The man must have been using a while for the poppy to have such an effect, for his blood to have so much poisoning. His veins were dark, though not as dark as her father’s had been at the end.
The first time someone used the Beast's Poppy, it was like any opioid, but it never fully left the body. Every time someone got high on the poppy, all the poisoned magic in their body would wake up and the high would get stranger and more magical. The weightlessness, the dark veins, the altered mood… it all got worse. And as the highs got more intense, the crash grew worse as well.
Iryana felt her stomach cramp, the need to retch causing her to shudder.
She could think of nothing but the need to get away from him before he came down from his high. She knew what happened to addicts when the poppy wore off. The confusion, the pain, the anger, the violence.
The crowd was a blur of faces and laughter that now echoed ominously around her head. She could hardly breathe as she shouldered her way through the crowd. Fleeing.
Memories of her father plagued her. The flushed skin and darkened veins, the way he would prance around the room with his sword like he was still a great hero of Istri. The magic of the drug dulled his senses and made him weightless enough to ignore his missing leg. They should have stopped giving it to him, but he haddemanded it, forcing her mother to buy it for him once the family’s supply ran out.
When the high went away…
Gods, she couldn’t breathe.
Iryana woke up on her first night as a true, belted soldier of the 18th covered in sweat, her heart pounding.
She’d dreamed of the poppy field she had stumbled across with Vaneshta during that one mission. Of cursing, moaning soldiers crawling out of it. Their skin laced with black, their eyes bloodshot and angry. They grabbed her, pulling at her clothes and hair. Taking her with them as they floated up above the trees.
And then they’d dropped her, her body plummeting toward the field of poppies.
She’d screamed as she jolted awake, but it somehow hadn’t woken her roommate.
Trying to control her breathing, Iryana stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t the first time she had dreamed about that field of poppies, but it had never made her feel so scared. So helpless.
She rolled over, curling her knees up against her chest, and waited for morning.
They walked just in front of the horse-drawn cart full of supplies and herbs. It was early; long shadows stretching across the path before them as sunlight fought back the night. Such a time was less dangerous than in the peak of night, but not safe enough to let down one’s guard. Dakii still hunted at dawn.
“Are you sure you want to go scouting tonight, too?” Vaneshta asked quietly as she scanned the surrounding woods, her hand ready to grasp a summoned blade.
Iryana stiffened. “Yes, Sergeant.”
It had been a long week since her ceremony, days of worrying and trying to figure out what to do. Tonight was the moonless night, and tomorrow would begin the Harvest Moon. Already the nights were growing chilly. At least the afternoon storms were past them, and they’d have a reprieve until the autumn rains started.
“You’re volunteering for a lot of extra shifts.” Vaneshta narrowed her eyes, flicking them over Iryana before turning back to the pines.
“Is that a problem?”
“It is if you get yourself killed. You don’t need to push so hard, and I know you’re barely sleeping.”
“I’m fine,” Iryana cut out.
She needed to be on these missions more than she needed rest. Out here, with her attention focused on the danger that could be lurking around any tree, she didn’t have to think about the Kleesolds.
They both fell quiet, the only sounds being the rustling of needles and the soft crunch of earth giving way beneath their boots. It was almost peaceful, but Iryana didn’t want peace; she wanted action. Her muscles ached for it.
Anything to keep her from thinking.
These missions were the best for that, going through dakya-frequented areas. They were close enough to the fort that the protocol was to kill any beast they found, even if it was possible to go around them. It kept the dakii away from the fort and led to fewer dakii going into the valley near her family’s post.
A win from both perspectives.
Iryana’s eyes flicked ahead to Pyetar, where she could see little more than his dark brown cap and the brown cape around his shoulders. Occasionally he turned to talk in a hushed voice to the soldier beside him, the strong lines of his profile catching her attention.
Pyetar had been quiet since Iryana had returned, but she felt his eyes on her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. He kept a close eye, and she hadn’t yet decided if that was a good or bad thing.
There was a rustle, and some of the other soldiers at the front of the group took off into the trees, Pyetar leading their silent charge.
