Page 89 of Poisoned Kingdom
Sent by whom? Jagon?He’d kept his distance since my performance at the Mabon feast. I’d caught him staring now and then during my visits to the Brotherhood, gaze distant and unreadable, but this wasn’t his style. Then again, that haunted look in his eyes hadn’t been like him either.
The floor creaked beneath me as I moved deeper into the workshop, casually collecting a few vials from the shelf. The men were too clumsy to be rogue Blades, grunting as they stumbled inside, completely oblivious to the woman with the most poisonous ingredients known to womankind in her hands.
I frowned. The longer I looked at them and thought about it, the more I realised this didn’t fit into the Brotherhood’s style. These men carried ripped sacks and frayed rope and wore shabby outfits.
Mercenaries—or pirates. Someone hired these idiots to kidnap me. Oh well . . .
The sounds of battle on the other side of the now-closed door drowned out the soft click of the lock. I needed privacy for what came next. Reynard and Tova had never seen this side of me, the ruthless and deadly Nightshade whose reputation was built on the corpses of her enemies. Part of me wanted to keep thingsthat way, but more importantly, I didn’t want my men hurt by the poisons I held in my hands.
I exhaled slowly, weighing the vials. Even if these fools had taken this job to avoid starvation, they’d invaded my home.
It was time they learned what happens when you disturb a viper’s nest.
‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ I said, waving my hand over a fae lamp, flooding the room with light.
The man in front hissed, shielding his eyes before drawing a cudgel from his belt.
‘Come quietly and you won’t get hurt. Master said—’
‘Let me guess. Master said I’m just a woman.’ I smiled coldly. ‘A meek little lamb who’d bleat and do as she’s told?’
I laughed, gesturing to the room. ‘Take a look around. Do I look trapped to you? Maybe ask yourself—who locked the door?’
‘Take her!’ The simple command rang out, and all three men rushed towards me.
‘Oh, I don’t think so.’
I smashed the first vial on the floor in front of them, smoke billowing out and obscuring their vision. This was my only warning, something non-toxic to create fear and make them run.
Sadly, they ignored my generous offer.
A cudgel sliced through the haze, aimed at my head. I didn’t move far, just a single step to the side, lifting a second vial to my mouth, dragging out the cork with my teeth and flicking the contents into the face of the weapon’s owner. His high-pitched scream made me wince, and I ducked another wild swing before my assailant dropped to his knees, falling silent as his face corroded, staining the floor.
The two who remained were stumbling around, cracking shins and hips on the furniture, giving me time to move.
I need something less caustic,I thought as the floorboards blackened, damaged by the remaining poison.
My fingers found one of my delicate glass orbs filled with white powder—the perfect companion to my Alchemist’s Fang. The blade caught the moonlight as I pressed the weak seam of the orb. It fell apart in my hands like spun sugar, glass dissolving into glittering sand. I swept it into the air as they charged, thrusting the shimmering dust into their faces.
The cloud engulfed them, but the man on the right covered his mouth and nose, stumbling to the side as his companion coughed and gagged. Unluckily for him, the deadly strychnos1 powder was already in his body.
I wasn’t worried about its effect on me. I’d already built an immunity to it and the other poisons in this room, so the lethal substance was doing little more than tickling my nose. I sliced the dying man’s throat, giving him the mercy of death before his body started to spasm, and stalked towards my remaining victim.
The realisation of his own mortality settled in the man’s eyes, his throat bobbing while he scrambled backwards, frantically trying to wipe the powder from his skin.
I should have felt something—guilt, regret, maybe? However, if Reynard hadn’t turned up, I would’ve been in bed, caught off guard, and my hotheaded dwarf would have sooner died than let someone take me. Whatever their reasons, they’d made their choices, and so had I.
As the thug’s back hit the wall, he whimpered, his hands held up to ward off evil, but I didn’t stop.
‘Who is your master?’ I demanded.
His eyes widened. I stepped forward—four steps, three—stalking closer as he scrambled, searching for escape. Just as I raised my dagger, the man screamed in defiance, propelling himself forward, arms reaching out to grab me, howling the words that shocked me into stumbling.
‘He knows it was you. If you kill me, he’ll just send more—he’ll never let you live, bitch!’
The man charged at me, uncaring if he lived or died, but as I moved backwards, my heel snagged on a fallen chair. I fell, still holding my weapon, and my head smacked against the floor, dazing me. A moment later, his full weight crashed down on my chest.
All I could see were the man’s eyes as his life faded away, my arms trapped beneath his weight as I struggled for breath.
