A Legacy of Poison and Lies

Dedication For anyone fighting their own monsters Copyright Copyright ©2023 by Victoria J. Price All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. ISBN: 978-1-9163540-5-0 Editing services provided by Melanie Underwood Cover and title design by Franziska Stern Map by Andrés Aguirre Jurado www.victoriajprice.com Contents Map of Southern Astaria & The Delmara Peninsula 1. Chapter One 2. Chapter Two 3. Chapter Three 4. Chapter Four 5. Chapter Five 6. Chapter Six 7. Chapter Seven 8. Chapter Eight 9. Chapter Nine 10. Chapter Ten 11. Chapter Eleven 12. Chapter Twelve 13. Chapter Thirteen 14. Chapter Fourteen 15. Chapter Fifteen 16. Chapter Sixteen 17. Chapter Seventeen 18. Chapter Eighteen 19. Chapter Nineteen 20. Chapter Twenty 21. Chapter Twenty-One 22. Chapter Twenty-Two 23. Chapter Twenty-Three 24. Chapter Twenty-Four 25. Chapter Twenty-Five 26. Chapter Twenty-Six 27. Chapter Twenty-Seven 28. Chapter Twenty-Eight 29. Chapter Twenty-Nine 30. Chapter Thirty 31. Chapter Thirty-One 32. Chapter Thirty-Two 33. Chapter Thirty-Three 34. Chapter Thirty-Four 35. Chapter Thirty-Five 36. Chapter Thirty-Six 37. Chapter Thirty-Seven 38. Chapter Thirty-Eight 39. Chapter Thirty-Nine 40. Chapter Forty 41. Chapter Forty-One 42. Chapter Forty-Two Afterword Acknowledgements About the Author Chapter One M urderer. 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 really her owl. 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