Chapter 35
Roksana
The next days were a blur. I couldn’t sleep. Each time I closed my eyes, memories of Tivala’s dungeon assaulted me. The days were better, the sun seeming to drive back thoughts of weakness. Which made facing Jagon much easier.
‘I wish I believed you’ve accepted your fate, Roksana, but I know your devious little mind too well. You’ve devised a new plan to escape,’ he said, his lips brushing the cropped hair against my neck.
I trembled, swallowing hard to hold back a wave of nausea.
It wasn’t just his closeness or his suspicion.
The augurec manacles were poisoning my body in a way Jagon hadn’t expected.
Yesterday, when he’d examined my wrists, a frown appeared when he noticed the grey, discoloured skin beneath my shackles.
‘I will remove them the moment we arrive on Windmaster Island, I promise.’ Guilt flashed across his features when he looked at me. I simply wrapped bandages around my wrists to limit contact and carried on.
Amala, bless her na?ve heart, had brought me most of the ingredients I’d requested.
All I needed now was time alone to create a sleeping draught that should leave half of the household unconscious.
The only problem was that I had to trust my magic to neutralise it while I was still wearing manacles.
‘Zivia, mother of healing, I’d appreciate a little help,’ I muttered, mashing the herbs in the washbowl.
I’d worked in some lousy places before, but using cooking ingredients, a washing bowl, and a wooden chair leg was certainly a lowlight in my poisoner’s career. If the situation weren’t so serious, I would laugh at the absurdity of it all.
‘Tova would be so offended by the lack of apparatus,’ I muttered. My heart ached for my friends. Before tears welled in my eyes again, I mentally slapped myself. ‘Get a grip, Sana. Now’s not the time for getting sentimental.’
I poured the rosemary oil into the disgusting pulp of lavender, sage, and an unhealthy dose of valerian root.
I watched the oil saturate the mixture and held my breath as I called on my vivamancy.
The sleeping draught I created without magic could knock out a person for the night, but I needed to subdue as many people as possible.
For this, I needed absolute control and precision in strengthening the concoction without altering its properties.
I looked at the manacles. I’d done everything I could to dampen their effect, wrapping more bandages around my wrists and the metal itself. I still felt the unsettling pulse of the augurec corrupting my magic.
My hands were shaking as I drew a sigil on the desk and placed the draught inside the circle designed to amplify its properties. Then, I closed my eyes and began pushing aether into the sigil.
Cold sweat beaded on my forehead, but I controlled my magic, keeping the spell true to its intention. I watched the mixture bubble, the colour darkening as its consistency thickened.
‘Just a little more,’ I whispered when my muscles spasmed, contracting painfully. It reminded me of working during a heatwave when I’d almost died of exhaustion. Still, I continued. The liquid turned into molasses moments before I collapsed to the floor, vomiting bile while shaking like a leaf.
I did it. I fucking did it… I was gasping for breath, but I’d overcome the augurec.
Now I had a fighting chance.
Tonight, I had one last dinner with Jagon to attend. The one I’d offered to cook myself.
In the meantime, I needed something to store my potion in.
So, I quickly looked through all my captor’s gifts, relief washing over me when my eyes caught sight of the expensive bottle of lily-of-the-valley perfume.
I poured the contents out the window, then slowly filled it with my sleeping draught.
I still had a few hours until Amala was due to help dress me for the meal.
I wiped away the dark green residue from the basin, taking a little on the tip of my finger to taste it.
The flavour of dill and peas with an acidic aftertaste made me wince.
Still, I swallowed it and sat in the middle of the bed, waiting for the poison to hit my bloodstream.
A wave of dizziness came first, then my body tilted. I was glad I was propped up between several soft pillows. I held the bedpost with a death-grip and waited. Time passed, and I remained conscious. My magic, even twisted by the augurec, was working to neutralise the toxin.
The insistent knock on the door came at the wrong moment.
‘Not now,’ I answered, but it happened again, shaking the doors. Amala has the key, and so does Jagon, I thought, confused. The moment my vision cleared, I stumbled towards the door.
‘Get the keys from Jagon if you want to enter. Or use an axe. I don’t mind which!’ I shouted, and the hammering stopped.
‘Fuck, I forgot he locked you in,’ came Tymon’s voice from the other side. ‘Pack only what’s necessary. Tangra found us. We need to move to the smuggler’s caves, and they’re not as comfortable as this place.’
I muttered a curse, my fist tightening as I stared at the door. All my plans had gone down the drain. Jagon would be on high alert, making my chances of poisoning anyone non-existent. The wind picked up, howling outside, carrying the haunted voices of the drowned and the desperation of the living.
It’s hopeless… It’s all fucking hopeless.
The draught clutched in my fist sloshed when I pushed the vial into my bodice, striding to the wardrobe as if the furniture itself offended me. Then, cursing the unfeeling world, infuriating men, and even the gods themselves, I started packing.
In a choice between Tangra and Jagon, it’s Jagon all the way for me, I thought as the carriage wheels got stuck in the melted snow. The town we’d just left was burning, or maybe it was just a townhouse and the warehouse we’d been living in for the past few days.
‘Reward the men who spotted them,’ I heard Jagon say as he moved closer to the carriage.
‘I told you they’d come after her. You heard them argue with Tivala.
Do you think the honourable preceptor would let her go after witnessing her turn a man into a monster?
’ Tymon’s voice radiated irritation and fear.
‘Listen, I didn’t sign up for this. It should’ve been a simple deal.
Transport the srebrec, butter up the winner, and keep fleecing the rich without Dagome’s strict laws. ’
‘And it still will be,’ Jagon said, pulling the horse’s reins so hard that the poor animal squealed, stumbling against the carriage. ‘There’s no point in discussing it now. I’m just glad we hid all that gold on Windmaster Isle.’
‘Gold’s worth nothing if we’re dead. They’ll hunt Roksana and her magic across the Tir ha Mor. We should–’ Tymon’s voice stopped abruptly, cut off by the sound of an unsheathed blade.
‘Roksana is mine. I’m not letting her go. Take us to the island. That’s your job, Tymon. Then you can have all the gold I promised.’ Jagon’s voice was pure menace.
As much as I enjoyed those dogs barking at each other, the news that Tangra wanted my vivamancy made me think twice about returning to Dagome.
The carriage jerked and started rolling, interrupting Amala’s muted sobbing.
She glared at me in condemnation as if the burning of Gerran Port was my doing.
Still, I refused to feel guilty for something beyond my control.
Several hours later, we were ordered to exit the carriage and clamber down uneven, slippery stairs that were chiselled from the cliffs to the caverns below.
The place we eventually stumbled into was dry, with goods of various origins piled under canvas, along with travel cots and animal skins for the smugglers.
There was a large stone basin beneath a dripping crack in the roof, creating a reservoir of drinking water.
Through the same slit, smoke from the small fireplace escaped, keeping the air fresh.
As I stood motionless, Jagon positioned two burly men at the entrance before he came closer.
His shadow stretched across the wall, flickering in the light of a small fire.
‘Find yourself and your maid a place to rest; we’ll stay here until the ship arrives,’ he said, and I nodded, settling next to the driest wall and observing my former Brotherhood brethren.
They organised themselves with typical Mule efficiency, used to sleeping in strange locations. The two men dragged a small cooking cauldron from the corner and placed it over the fire. Carrots, parsnips, and some unidentified dry meats were loaded into the vessel before it was filled with water.
An opportunity! From the ingredients, it had to be hunter’s stew, a bland but nutritious meal any traveller recognised by its pungent smell. I still had my drought. Now, all I needed was a little luck to add it to the mixture. ‘Amala, ask the men for bread. I’m hungry.’
My maid gave me a hostile scowl. ‘Dinner will be soon.’
‘But I’m hungry now. Please.’ My polite insistence prompted her to move. She talked to the men, and soon after, returned with half a loaf of dark bread, dropping it on my lap before turning away.
The bread was so hard that my finger ached before I broke the crust enough to pour in the contents of the sleeping draught. It wasn’t my best idea, but it was the only one I could come up with. My jaw tightened when half of the contents landed on my cloak, dripping through the loaf.
‘Where’s the privy?’ I asked, approaching the men at the cauldron, crossing my legs with exaggerated theatrics.
Their laughter was raucous, but they pointed to the entrance on the cliff’s edge. ‘Stick your arse out there, and the wind’ll take care of the rest.’
‘I’m not a man to piss in the wind,’ I said with righteous indignation. I didn’t even have to fake it, but they only laughed harder.
‘Well, tough luck, princess. It’s that or pissing your pants.’ Tymon took the ladle from the cauldron to point with, giving me the opportunity to drop the bread in. I turned around with such force that my cloak swirled around me, and marched away from the obnoxious men.
My heart hammered in my throat as I returned to my corner. If the cook licked the ladle before distributing it to the others, or if someone else tasted the stew… Thoughts of failure churned inside me while I sat perfectly still, hiding my inner turmoil behind a mask of indifference and boredom.
‘Because of you, my mother died.’ I heard Amala’s voice and turned to look at her. She was sitting on the stone floor, arms wrapped around her knees, and rocking slightly.
‘Do you blame me for that?’ I raised my hands to show the sores left on my skin by the manacles. ‘Or is it my fault for being imprisoned and dragged around like a slave?’
‘Yes… no… I don’t know! But Tangra, they came for you. Now everyone’s gone.’ She sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. ‘“Serve her,” he said, “and I’ll take you and your mother on the ship with us. You’ll be a lady’s maid.”’
Jagon and his promises.
‘Then blame him, not me. I offered you nothing and didn’t blame you for locking the door,’ I said, maybe too harshly, but my body was vibrating with tension as I watched the cook pouring stew into bowls.
Amala looked at me, tears shining in her eyes, before she stood up and moved her bedding far away from me. As much as I pitied the girl, I couldn’t shoulder her burden or ease her sorrow.
I ate the bowl of stew placed in front of me. It had a faint hint of my concoction, but other than this, nothing indicated the recipe had been tampered with. When Jagon slurped a mouthful while quietly chatting with Tymon, I exhaled, getting ready for action.
Half an hour later, most of the men were snoring, and those who weren’t walked around aimlessly, eyes glazed in confusion. All except Jagon. He stumbled towards me. ‘How… How the fuck you did you manage… to poison them?’ He fell back, hitting the wall before he slid down, shaking his head.
‘Poison? You misjudge me. It’s a simple house remedy for a sleepless night… with a touch of magic.’ I grinned, embracing him and patting his clothes as I searched for the keys to the manacles.
‘If you leave, you’ll die. Tangra… They saw your magic. The preceptor is searching for you… on the Great Hierophant’s orders.’ He was slurring his words, head swaying from side to side. ‘Roksana, listen. Your king can’t protect you, but I can hide you, my Vila. I found you… you’re mine…’
His voice faded while I stripped him of everything useful.
A dagger, a few vials of poison, and, at the end, hidden on a chain around his neck, was the key to the manacles.
I drew a shaky breath at the rush of pure, uncorrupted aether flowing through my body.
I didn’t have time to spare. The draught, significantly diluted and tempered by heat, would only give me two, maybe three hours, and I had to use them to get as far from Jagon and his men as possible.
I gathered my newly acquired weapon, a few supplies, and all the gold I could find in Jagon’s pockets, then rushed to the stairs and my freedom.
‘You killed them.’ Amala’s voice was devoid of emotion. My maid stood there, hands clasped to her chest, staring with wide, terrified eyes, her bowl of stew untouched on the floor.
‘No, they’re just sleeping. Now, you have a choice.
Come with me, and if we make it to Truso, I’ll ensure you’re looked after.
Or stay and face Jagon’s wrath.’ That was all I could offer; a choice.
Not a good choice, and not one without danger, but at least I wasn’t leaving her like a sacrificial lamb to pay for my transgressions.
‘I’m not going anywhere with you, you… poisoner.’ She spat last words like a curse, and for a moment, I considered knocking her out cold. I quickly dismissed this idea; this wasn’t a child I had to protect, and in the end, maybe staying here would be safer than going with me.
‘As you wish. Goodbye, Amala.’
I rushed out, slipping as I turned to clamber up the steep stairs, each step threatening to send me onto the rocks or the raging sea. The climb took an eternity, but eventually, the clifftop appeared, lashed by the wind and rain, but I didn’t care.
I was free and heading home.
Still, the triumphant scream died in my throat when I saw the line of torches weaving up the path from the port.
Each flame was carried by a soldier with the bright orange tabard of the Tangra Empire.
I was trapped, and the only men who could fight them were now sleeping like the dead in the cavern below.