Page 78 of A Legacy of Poison and Lies

For the first time in months, Zylah wanted to live. To fight the vanquicite coursing through her. To see what her days might look like if she silenced the guilt and the self-loathing.

A grin broke across the old woman’s face as she retrieved jars from the shelves nearest to her. “I know a little about dying. I’ve done it many times. But creatures like you and I, we defy the odds. Over and over. And we suffer for it.”

The suffering was just; it was no less than Zylah deserved. The price she would pay until she took her last breath. And yet she knew in her bones that she was nothing like whoever sat opposite her.

The woman laughed. “Tricksters and deceivers.” She placed two jars on the small table before Zylah. Ingredients for Cirelle. “Be careful of your friends, little fly. Everyone has secrets to keep.”

Zylah froze at Holt’s words.No more lies, she’d told him. But he’d made no such promises in return.

That old voice that belonged to a past version of herself whispered in her ear,Why would he tell you the truth, anyway? He doesn’t owe you anything. You’re nothing but a murderer. A monster. A curse. And everyone knows it.

The old woman smiled, as if she knew the seed of doubt she’d planted.

“Two things I’ve always had a knack for sniffing out: poison and lies. Often they are one and the same.”

Almost every ingredient Zylah needed for Cirelle sat before her on the small table. Nothing for her tonic, but a bundle of baylock leaves had been secured with a piece of waxed thread. It was then that something occurred to her, and she forced herself to look the old woman in the eyes as she said, “You can’t retrieve the key. You need me to get it.”

“More than half a brain, perhaps.” She rested a hand against Zylah’s cheek, though Zylah couldn’t say when the woman had got so close, cold grey eyes staring into her own. “I had a daughter once. But she was taken from me. And with my… ailment… my movements are restricted. In my old age, I rarely leave the shop.” Her expression darkened, and she pulled her hand away as if burned. “It’s serendipity that we finally got to meet, Zylah. I was good friends with your grandmother.”

Zylah didn’t fall into her trap. She couldn’t be certain anything the woman had told her was the truth. She reached into her cloak for the coin Malok had given her, depositing a pouch on the table.

“She was smart, too,” the old woman said. She waved a hand and the ingredients disappeared, replaced with a worn leather satchel, the baylock leaves poking out from the flap.

Zylah snatched up the bag, her feet at last responding to her thoughts as she pushed to her feet, just as the old woman grabbed her wrist. “All things in this world have a price, little fly. In order to receive something, you may have to give up something else.” Zylah had no doubt that was the case. “Be certain you’re prepared to defy the odds.”

And to suffer for it. Zylah heard the woman’s words in her head, even though her feet were already carrying her back out of the shop, fingers reaching for the doorknob. She didn’t dare look back as she stumbled out into the street, the scent of incense burning her nostrils and the old woman’s strange words following her all the way back out into the safety of the market.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Itwaslateafternoonby the time Zylah found her way to the Bridge Tavern. She’d needed to search the fields bordering Morren for the remainder of the ingredients, using the time to clear her head, to replace the incense clinging to her clothes with the aromas of the town around her.

She was passing a food cart selling sweet biscuits when a grubby bruiser took a step around the side of the cart to get closer to the vendor, the younger man’s face paling as he twisted the top of a paper bag around his product.

“No.” The vendor’s voice was loud and clear as he handed over the paper bag to his customer.

Bruiser closed the space between them, pushing the bag into the vendor’s chest and grabbing his chin, their faces close together. “Well, what do you say?”

“No. Thank you.” The vendor clutched the paper bag against his heaving chest, eyes wild with panic as he looked up at his customer.

Bruiser smiled, and it was all the invitation Zylah needed to close the last few steps between them.

“He said no. Twice, I believe.” She stood half a head shorter than the vendor, but she stopped beside him nonetheless, tucking her body as close to his without touching him as she could. From the corner of her vision, she spotted two guards on patrol heading towards them.

“And who the fuck are you?” Bruiser asked, his hand falling from the vendor’s chin as his attention flicked down to her face.

“No one of note.” Zylah looked up at him through her eyelashes, her expression playful, daring him to take a step closer. He did.

“This blade, however,” she said so quietly only he and the vendor would hear it, pressing the dagger she kept in her left bracer against his groin. “Is considerably more noteworthy, for a multitude of reasons.”

Bruiser stilled, his skin leeching of colour. All bark and no bite, just as she’d expected.

“Leave,” Zylah bit out, loud enough that it earned a few gazes from passers-by, the heads of the two guards snapping in their direction.

Bruiser caught the movement, just as she’d hoped. He narrowed his eyes at her, his pallid expression now flushed pink, snatched his paper bag from the vendor and disappeared into the crowd.

Zylah had already slipped her dagger away as the vendor cleared his throat beside her.

“Thank you,” he said brightly, scooping some biscuits into another bag. “That’s the third day in a row. I should have known better than to set up here again.”

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