Page 1 of A Legacy of Poison and Lies

Chapter One

Murderer.

The word echoed on repeat as Zylah inspected the coins in her palm. Three measly coppers were all she’d managed to make at the market, standing in the bitter cold.

The people of Varda had little coin to spare, but Zylah needed to eat. She reached into her apron and pulled out a vial, popping off the cork with her thumb. It was a tonic of her own making, and she’d seen it in use enough times to know it worked.

But it wasn’t healing her as it should have, only quietening the burning sensation that seemed to blaze through her, day and night.

The stall owner beside her started arguing with a customer, but Zylah drowned out the sound. She sifted through images of everything she’d eaten in the Kerthen forest, questioning, not for the first time, whether she could have mistakenly identified a plant for something else.

But there was no chance of that. She knew her plants too well to eat something she shouldn’t have, and besides, she’d left Kerthen three months ago.

And worse than that worry, she suspected the sickness was a side effect of the knot on her spine, the little lump she’d had for as long as she could remember.

Not a lump, she corrected herself. The vanquicite.A black stone that hindered magical abilities—Fae abilities—and one she’d unknowingly lived with for her entire life until just a few months ago.

“Arnir was a plague upon Astaria, we’re better off without him.” The stall owner seethed. Zylah was inclined to agree.

King Arnir flopping face first into the dirt repeated over and over in Zylah’s thoughts as the customer muttered under her breath, slamming the candles she’d been about to purchase down onto the table and marching off into the market.

A dark speck darted through the air just beyond the woman’s head, and Zylah held out a hand for her owl. He dropped a small drawstring bag into her hands before flying off amongst the market stalls. The bag was light, because the owl was tiny and could fit in her palms, but also because the locals barely had any money to part with.

Zylah sighed. Another slow day. She watched Kopi’s tiny frame as he flew to the far end of the market, collecting the coin that was owed to her. He wasn’t reallyherowl. But it was easier to let people think that. If she had a copper for every time someone had asked her if he was Pallia’s owl, Goddess of War and Wisdom, she’d have a considerable amount more money for her dinner than the few filthy coppers she was staring at.

Gods, what she’d give for a canna cake. She shoved the coins into her apron, taking a step back as a boy huffed past with a cart. Vendors were already beginning to pack up for the day, dismantling their stalls with swift efficiency, vibrant colours draining from the market and leaving a dusty brown in their place.

Zylah had often wondered if Varda was the poorest town in Astaria, and yet the vendors always had the brightest stalls of any she’d seen. It was just her bad luck that she was stuck there for the winter. She reached for the cloth covering her table, rolling the vials and poultice pouches into a bundle.

When she’d dreamt of seeing the world, becoming a travelling apothecary was not how she’d imagined she’d get by. But Zylah made it work. She had to. Varda was just her stop-over for the winter, and the moment it was over, she’d be moving on to the next town.

The fish cart rolled by, and Zylah discreetly sniffed at a besa leaf to cover the stench. The ocean was over a week away pulling a loaded cart—probably closer to two—and it turned her stomach thinking about how rotten the fish would be. But the cart was always empty by the end of market day, another telltale sign of how desperate her neighbours were.

She tugged at the coarse crimson fabric that draped above her table, assembling her bundle as if it were a baby, and wrapped it over her shoulders and around her waist. It wasn’t a long journey back to her cabin for the night, but only a fool went anywhere in this town with their hands full and their guard down.

Kopi touched down on her shoulder just as she tugged up the hood of her cloak. An old habit, though it was certainly cold enough to need it. A wave of nausea hit her, and she wondered if Kopi could sense it now—he was always with her whenever the worst of the sickness shook through her. She reached out for an empty stall to steady herself, grinding her teeth until the feeling passed. She didn’t know which was worse, the nausea or the pain, but didn’t dare pull on her magic to try and heal herself. All magic left a trace, and Zylah needed to remain hidden.

She pressed on to her first stop, barely at the end of the market and glanced up to meet a pair of jewel-blue eyes that reminded her of… Zylah sucked in a breath and reached for her necklace.

“You still haven’t heard from him?” the old woman asked as Zylah approached. No matter how many times Zylah explained it, she wasn’t waiting for anyone. Thehimthe old woman was referring to was dead.

But of course, Zylah hadn’t shared that part. She’d only said it to herself, in the quiet of the forest with nothing but the trees and the sprites to hear her.

Zylah reached for two coppers in her apron and dropped them into the old woman’s hand. “Has he been good to you this week, Sasha?”

The old woman cupped her cheek. “Not a peep since last week, my dear girl. Gods bless you.” She tucked the coins into the folds of her dress and smoothed over the patched fabric. “Got a fresh loaf from my eldest boy today if you need any for your supper.”

“You hold onto it, Sasha, just in case one of your boys stops by for lunch tomorrow.” Zylah smiled as she toyed with her necklace. There was little chance one of the old woman’s sons would pay her a visit again so soon, but Sasha needed the food more than Zylah did.

“I found another book for you,” Sasha began, pressing it into Zylah’s hands before she could protest. “He’s coming you know; I can feel it in my bones. And old Sasha’s never wrong.” She tapped her head and then her heart, offering a toothy grin.

Zylah bit the inside of her cheek. It had been the same conversation every week, and far too much time had passed now for her to be able to explain herself. So she let the old woman believe someone was coming for her. She thanked her for the book before waving goodbye, cutting down the back alleys she’d committed to memory in her first week in Varda.

Grey clothes that were once white hung on lines above, crisscrossing from building to building and blocking out the last of the daylight. The aroma of spices filled the air, and in one of the nearby houses, a couple argued about money. All the arguments in Varda were either about money, or who the rightful ruler of Astaria was.

Zylah cared for neither, and so many times she’d wished she could evanesce back to Virian to see her friends and her brother, to sit quietly with them all even just for a moment. But the same fear that stopped her from healing herself prevented her from evanescing, from using her Fae abilities to travel through the aether to visit the people she loved. She would not be discovered. She would not put her friends at risk again.

Her thumb traced the spine of the book Sasha had given her; another to add to the growing collection in her cabin. Sasha didn’t know it, but the old woman had inadvertently taught Zylah more about the world in a few months of handing over books than Zylah had learnt in her entire life, her knowledge of plants the only exception.

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