In the meantime, I needed something to store my potion in. So, I quickly looked through all my captor’s gifts, relief washing over me when my eyes caught sight of the expensive bottle of lily-of-the-valley perfume. I poured the contents out the window, then slowly filled it with my sleeping draught.
I still had a few hours until Amala was due to help dress me for the meal. I wiped away the dark green residue from the basin, taking a little on the tip of my finger to taste it. The flavour of dill and peas with an acidic aftertaste made me wince. Still, I swallowed it and sat in the middle of the bed, waiting for the poison to hit my bloodstream.
A wave of dizziness came first, then my body tilted. I was glad I was propped up between several soft pillows. I held the bedpost with a death-grip and waited. Time passed, and I remained conscious. My magic, even twisted by the augurec, was working to neutralise the toxin.
The insistent knock on the door came at the wrong moment.
‘Not now,’ I answered, but it happened again, shaking the doors.Amala has the key, and so does Jagon, I thought, confused. The moment my vision cleared, I stumbled towards the door.
‘Get the keys from Jagon if you want to enter. Or use an axe. I don’t mind which!’ I shouted, and the hammering stopped.
‘Fuck, I forgot he locked you in,’ came Tymon’s voice from the other side. ‘Pack only what’s necessary. Tangra found us.We need to move to the smuggler’s caves, and they’re not as comfortable as this place.’
I muttered a curse, my fist tightening as I stared at the door. All my plans had gone down the drain. Jagon would be on high alert, making my chances of poisoning anyone non-existent. The wind picked up, howling outside, carrying the haunted voices of the drowned and the desperation of the living.
It’s hopeless… It’s all fucking hopeless.
The draught clutched in my fist sloshed when I pushed the vial into my bodice, striding to the wardrobe as if the furniture itself offended me. Then, cursing the unfeeling world, infuriating men, and even the gods themselves, I started packing.
In a choice between Tangra and Jagon, it’s Jagon all the way for me, I thought as the carriage wheels got stuck in the melted snow. The town we’d just left was burning, or maybe it was just a townhouse and the warehouse we’d been living in for the past few days.
‘Reward the men who spotted them,’ I heard Jagon say as he moved closer to the carriage.
‘I told you they’d come after her. You heard them argue with Tivala. Do you think the honourable preceptor would let her go after witnessing her turn a man into a monster?’ Tymon’s voice radiated irritation and fear. ‘Listen, I didn’t sign up for this. It should’ve been a simple deal. Transport the srebrec, butter up the winner, and keep fleecing the rich without Dagome’s strict laws.’
‘And it still will be,’ Jagon said, pulling the horse’s reins so hard that the poor animal squealed, stumbling against thecarriage. ‘There’s no point in discussing it now. I’m just glad we hid all that gold on Windmaster Isle.’
‘Gold’s worth nothing if we’re dead. They’ll hunt Roksana and her magic across the Tir ha Mor. We should–’ Tymon’s voice stopped abruptly, cut off by the sound of an unsheathed blade.
‘Roksana is mine. I’m not letting her go. Take us to the island. That’s your job, Tymon. Then you can have all the gold I promised.’ Jagon’s voice was pure menace.
As much as I enjoyed those dogs barking at each other, the news that Tangra wanted my vivamancy made me think twice about returning to Dagome. The carriage jerked and started rolling, interrupting Amala’s muted sobbing. She glared at me in condemnation as if the burning of Gerran Port was my doing. Still, I refused to feel guilty for something beyond my control.
Several hours later, we were ordered to exit the carriage and clamber down uneven, slippery stairs that were chiselled from the cliffs to the caverns below. The place we eventually stumbled into was dry, with goods of various origins piled under canvas, along with travel cots and animal skins for the smugglers. There was a large stone basin beneath a dripping crack in the roof, creating a reservoir of drinking water. Through the same slit, smoke from the small fireplace escaped, keeping the air fresh.
As I stood motionless, Jagon positioned two burly men at the entrance before he came closer. His shadow stretched across the wall, flickering in the light of a small fire. ‘Find yourself and your maid a place to rest; we’ll stay here until the ship arrives,’ he said, and I nodded, settling next to the driest wall and observing my former Brotherhood brethren.
They organised themselves with typical Mule efficiency, used to sleeping in strange locations. The two men dragged a small cooking cauldron from the corner and placed it over the fire. Carrots, parsnips, and some unidentified dry meats were loaded into the vessel before it was filled with water.
An opportunity!From the ingredients, it had to be hunter’s stew, a bland but nutritious meal any traveller recognised by its pungent smell. I still had my drought. Now, all I needed was a little luck to add it to the mixture. ‘Amala, ask the men for bread. I’m hungry.’
My maid gave me a hostile scowl. ‘Dinner will be soon.’
‘But I’m hungry now. Please.’ My polite insistence prompted her to move. She talked to the men, and soon after, returned with half a loaf of dark bread, dropping it on my lap before turning away.
The bread was so hard that my finger ached before I broke the crust enough to pour in the contents of the sleeping draught. It wasn’t my best idea, but it was the only one I could come up with. My jaw tightened when half of the contents landed on my cloak, dripping through the loaf.
‘Where’s the privy?’ I asked, approaching the men at the cauldron, crossing my legs with exaggerated theatrics.
Their laughter was raucous, but they pointed to the entrance on the cliff’s edge. ‘Stick your arse out there, and the wind’ll take care of the rest.’
‘I’m not a man to piss in the wind,’ I said with righteous indignation. I didn’t even have to fake it, but they only laughed harder.
‘Well, tough luck, princess. It’s that or pissing your pants.’ Tymon took the ladle from the cauldron to point with, giving me the opportunity to drop the bread in. I turned around with such force that my cloak swirled around me, and marched away from the obnoxious men.
My heart hammered in my throat as I returned to my corner. If the cook licked the ladle before distributing it to the others, or if someone else tasted the stew… Thoughts of failure churned inside me while I sat perfectly still, hiding my inner turmoil behind a mask of indifference and boredom.
‘Because of you, my mother died.’ I heard Amala’s voice and turned to look at her. She was sitting on the stone floor, arms wrapped around her knees, and rocking slightly.
