Page 117 of Poisoned Kingdom
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 Mlot’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 voiceor 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 buddingflower, 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.
