. The worst moments of my life assaulted me one after another.

My mind shattered, shredded by the eager power of the stone while my body thrashed, harried by the broken mage’s corrupted aether. Blood flowed from my flesh, weakening me, but I fought back, my raw, hoarse voice declaring my defiance.

It was futile. I fled from the torment, protecting the small child I had been—the innocent, beautiful core that was untainted by the killings and the desire for survival.

But the broken mage was relentless. His voice rang clear as a bell in my mind as he promised that the pain and torment would end if I only told him who I truly was.

But how could I put into words what I didn’t even know myself?

All I knew was that I killed, and maimed, and schemed. That child on the steppe had been tainted by the deaths of many—some deserving; others, not so much, even if I’d tried to ease their suffering.

The answer came to me and filled me with bitterness and pain.

I’m the Deadly Nightshade.

But I was wrong. That was not it, and the will of the Veil Stone pressed down upon me even more, forcing me to face my demons.

The pain lessened with the scent of lemongrass and musk, only to be ripped away, replaced by the filthy hands of men tearing at my clothes. I once again ran from M?ot’s kingdom, drowning in an ice-cold mountain river, fighting to keep my head above the water as my body bumped against sharp rocks.

I’m regressing . . . I thought as the magic of the rock spun me, stripping away more layers.

Turn.

Countless little deaths in Jagon’s workshop, my magic fighting to keep me alive while his poison destroyed my insides, making me cough up bloodstained foam.

Turn.

My arrival in Truso, fighting with other apprentices, earning bruises and broken bones until Irsha stepped in, taking me under his protection.

Turn.

I was back on the Orcish Steppe, running towards my ancestral house, the flames engulfing it. I fought the mercenaries, desperate to reach the blocked door to tear it open, but I was too weak. I could only scream as I heard my family’s fading cries while the roaring inferno consumed them.

Turn.

Suddenly, I was free. Time slowed down, releasing me from the endless rotations, and I was small, so small I fit in a traveller’s chest.

This was my favourite hiding place; even my mother didn’t know this one. As I waited for her anger to abate, someone entered the room and I risked a peek through the crack, recognising my mother’s skirt. She was with someone, but it wasn’t my father.

‘ Lower your voice or my husband will hear . ’ My mother’s angry whisper made little sense, but I kept silent and listened.

‘Why would I care? Just give her to me, Dobra. He wants his daughter back. In exchange, he’ll let you and that thief live.’

The voice sounded strangely familiar, but to my younger self, all men sounded the same.

‘Sana’s too young to leave her home. His ambition is dangerous—dragging her back to Truso, to that viper’s nest, will destroy her.

Her power will flourish here, where her roots run deep.

She needs the steppe beneath her feet, the endless sky above her, the wind in her lungs, the freedom no city can grant. Please . . . tell him to wait.’

My mother’s desperate plea was a stark contrast to the cruel laughter that followed.

‘Oh, Dobra,’ the man drawled, amusement laced with malice.

‘I can pass along your message, but tell me, what do I get in return for my help? Will you bear a child for me as well? A pretty little girl whose bloodline is touched by the divine? I always wondered why he chose you until I saw you out here. You’re a vila.

Can a lady of the forest truly love a human? ’

A cold weight settled in my chest. Tears burned my eyes, blurring the memory and freezing it in time.

From a distance, a deep, firm voice cut through the moment. ‘Dobra, who’s there? The workers said we had a guest. Is it the merchant I told you about?’

My father’s voice faded, replaced by even harsher pain. The cuts continued, the bloodletting weakening me further. My strength was waning, but the pain brought clarity to who I was and why my magic was as green as a spring meadow.

Power emerged, whipping out of the countless wounds on my body.

Emerald strands coiled around me, the aether sealing my flesh, a net of silver scars covering my skin.

I was a budding flower, opening to embrace the world.

My soul grew, sinking into the rock behind me, and even the Veil Stone hesitated.

‘Stop . . .’ I whispered. ‘Please, I can’t control it.’

The broken mage gasped, his dagger clattering on the floor. I felt a moment of relief, my heart beating loudly in my ears as thumping reverberated throughout the chamber. I frowned. Am I doing that? I wondered, but no, my heartbeat was much faster than the heavy echoes.

Even through my tears, I saw the door shimmer into existence as the room shook again, debris falling to the ground. A masculine roar formed words I couldn’t quite understand, but I knew it . . . That tone, that timbre—it was my salvation.

It calmed me, and my power retreated. But if I thought the ordeal was over, I was mistaken.

The broken mage attacked once again, corrupted aether flooding me.

My body seized, every nerve an inferno, reducing me to a shrivelled, tormented knot, no longer caring for the world as I prayed for the pain to stop.

The magic in my blood responded, exposing my deepest memory—one I shouldn’t have been able to remember: the moment of my birth, when the aether filling our world had blessed my first breath.

Words formed in my mind, and I realised what they were: Everything I had been, everything I was, and everything I would ever be. The simple phrase that anchored my soul to existence.

S’eteto te sue me carer lumiere, verites a met ser viller laner. 1

My geas.

As I whispered them, ashen lips forming the words, the Veil listened. The entity within, finally satisfied, slowly withdrew, releasing its grip on my soul.

I sighed with relief, taking one last breath as my heart stuttered to a halt.

1. Clothed in twilight, bearer of the dawn, her touch changes how fate is drawn.