Page 80 of Poisoned Kingdom
‘So, where are we going?’ I asked.
‘First, I need your approval on the house before I can make the proper arrangements. The current owner is somewhat peculiar, so please refrain from arguing, regardless of what I say. Then I’ll go buy stuff for my workshop and try to get some information on the dwarven convoy while you play with the mages,’ he said, a slight frown creasing his forehead. ‘Unless you want me to go with you, but I’m not sure if that would help. I don’t know how to deal with those bastards.’
‘Hooray for me,’ I said, stepping out of the bath so that the maids could dress me and arrange my hair to their satisfaction. I chuckled when I emerged from behind the privacy screen and found Tova half dozing in a chair. ‘It didn’t take that long. Stop pretending.’
My gentle poke resulted in him stretching, and a short while later, we were marching down the streets towards the artisan quarter.
Truso was full of character, despite—or perhaps because of—being rebuilt over the centuries. It still resembled a merchant town, with the dark castle walls perched atop a small hill guarding both the river and the town below. Although the fortress had now been transformed into a palace with numerous terraces and gardens that extended to the riverbanks, the feel of the place hadn’t changed. The noisy streets were filled with languages from all over Tir ha Mor, and the scent of exotic spices hung in the air, a reminder that Truso still retained its merchant’s soul.
Tova led me deep into the artisan district, skirting the leatherworkers with a grimace while ignoring the blacksmiths. I enjoyed how the dainty fae facades gave way to sturdy human and dwarven buildings as we walked.
‘Master Orenson, I thought you’d changed your mind when I asked if I could meet your wife first. This must be her.’ An older man waved us over, turning to walk into a small courtyard. Just as I opened my mouth to correct the gentleman, Tova caught my hand and squeezed it tightly.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘She is as skilled with herbs as she is beautiful. Your house’s two workshops will be perfect for us, and, understandably, you wanted my Sana to see them before deciding. No one wants to deal with an angry woman.’
The man chuckled, gesturing me forward. ‘Exactly that. My wife was the same. She always loved having the last word.’
I walked inside, mouthing ‘Wife?’ to Tova, but he only shrugged and squeezed my hand again.
When I saw the interior, I soon forgot about having suddenly become ‘Mrs Orenson.’ The house spoke to my soul. We were definitely going to buy it—even if I had to pretend to be Tova’s six-toed grandmother.
The house was warm and welcoming, already fully furnished and ready to be lived in. Its layout was simple: a central corridorsplit the structure in two, leading to a staircase at the end that rose to three modest bedrooms. On one side, a spacious kitchen flowed naturally into a day room, the transition marked by a wooden beam—likely the last trace of a former partition wall. On the other side was what would be my workshop, its doors perfectly positioned so that when I opened them, I could glance over and see what Tova was cooking on the stove.
It was perfect for our needs. Even better, the detached outdoor workshop came equipped with a small furnace and could be easily converted into a proper tinkerer’s manufactory. The décor was simple but cosy, and what truly won me over was the large kitchen hearth and the smaller fireplaces throughout—ideal for curling up beside during long winter nights.
‘We’ll take it,’ I said, after rushing through every room. Tova knew my preferences from our time in Wiosna, and he’d chosen a house so similar to my old home that I instantly felt I belonged here. It just needed a few personal touches. My eagerness made Tova roll his eyes.
‘What my wife means is, we’ll take it if the price is right and includes the furniture and whatever’s currently inside,’ he said, stopping briefly when a tolling bell announced midmorning.
‘Yes, exactly,’ I said, realising the time. ‘Can you handle the rest, Tova? I have to go to the university.’
‘Of course, my dear. We wouldn’t want the arch healer getting upset with you,’ he replied with such seriousness that the merchant rubbed his hands together nervously.
‘She studies under Master Ciesko . . .?’
I didn’t hear the rest, but Tova’s contented smile and the way they clasped their hands told me that little nugget of information may have positively influenced negotiations. Turning away, I was sure I’d have a home to return to after a long day of studying with the mages.
The University of Magic looked as intimidating from the inside as it did from the outside. The guards knew my name and let me in, providing instructions for the quickest route to the healer’s wing. I marched there with my head high, pretending I wasn’t intimidated by the curious and occasionally hostile glares I received. It didn’t help that I stood out like a sore thumb in a slit kirtle with my alchemist’s belt and daggers while everyone else was dressed in pastels and flowing robes.
‘He could have warned me,’ I muttered as I made my way through the halls. The covert chuckles of passing students shouldn’t have bothered me, but they did. By the time someone finally took mercy on me and pointed me towards Ciesko’s office, I was hot under my collar and as angry as a nest of hornets.
‘Roksana, I thought you’d decided not to come,’ he said when I entered, dodging the precarious stacks of books and whatever was lying on the table.Please be an animal part . . .
‘How could I reject your late-night summons, Master Ciesko?’ I said when I finally reached the man himself, sitting in a large leather chair. ‘It might have helped if you’d told me where your office was, though.’
His eyebrows shot up at my snappy tone.
‘Don’t be belligerent, child. How could I foresee the infamous Deadly Nightshade having trouble navigating a few corridors?’
My only answer was an annoyed sigh. Trying to tame my hangover, I took a deep, cleansing breath. ‘Can we get to the point so I can return home?’ I asked as calmly as I could.
Ciesko nodded, coming closer and reaching out a hand.
‘Another blood test?’ I asked, surrendering my forearm. I’d long ago found that being compliant was easier than arguing with men who insisted on calling me ‘child.’
The sigil he sketched with his finger sparked my interest—it was different from the one he’d drawn in the palace. When the last line was finished, I inhaled deeply, feeling a sudden boost of vitality, which removed both my lingering headache and exhaustion.
‘Next time,’ he said, ‘you’ll be able to do this yourself rather than coming here with a frown that could darken the sun.’
