Page 82 of Poisoned Kingdom
‘At the very beginning. You’ll come here daily. Don’t look at me like that, child—it will just be for a few hours. Once you learn to heal simple things, you’ll come to work with me in the infirmary,’ he said, pulling a volume from a shelf. ‘Hopefully, in a month, you’ll have memorisedThe Healer’s ManualandTheory of Aether,’ he added, placing another thick book in my hands. ‘And after you’ve given your geas, I’ll find the best teachers available to fill the gaps in my knowledge until you learn to control your power fully.’
‘A month? No one can learn all this in a month!’ I said. ‘Besides, I have other things to do.’
Ciesko smiled before he asked, ‘When you tried to learn to use aether, why did you do it? You were already an accomplished poisoner.’
I pondered his question.
Why?Because I felt like there was something more beyond a mundane life—a force that touched my soul, awakening a yearning to immerse myself in it, to feel the world beyond what I could shape with my hands.
‘Because it was calling me, and I . . . because I’m not whole without it.’
My answer made him smile even wider. Ciesko placed his hand on my cheek, looking at me with a tenderness I had never seen on my own father’s face.
‘It calls to all of us, dear child, but you’ve been denied from answering it for too long. There is an ocean of power raging deep inside you. But before you touch it, you have to learn to control those little strands of aether you can access now.’
He sighed before opening a hidden compartment in his desk.
‘Read this,’ he said, handing me an old, leatherbound book with gold foil stamping on its cover. ‘It’s a tale on vivamancy, one of two that still exist. And remember, don’t let anyone know who you are—because even most liberal of us will be afraid of a mage who can create living monsters.’
Chapter 30
Reynard
Three weeks. Three godsdamned weeks, and the only contact I’d had from that woman was the crumpled note sitting on my desk. She always had an excuse for not answering my summons, and now here I was, staring at the bloody thing like it held the answers to all my problems.
I’d received the letter while walking around the gardens like a simpering fool. My fingers were clasped around a hangover draught, hoping she was just unwell and not ignoring my invitation, when a messenger arrived with the note.
I picked it up again, reading the challenging scrawl for what felt like the hundredth time.
King Reynard,
You’ll be pleased to hear my plan succeeded, and the war of succession in the Brotherhood has been disrupted. Everyone’s scrambling to make new alliances and regroup, so you can thank me later.
Roksana
P.S. Apologies. I was busy with the arch healer and forgot about the meeting. Also, my window is nailed shut.
I crumpled the parchment in my fist again, a reaction I couldn’t seem to stop each time I read it. My pride wouldn’t let me chase after an unwilling woman. Instead, I took it as a sign that I should follow Ciesko’s advice and stay away from her.
All for nothing.
Neither time nor distance cured the burning need to see her. If anything, it’d gotten worse, distracting me from my work.
Did she think her trick at the feast was enough to earn her freedom?
I’d learned more about what occurred during the Mabon feast from Boyan. He’d delivered the information in person, the ailing man so animated when he spoke about Roksana that even if he’d lied when I presented him with her silver hairpin, I didn’t havethe heart to punish him. From the pride in his voice when he informed me of her new position, to the narrowing of his eyes when asked for updates on her whereabouts, it was clear she held a unique place in the man’s heart.
Ciesko held no such qualms. He happily gossiped about every lesson, and in such detail, that something felt off. I could barely get a word in edgewise and was always left wondering if I’d missed something. This, together with the reports from my Observers, gave me a glimpse into her life and insight into her growing skills. And for some time, that was enough.
But what they’d failed to mention was her laughter; the slight narrowing of her eyes when she found my attitude annoying; or her dry wit, which often resulted in the most delicious of insults. Reports were just not enough, and my resolution to stay away was crumbling at its foundations.
‘Sire, today’s report is here,’ my scribe announced as he walked in and placed a folder on my desk.
I squeezed the bridge of my nose, but the simmering anger didn’t want to abate. The front page already told me what I could find inside, each blasted page containing the same name. Irsha Vilkor—the man shadowed her wherever she went.
‘What do we know about the Blade, Vilkor?’ I asked, more to centre my thoughts than because I cared about what my scribe had to say.
‘Your Majesty?’ he asked, confused, before clearing his throat. ‘Well . . . he’s the youngest chapter master in the Brotherhood’s history, unbeatable with daggers, and has never failed a contract. Our intel reports that he and Lady Roksana—’ I held up a hand and sighed, unwilling to listen about another man’s prowess, especially if it involved my Viper.
