Page 77 of Poisoned Kingdom
‘P-purple?’ His high-pitched stutter was filled with unshed tears. We both knew what was coming.
‘Ah, excellent choice. Purple it is,’ Jagon said with a bright smile before throwing the liquid at his face.
‘You bloody bastard!’ I said, throwing my cloak over the apprentice, but Jagon was too fast.
The young man screamed, his voice fading into an agonising rattle as the purple liquid sank into his skin like a thimbleful ofwater in the desert. I leapt forward, catching him before he hit the floor.
‘Antidote!’ I yelled, reaching a hand towards Jagon. ‘Give me the antidote!’ I had to turn the boy onto his side when he convulsed, foaming from the mouth.
‘You wanted to remind those stupid pricks who you are,’ he said. ‘Let me remind you whoIam, Roksana. You have no grasp of the forces at play or how precarious the Brotherhood’s position is.’
He walked closer, watching the dying youngster like it was nothing. If anything, his face projected angry disappointment.
I didn’t acknowledge his words.
‘I’m doing everything I can to protect our home, to make sure it survives while the world burns around us,’ Jagon sneered, smashing the other vial on the floor. ‘It should’ve been a simple takeover, but no, you had to come and ruin everything. A mage, kneeling for that old bastard.’ He grasped a handful of my hair, tilting my head back. ‘The only man you will kneel for isme.’
‘Jagon, please! Give me the antidote, he’s dying,’ I begged.
The boy’s face had turned a disturbing shade of blue. His bloodless lips opened, but no air entered his lungs.
‘Show me your magic, Nightshade. I finally understand how you survived all those years. Show me your power or the next one will be your whore, and when she dies, I’ll choose another and another . . . until everyone you ever knew is dead,’ he said, but under the anger and disdain was an unhealthy fascination. ‘Show me, Roksana!’
The boy’s struggles grew weak, his faint pulse stuttering beneath my questing fingers. Muttering a curse, I ripped his shirt open and placed my hand on his chest. Strands of aether twisted in chaotic patterns, fading one after another as the poison corrupted his body. This concoction, however, wasn’t my creation, and it was difficult to control the unknown toxins asthey attacked his vital organs. I latched onto the sickly green pollution and let it merge with my magic. The foulness seeped into my body, but I didn’t falter until I made it mine, and when my aether saturated the poison, I withdrew it pulling the toxin along with it.
I could barely breathe as fluid filled my lungs while I continued purging the arum extract mixed with distilled heartbreak grass from the apprentice’s flesh, letting it coat my skin before expelling it onto the stone floor.
‘I hate you,’ I croaked as Jagon observed me, his mouth open and pupils dilated in excitement. The transformation was swift, but in suffusing the poison with my magic, I had made a mistake in connecting it to my vital force, and as my patient took a lungful of air, I collapsed on the floor.
‘Fascinating . . . I’m glad I waited. You are so much more than she promised,’ he muttered, bending to pry the boy’s eyes open. I wondered who this mysterious ‘she’ was, and when I could kill her for giving away my secrets.
‘Who . . .?’ I tried to ask, but my throat was too constricted to talk.
‘Clear. You purged the poison completely within moments; not even my antidote is that fast.’ Jagon straightened, and his brows furrowed as his fingers tugged at the lapel of his coat in a rare display of uncertainty.
‘Leave us,’ he said as soon as his victim’s eyes opened. I would have left with him, but I was spent and could only watch helplessly as the boy crawled away, sobbing.
Jagon helped me up, grasping my chin to force me to look at him while I fought overwhelming exhaustion. ‘My brightest star. Your heart will always guide your knife, and that’s your weakness.’ He stroked my cheek, and I froze, staring in shock at the emotion I saw for the first time in his gaze—regret.
‘Don’t fight me, Roksana. Remember how I helped avenge your parents? . . . You didn’t hate me back then,’ he said with a strange wistfulness in his voice, sighing when I turned my face away from his touch. ‘Fine, study your magic, but remember not to get in my way. I know you love the old man, but he has to go. Times have changed, and we need to as well, but he’s still betting on the wrong horse. If you knew what is coming . . .’ He paused, and I could swear I saw fear flashing in his eyes before his expression hardened again. ‘If the Brotherhood is to survive, he has to go. That’s all you need to know.’
I didn’t care if he was having second thoughts or if he really believed he was saving the Brotherhood. His indifference to murder made him a dead man, even if he didn’t know it yet. An angry tear rolled down my cheek and Jagon wiped it away with his thumb, his face unreadable. ‘Don’t cry, my beautiful flower. It was just a gentle lesson, unworthy of your tears . . . as long as you understand not to trifle with me again.’
There it was—his unhealthy obsession with me that began the moment he saw me on the Orcish Steppe, its embers fanned to life by my new ability.
He was still holding me, and as much as I hated his touch, I was too weak to escape. Another reason to learn how to use my magic properly—because opposing Jagon when I could barely stand was pointless.
So, I let him pick me up and carry me to a carriage. He was gentle, as if carrying his bride, while I imagined breaking various bones in his body. When I was nestled inside the carriage, he reached for my hand to kiss it goodbye, but I turned away.
He dragged my hand back to him, lifting it to his lips. ‘No more defiance or supporting the wrong people. Learn to use your magic and wait until I call you. I may have a soft spot for you, but my leniency has its limits,’ he said, gesturing for the coachman to go. ‘Take her to the House of Lilies. Ensure she arrives safely.’
To say the journey was uncomfortable was like saying chewing on rocks was awkward. My body was thrown around as the coachman seemingly drove over every bump and into every hole he could, but it encouraged my recovery. By the time we reached the entertainment district and slowed down, I was able to sit up and hold on to the handles.
Finally able to think, I scrubbed the hand Jagon had kissed and ground my teeth.
Still, I’d found his weakness—me. He should have killed me the moment I’d thwarted his plans, yet he let me live, taking his anger out on someone else. That prompted another question:How far can I push my luck?
Despite what had happened, the confrontation with Jagon couldn’t spoil my sense of victory. I’d managed the impossible by anchoring myself in both worlds, and as much as my body felt like death warmed up, I wanted to share this achievement with someone.
