Iron & Embers (The Ashes of Thezmarr #1)

CHAPTER 1 Wren

CHAPTER 1

Wren

‘The difference between poison and cure is simply a matter of dose’

– Toxic Tales: Chronicles of Lethal Elixirs

I F POISON WAS a woman’s weapon, then Wren Embervale was a woman through and through. It was an art she’d relished in the five years since the shadow war, a mantle of revenge she’d taken up against those who’d played their part in spreading the darkness that had cloaked the midrealms for so long.

The stain of what they’d done had lingered. Time had not yet closed all the wounds the war had left. But slowly, the world had found its rhythm once more.

And so had Wren.

The noble houses, the politicians...Corruption was a disease that ran rampant through them all, and slowly but surely, Wren had been cutting it out: one by one, dose by dose.

And that was what had brought her to the opulent parlour before her now. Thick rugs covered much of the marble floor; the papered walls were clad with gold filigree frames and oil paintings. The furniture was upholstered in decadent emerald-green velvet. An overly large bird cage hung on a stand in the far corner, empty.

Perching herself on the edge of a lounge, Wren tucked loose strands of her bronze hair back into her messy bun and secured it with her favourite pin.

She waited.

Lord Briar started as he strode into the parlour. ‘Who are you?’ he spluttered. ‘Who let you in here?’ He stared at the jagged scar down Wren’s throat, eyes narrowing.

Suppressing the urge to trace the line of marred skin, Wren smoothed her apron over her simple linen gown, mindful of the belt of tools and vials at her waist. Not that it mattered, but the scar made her recognizable – the storm-wielding heir of Delmira from the war. She watched her mark as the realization dawned on his ruddy face.

‘I know who you are,’ he said, straightening his shoulders, his gaze still lingering on her ruined flesh. ‘I know what you did...’

Wren gave an impatient sigh. ‘You’ll have to be more specific.’

‘It was you . At the end of the war. You murdered the former Guild Master of Thezmarr,’ Lord Briar declared boldly.

‘Executed,’ Wren corrected him, watching as Lord Briar’s maid brought a large jug of water and poured him a glass. She waited until the woman left before she spoke again. ‘I hope he wasn’t a friend of yours?’

It was no secret that she had disposed of the traitor in the fortress. She remembered it as though it were yesterday. A simple workshop, an assassin’s teapot and a quiet conversation that led to the creation of her ledger of marks.

The birthplace of the person she’s been for the past five years: the Poisoner .

It had been her first taste of vengeance, though not the last.

The midrealms thought Elwren Embervale had sought revenge for her fallen sister and then faded into obscurity, a recluse hidden away in the ruined lands of her ruined kingdom. An heir without a throne; an heir who’d refused a crown. But Wren didn’t concern herself with what the rest of the world thought. Her business was her ledger, and striking another name from it.

She spoke louder this time. ‘I said, I hope he wasn’t a friend of yours, my lord?’

‘Not a friend. Of course not.’ Lord Briar drank his water, downing it in several large gulps before smacking his lips and refilling his cup. ‘But he deserved a trial.’

The smouldering fortress flashed before Wren’s eyes, the blood running in rivers between the cobbles, the lashes of shadow and forks of lightning cleaving through the air. ‘He deserved death .’

It was always the calmness of her expression that triggered her marks’ panic, and she’d be lying if she denied that some small, broken part of her enjoyed it, revelled in it.

There.

Wisely, his throat bobbed. ‘Why are you in my house?’

Wren didn’t move. She didn’t need to. ‘You almost single-handedly funded the enemy’s archery force. You provided Artos with information that saw countless innocents die.’

‘Lies!’ he blustered. ‘I had no affiliation with anyone on the wrong side of the war.’ He looked around wildly. ‘Guards!’

‘They’re indisposed. It’s amazing what a few drops of poppy extract can accomplish,’ she told him conversationally. ‘As for the wrong side of the war...I think you know all about that. Before he died, Osiris told me the names of all the so-called noblemen Artos had in his pocket. Guess whose name was top of the list? Guess who I’ve waited five years to meet?’

Lord Briar scrambled back.

Wren almost laughed. ‘You think I’d make an attempt on your life right here? Don’t be ridiculous, Lord Briar. I did that days ago.’

The man paled, guzzling more water. ‘Then you failed.’

‘Did I?’ Wren raised a brow. ‘Thirsty, aren’t you?’

‘It’s a warm day.’

‘Not particularly.’

Lord Briar shook his head, looking into his glass. ‘You can’t have—’

‘Oh, you’re quite right. The water is uncontaminated.’

The nobleman had begun to sweat profusely.

‘Your mistress’ cosmetics, on the other hand...’ Wren said thoughtfully. ‘Well, they’re another story.’

‘What...what have you done?’

‘A little mixture of henbane, datura and nightshade added right into the paint she uses for her lips...Your lovely companion was given an antidote, of course. It’s not her fault you’re a treasonous bastard.’

Lord Briar scrambled for the water jug, wrenching it from the table and drinking straight from the vessel.

‘The thing about that combination,’ Wren continued, ‘is that a few days after exposure, the subject experiences an unquenchable thirst. To the point where...’

Lord Briar collapsed with a wretched gasp.

‘...they drink water in excess, increasing the speed at which the poison enters the bloodstream. How much water have you had today? Or yesterday, for that matter? Either way, it’ll look like an accident. Just like all the rest.’

Lord Briar was on all fours, veins bulging in his neck, eyes wide with horror.

‘This time, a tragic choking. Perhaps pneumonia if they bother to look at your lungs.’ Wren sighed. ‘Then it’s simply a question of what kills you first...The toxins, or drowning.’

There was no sound from the nobleman. He lay in a puddle of water and spit, his eyes lifeless, staring into the void.

There was a mastery to ending life; a discipline that she’d come to know intimately. And there was a beautiful balance in the cre-ation of something so delicate and yet so deadly.

‘Drowning it is, then.’ Wren got to her feet and reached down to slide his family crest ring from his index finger. Pocketing it, she made for the door. She was eager to leave the city of Hailford behind her.

And so, the poisoner disappeared into the night.