The Exiled Naga's Venom

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

HAZEL

The farmer’s cart hit another large rock, jolting his barrels of apples—and me—into the air. Something heavy among the barrels clanked against the floorboards.

I winced and surreptitiously rubbed my sore bottom. Despite being folded up underneath me, my thin shawl provided as little cushion as it did warmth.

“Sorry, miss!” the gray-haired farmer, who’d introduced himself as Cibran, called over his shoulder. “I didn’t see that one!”

As far as I could tell, he hadn’t seen any of them, but I waved and gave him my best and most earnest smile.

It was the smile that was usually enough to ward off impatient blows from my demanding cousins—save the most ill-tempered one.

After a year and a half at their mercy, I was quite good at pasting on that false smile.

I certainly couldn’t afford to offend my benefactor. I was lucky to have found someone willing to give me a ride to Coldspell at all. Rumors of witches roaming these woods made travelers wary of strangers, especially women traveling alone.

But I supposed I must have looked harmless enough—and pitiful enough—walking along the road in my threadbare clothes and mended shoes, clutching the satchel holding all my worldly possessions.

Cibran had slowed alongside and offered to let me sit in the back of the cart, and hadn’t demanded payment of coin or flesh for the favor.

I’d known little kindness in my life, so I appreciated his immensely and didn’t complain about a bit of jostling.

Well, a lot of jostling. I winced again as the cart jerked and bounced.

While the farmer carried on whistling a lively tavern song to the rhythm of his horse’s plodding hooves, I swung my dangling legs over the back of the cart and watched the mountain ridge where my cousins made their home growing smaller in the distance.

With every step Cibran’s stout horse took beyond our village, the weight on my chest lessened and I was able to breathe just a little easier. I felt as if I hadn’t taken a full, deep breath since the day a year and a half ago when I’d first crossed the threshold of my cousins’ dark cottage.

By the time my cousins returned from their shift in the mine, they’d find a simple supper on the table and no trace of me.

With luck, I’d be on the river by then, on my way either north to Crowford or south to Swiftreach.

Coldspell wasn’t far enough away to be out of their grasp, but those cities were.

I wasn’t particular where I ended up; one city was as good as the next for disappearing into its labyrinth of cobblestone streets, narrow alleys, and garret rooms.

For now, I just had to make it to the Coldspell riverfront.

I had some coins in the little hidden pocket sewn into my skirt—all I could hoard away over the past year by taking in mending work for neighbors—but it would be enough to buy passage on a boat, some food, and a room for a few nights when I arrived in whichever city would become my new home.

After that…well, I’d have to find work and more permanent lodging.

But those were problems for tomorrow.

I’d survive by facing one hour at a time, one day at a time, just as I’d done since my parents died and I’d been forced to live with three generous-seeming male cousins who’d simply wanted a live-in maid they could beat when they thought she did too little—or too much.

For now, I braced myself with one hand on the cart’s sideboard and tried not to yelp when we jounced over another stone.

By midday, the sun had replaced the cool morning clouds, forcing me to give up on cushioning the cart’s bounces and use my shawl to protect my head and face from the heat.

For early autumn, the day was unseasonably warm, though it didn’t seem to faze either Cibran or his horse.

If anything, the farmer’s whistling had grown more jaunty while the horse plodded along at the same even gait.

“There’s a spring-fed stream just ahead around the second bend, miss,” Cibran said over his shoulder as I wiped sweat from my brow. “If you don’t mind waiting with us, you can drink and rest in the shade while I water Hymoth.”

“That sounds lovely,” I called back. Even with my worry over being hunted down by my cousins, I was thirsty and hot enough to welcome the delay. A drink and a barefoot splash in a cold stream sounded heavenly.

But as we reached a narrow gorge leading to the second bend, a rumbling grew in the distance from the direction of Coldspell.

At first as the sound echoed off the rocks I thought it was thunder, but the sky was clear and blue.

The rumbling continued unabated, growing in volume with each passing moment until the noise became easily identifiable as galloping hoofbeats. A group of riders were closing in fast.

Cibran’s whistling cut off abruptly. He flicked the reins and clicked his tongue, urging Hymoth farther to one side of the road and from a slow trot to a brisk canter. I clung to the sideboard with both hands to avoid being tossed off the cart and into the road.

I heaved a sigh when we emerged from the gorge before the riders rounded the bend, but my relief was short-lived.

“Run,” Cibran snapped, pointing to the woods. “Go now!”

I didn’t understand, but I didn’t let my confusion or the speed of the cart stop me from reacting to the urgency in his voice.

With my satchel in one hand, I jumped from the cart into the road. My left foot planted solidly on packed dirt, but my right landed on a loose rock. My ankle bent violently sideways in my worn boot, sending white-hot agony up my leg. I tumbled to the ground with a yelp.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears. Every beat was a pulse of pain radiating from my ankle, and every shooting pain carried the echo of Cibran’s command: Run.

I got to my feet, snatched up my satchel and shawl, and hobbled as fast as I could manage toward the trees.

Before I could reach a safe hiding place, the riders thundered around the bend. It wasn’t a group of wealthy young nobles enjoying a spirited race along the road, but a band of heavily armed king’s guards.

“Oh, Goddess,” I breathed, and forced myself to move faster despite the pain and stiffness in my ankle.

The guards’ leader gave a shout. The men spread out across the road, blocking the cart's path, with their leader in the center. All pulled their swords and brandished them.

These were not the polished, aristocratic knights who jousted for His Majesty’s entertainment and lounged at banquets with the ladies of the court afterward; these were dangerous men tasked with keeping order and dispensing justice throughout the realm.

Cibran pulled on Hymoth’s reins, but instead of coming to a stop, he seemed to be directing the horse off the road and into the grass toward the trees. Was he trying to escape? But why would a farmer hauling apples need to escape the king’s guard?

Finally, I made it into the trees and hid in the underbrush just as Cibran’s cart reached the edge of the road. Its wheels immediately sank into the ground. Before he could jump from the seat, he was surrounded.

Biting my lip to hold in whimpers of pain, I peered through the underbrush and listened as the guards dismounted.

“Ho, there, farmer,” the leader said, sauntering up to the cart as his men began to look in the barrels. He was tall and slender, with white-blond hair and a well-trimmed mustache. “What are you carrying to the city today?”

“Apples, as you see, Lord Vedast,” Cibran said. “Freshly picked from my own orchard and ready to sell in the market.”

“Good-looking apples,” Vedast said, spearing one with his sword. He plucked it from the blade and took a bite. “Very fine. But are you sure that’s all you’re carrying in this cart?”

“I’m quite sure, sir,” Cibran said. But even from a distance I heard the tremor in his voice.

Goddess, protect us, I thought, my fingers digging into the soft earth where I was kneeling.

“Is that so?” Vedast took another bite of apple, but his smile had turned cold. “I think we should check, men.” He pointed with his sword to one of the barrels. “Start with that one.”

The closest guard shoved the barrel over. Apples spilled out of the back of the cart and into the grass. The guard upended the barrel until every last one had tumbled out and then deliberately let the heavy barrel fall on top of the fruit, crushing it into the ground.

Cibran made an involuntary sound of protest that cut off abruptly when Vedast casually swung the tip of his sword until it was inches from the farmer’s throat in a wordless warning.

“Next,” Vedast said.

Another guard tipped a barrel. Out came a wave of apples…followed by a dozen small fabric-wrapped bundles that clanged when they hit the cart’s floorboard.

My stomach clenched. During the ride, I’d heard metal clanking whenever the cart jounced over rocks, but I'd thought nothing of it at the time.

“Well, well…what do we have here?” Vedast kept his sword trained on Cibran and took another bite of apple. “Jonas?”

One of the guards, presumably Jonas, unwrapped a bundle. Sunlight glinted on a dagger blade.

Cibran twitched as if he intended to run.

“Stay,” Vedast said. He stuck his sword clean through Cibran’s left shoulder as calmly and casually as if he'd pinned a butterfly or moth to a collector's board.

The farmer screamed and tried to pull away as blood soaked his shirt, but Lord Vedast kept him trapped on his sword. The guards laughed uproariously as if this was all fine entertainment.

I clapped my hand over my mouth and tried not to be sick at their cruelty.

Vedast gestured with the hand still holding the apple. “Dump them all.”

One by one the guards dumped the barrels, revealing a small arsenal of bladed weapons. Lord Vedast finished his first apple and then took a bite of another, all the while ignoring Cibran's cries of protest and pain.

My stomach rebelled more with every passing moment at the agony in my ankle and the terrible sight ahead of me near the road.

They were going to either kill Cibran outright, or take him prisoner and drag him to some dungeon for interrogation. I didn’t know the man and I had no idea why he’d tried to smuggle weapons, but I didn’t want to see him die.

My hands tingled where I’d braced them against the ground.

I could help him. The thought made my stomach churn anew. I could kill these men and give him a chance to escape…

“I can’t,” I whispered. I had to say the denial aloud to push back the impulse and magic surging through my body in tingling waves. The words were barely audible even to my own ears. “My magic is not for killing.”

The branches and leaves around me rustled. In agreement, or simply reacting to my power?

In only a few minutes, the guards cleared the cart of barrels and apples and laid out all the weapons they found: swords, daggers, dirks, and even two double-headed axes.

Lord Vedast regarded the collection, his sword still in Cibran’s shoulder and his half-eaten apple in the other hand.

“Quality workmanship,” he mused. “Whoever made these deserves to work in the royal forge.” He twisted his sword, wrenching a cry of pain from Cibran's lips. “Name.”

The farmer shook his head, his chest heaving so much that I saw it plainly from my hiding place.

“There’s no point suffering to keep your secrets,” Vedast said, sounding bored.

“My cousin, the king, is aware of weapons being made for those who oppose him. Nothing happens in this realm without us knowing. People talk. How do you think we knew where to find you?” He gave the sword another twist. “Name the smith who made these and who takes your deliveries in town.”

Cibran grunted and swayed in his seat but remained silent.

Vedast sighed. “A true martyr to the cause. How tiresome. We’ll simply need a different kind of motivation. Jonas.”

The guard snapped to attention. “Yes, Lord Vedast?”

Vedast turned and gestured directly at my hiding place with the hand holding his apple. “Fetch the girl.”