Page 3 of Poisoned Empire

It was Iliana’s loving stepfather who had taught her his blacksmithing trade, but the family’s fate had been sealed when Iliana proved to be too good at what she did. Whispers about her magical talents, as well as her uncanny resemblance to the imperially appointed governor in charge of the Sapphire Province, began to swirl.

Only luck had allowed Iliana to survive the flood he had sent to engulf their small village, stealing the lives of her mother and stepfather. The magister wanted the shame of her existence erased from the world, and Iliana had known then that her sole option was to spend the rest of her life fleeing and staying hidden.

It seemed the time had come to flee again. The magister had ferreted them out once more.

Stubborn prick.

Selene grabbed her sack full of small, sealed containers and began plucking her favourite poisons from the cupboard. She wouldn’t be able to carry them all.

A devious little thought came to mind, and she grabbed their precious ink and a few scraps of parchment.

Iliana soon returned from the bedroom, wrapped in a travelling robe and sturdy tunic dress with her case of enchanted wares slung over one shoulder. Built like some mythical heroine—curves like a goddess of love and the height of an average man—Iliana was striking no matter where she went or what she did to hide it. Selene, on the other hand, was a short, dark-haired, pale skinned waif who could blend and disappear into any crowd, so long as she kept her mouth shut. Only her purple eyes gave her away as anything other than ordinary.

“What are you doing?” Iliana asked.

“Leaving a few presents for whoever loots our cottage,” Selene answered.

Iliana trudged over, depositing Selene’s only robe atop her bulging sack of poisons. She squinted her eyes at the labels. Iliana, like Selene, was literate—a true feat for commoners—but her skills were rusty. Her true talents lay in enchanting metals, convincing them to be more than they were or to do the unexpected. Selene was better at conjuring poisons than enchanting them, but even she had a few tricks up her sleeve.

“Why are you re-labelling everything as sweet syrup?”

Selene gave her a winning smile.

“So that they’ll swallow it, of course.”

Iliana rolled her eyes and dragged Selene from her macabre prank.

“Come on. We don’t know when the magister’s men might get here.”

Selene sighed, donned her robe, heaved her wares over her shoulder and followed Iliana out the door. Best not to tempt fate.

They kept to the less travelled footpaths and in no time at all they had reached their destination, the crumbling former summer home of a dead noble. The top half had been blasted off during the Great War, the remaining bricks blackened and fused by scorching fires. It might have appeared abandoned if not for the smoke curling up from ramshackle tarps thrown up over the remaining walls and the well-trodden path to the gloomy entrance. Iliana and Selene took their customary place at a booth near the middle of the building.

“Just two more years, Iliana. Two years and we’ll have the coin to escape this dump of an empire.”

“I counted everything again last night just to be sure I wasn’t imagining it. We’ll have to travel to the Opal Province if we’re going to catch a ship, though. I’ve been asking around at the market, but no one knows of one that regularly makes landfall across the sea.”

“That’s the problem with this place. They think the forgotten gods favour this land. No one even bothers to dream that somewhere else could be better. Ignorant swine.”

“We’ll need to set up shop again once we reach the Opal Islands.” Iliana set to neatly laying out her wares before her.

“Ooh! Maybe we should try calling it something new this time.”

“Not again,” Iliana moaned.

“I still think we should have called it ‘Live by the sword, Die by poison.’”

Iliana gave her a quelling glance as Selene grabbed a fistful of poison-filled vials and draped them across her half of the booth.

“Or ‘Pointy and Poison.’”

“‘Extirpation Station’ is ridiculous enough as it is. Don’t push your luck.”

“No promises.” Selene smiled.

Customers began their furtive entrance into one of the many black markets of the Topaz Province. Some were hooded and masked, while others swaggered about, hair of the dog sloshing in their waterskins. Places like this were known strictly by word of mouth and often changed locations if officious sorts couldn’t be bribed into turning a blind eye. Luckily, the Topaz Province had many officials with flexible morals and a love of gold.

“I’m looking for a very specific poison.”

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