Page 4 of A Legacy of Poison and Lies

The tight smile didn’t leave the priestess’s face as she nodded in response.

“I don’t want to make you miss the morning rush.” She inclined her head in a bow, turning her attention back to her acolytes. Zylah resisted the urge to look over her shoulder as she walked away, certain that the priestess’s gaze would be fixed upon her.

She’d read about witches in Kara’s storybooks, but it wasn’t the first time since leaving her old life behind that she’d heard them mentioned. She’d grown up in a village overshadowed by Dalstead, the old king’s city, where any talk of magic and the Fae were punishable by death. Witches, Zylah supposed, if they were real, would fall into that category.

The scent of macana hung heavy in the air, the milky hot drink they seemed to favour in Varda to stave away the cold. It was too strong for Zylah’s liking and left a bitter aftertaste.

The streets were full, busier than she’d seen them, and everyone seemed to be selling something. How many would bet their coin on the fights instead of saving it for the winter months? Too many. But Zylah was counting on it.

Witch.The priestess’s accusation wasn’t entirely strange, but something had been a little off about her. Kopi had seemed to agree, and that alone set Zylah on edge. She kept one eye on the edge of the crowds as she made her way to her stall, looking for any signs of trouble. The truth was… she wouldn’t know the truth, even if it was standing right in front of her. Because for months now she’d been turning over the same questions every quiet moment she got: why had her father and brother hidden so much from her? She’d been raised to believe King Arnir’s lies… but if Zack knew the truth, her father must have, too… so why lie? Why keep it secret from her? Why let her grow up so naively?

When she’d finally made it out of the Kerthen forest she’d been called a witch in the first village she’d found. There had been no true reason for the villagers to fear her, but after months alone in the forest she supposed the sight of her must have given them a fright. None dared enter Kerthen, she’d discovered, not unless they had a death wish.

She hadn’t decided whether to thank her friend Holt for that or to throttle him if she ever saw him again. The dark creatures she’d encountered there made a street fight in Varda sound like a tea party to Zylah.

She reached her stall, unravelling her bundle just as a group of acolytes walked by. There was no priestess leading their group, but that meant one was likely nearby. The same one from earlier perhaps, but no—Zylah caught sight of the grey robe, a different woman, hands clasped together a few stalls away, waiting for her acolytes to reach her.

Zylah paid her no heed, setting up her table as swiftly as she could and handing Kopi his first vial for the day. He liked to snooze, but he worked hard for his naps. A struggle broke out at the table beside the priestess, and Zylah held a hand over her wrist, ready to pull a blade if she needed it. She never went anywhere without her dagger in her boot and one in each bracer.

Although tonight she’d have to forgo the blades, no weapons were allowed, but that didn’t bother her. She watched the stall holder scuffle with a thief, a drunk, who Zylah had always kept a close eye on, and waited for the priestess to intervene. She didn’t. And Zylah couldn’t draw any more attention to herself.

“Pallia teaches us to use our words, gentlemen, before we employ our hands.” It was the priestess who had spoken. Her hands were still clasped in front of her, her head inclined in the same gesture exactly as the other had done.

Zylah suspected that Pallia, wherever she was, would hate the way the humans used her name.

She was no goddess.

She was Fae, just like all the gods Zylah had spent her whole life praying to until she’d learnt the truth.

And yet, in her darkest moments in Kerthen, she’d still whispered quiet words to Pallia regardless.

The stall holder and the thief peeled apart from each other, cheeks flushed and chests heaving as they took in the priestess. The woman murmured something to them, and the pair nodded. Wisps of red hair blew in the cold breeze, eyes darker than emeralds. She took a hand from each of them, murmuring again in what Zylah could only presume was a prayer to Pallia.

The acolytes behind her seemed to whisper the same prayer, but Zylah couldn’t hear their words.

Kopi descended through the crowds, and Zylah, at last, drew her fingers away from her bracer to hold her palm open for the little owl. He dropped a small pouch into her hand before darting away to resume his position on her shoulder.

When she looked up, the priestess and her acolytes were already away through the crowd, the stall holder back to serving customers and the thief nowhere to be seen.

The rest of the day passed without incident. Zylah had only sold three vials, two sales made by Kopi to their regulars. She needed to leave early if she was going to make her rounds and get to the fight on time, but the crowds were already thinning by late afternoon.

A cart rolled by, its owner huffing with the weight of the goods he hadn’t managed to sell, and for a heartbeat, Zylah could have sworn she’d scented acani berries in the air. But that wasn’t possible; she hadn’t seen any acani berries on this side of Astaria since leaving Virian.

She packed up her table and made her way to Sasha, the old woman’s smile wider than ever as Zylah approached.

“Today’s the day, Liss, old Sasha has felt it in here.” She tapped her chest, her toothy grin lighting up her face. Liss was the name Zylah had used when she was hiding in Virian, and it had become a habit to give it to humans instead of Zylah. Her true name seemed nothing but a burden.

Zylah placed the coppers into Sasha’s hands. “You’ll be at the fight?”

The old woman tucked the coins into the folds of her skirt and smoothed down the tattered fabric. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The hairs on Zylah’s neck stood on end and she looked over her shoulder. Nothing unusual stuck out to her in the crowd. Kopi hadn’t given a warning, but that didn’t stop Zylah’s stomach from twisting.

There were a few more rounds left to make, so she moved everything she needed to her pockets. There wasn’t time to make it back to her cabin, and Sasha was the only person in this godsforsaken town she trusted not to pawn her belongings.

Zylah unsheathed the blades from her bracers as discreetly as she could, rolling them up inside her cloak with her apron, and bundled it all into the cloth from her stall. She’d retrieve it after the fight; it would be safe with Sasha.

Sasha reached out her hands for the bundle, and Zylah helped the old woman fasten it to her back.

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