Poison

A SCENT OF INCENSE and honey was floating on the air.

Mmmm…honey. Kyra’s stomach growled in response. She was lying on her back on a soft pallet, and when she opened her eyes she was staring up at a brilliant multicolored cloth roof lit by sunshine. Images of red and gold butterflies flew among the flowers on the ceiling tapestry.

The warmth of the sun made her want to shut her eyes again and sink back into sleep. But then a thought darted into her brain and pricked her skin.

Rosie!

She sat up and looked around, but the pig was nowhere in sight.

Struggling to get out of bed, Kyra felt warm hands rest on top of her shoulders. “It’s okay,” a melodious voice said. “Your little friend is fine.”

Kyra turned and faced the woman who spoke. “Fine? But she was bleeding to death!”

“It’s been taken care of.” The old woman looked like a dragon, her skin wrinkled and scaly, her gaze glinty-eyed and wily.

“How?” Kyra asked, then knew the answer. “Potions.” Her insides relaxed. “You must be a potioner.”

The woman nodded. “I’m Nadya.” She handed a steaming mug to Kyra, and the honey smell intensified. “Drink this, and I’ll get her for you.”

The liquid was warm and sweet and filled her with a delicious buzzing. Kyra felt a dull shock when she realized she was actually too worn out to work out what potions could have been put in it. She just didn’t care.

The woman came around with a bundled-up Rosie. “She needs sleep after the healing she’s had.”

Kyra hugged the bundle close and was completely embarrassed when two tears plopped down on the sleeping pig. She brushed her eyes with one hand as Rosie snuggled in with a contented grunt. “Thank you so much. I thought I’d lost her.”

The woman’s amber eyes met Kyra’s olive ones. “It was my pleasure.”

Then, the pig clasped against her chest, Kyra fell back into a deep sleep.

Kyra woke the next morning with a feeling of panic running through her—she needed to set off again immediately. She turned over and discovered Nadya working at a table across the room, mixing up a brew that smelled of mint and lavender.

Kyra shifted Rosie in her lap and sat up, stretching her arms above her head. “Nadya, I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done. If there’s anything I can do to repay you before we leave—”

“You aren’t leaving today,” the older woman said.

“But—”

“If you want your friend to heal, you will stay put. I’ve done what I can, but she needs more time.”

Kyra looked down at the little pig in her lap: eyes shut, Rosie let out a happy huff of breath and scrunched up tighter.

Kyra couldn’t leave her behind again.

“And if you, too, want to heal, you will rest. Here.” Nadya gave her a mug of the minty, lavender mixture, and without even questioning what it was, Kyra drank deep.

“Nadya,” Kyra said the next day, after she woke and felt fully herself for the first time in…days? No—months. “I have to leave.”

“Come with me,” Nadya commanded.

Kyra followed her out of the tent, Rosie napping in her arms. Around them, the encampment was alive with a quiet, happy industry. The men fixed wagons and scrubbed laundry in a nearby stream and talked, while a group of women prepared to go off into the woods to hunt berries and small game. The Gypsies’ small wooden homes were all on wheels, but they were set up like a village. There was a pleasant rhythm and flow to it all, and Kyra felt as though she and Rosie had been living there for years instead of mere days. The Gypsies had been driven out of Wexford in advance of the festival, Nadya told her, and they were camping here for a spell until they figured out where to go next.

Nadya sat down across from Kyra under an enormous tree at the edge of the camp.

“You don’t have to leave,” she said, crossing her legs in front of her and picking some sewing out of her bag. “You could come with us when we move north. A second potioner would be a blessing.”

So Nadya knew Kyra was a potioner—it was probably obvious from her potions bag. Kyra absently stroked Rosie’s snout, and the pig grunted in contentment. “There’s something I should tell you. There’s a tracking potion on me. There are people looking for me, and if I don’t leave soon, they’ll find me here.” The moment Hal and Ned figured out how to find her through the illusion of the bog, the whole tribe would be in danger for harboring a fugitive. The thought of the Gypsies wounded and torn away from the sun, cast into the cold and wet of the palace dungeon, sent chills through her.

Nadya didn’t even look up from her stitches. “There is no tracking mark on you anymore. I took it off when we first found you.”

“There’s no way to remove a tracking potion, and believe me, I was tagged.”

Nadya’s eyes twinkled. “It’s always fun to spend time with young people.” She shook her head. “Always think they know everything. There are more things in this world that you don’t know than you will ever imagine.”

“How? Did you concoct a counter-potion?”

“No, actually, it was a bit of witchcraft.”

Kyra heard herself gasp. “I thought you were a potioner.”

“Now, don’t go getting that look of utter fear on your face—it’s a very uncommon bit of witchcraft. You aren’t going to find many other witches who know it, if any.”

“But a witch can’t—”

“I can’t be both witch and potioner?”

“No.” Kyra shook her head violently.

“Of course I can. And so can you.” Nadya picked up another piece of cloth. “Just touch the spark inside of you for a moment, and you’ll know that what I say is true.”

Kyra couldn’t help herself; she immediately tried to shut down the feeling from that place inside her—the place she’d tried to eradicate. “How did you know?”

“I’m a Seer too.”

Kyra picked up the pillowcase Nadya had sewn and ran her fingers over the small perfect stitches. “What coven did you train with?”

“I didn’t. Not in the way you’re thinking. I spent time with a Gypsy potioner, and some more time with a Gypsy witch.” Nadya set her work down and smiled at Kyra. “Look, I don’t know what you’re running from, and I haven’t pried using my Sight. But I can offer you shelter and training, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you found yourself some companionship among the tribe, either.”

Kyra made to stand up. “I can’t—”

“Sit. There’s no hurry to make a decision,” Nadya said. “I’m not saying it’s an easy life. Moving around as much as we do has its challenges, but it might be better than where you’re coming from.”

Kyra trembled all over. The horizon stretched out in front of her.

A new life.

But…

“You know what helps me make decisions?” Nadya said. “A good sweat. Nothing clears the mind like a really hot steamy sauna.”

Kyra felt completely naked when, after dinner that night, she wrapped herself in nothing but a sheet and made her way across the encampment to a small caravan with smoke pouring out of the chimney. But no one gave her a second glance.

She stepped inside the sauna and was smacked by a wave of intense heat. A bench ran along one wall, a wood stove across from it. The door closed, leaving her in complete darkness. She sat on the bench and her eyes began to adjust. The stove flamed and crackled in front of her, radiating more heat than she had ever felt in her life.

Kyra had never especially liked heat, always sought shade on hot days, and never liked overheated rooms. But this was different. The steamy heat overwhelmed her, and soon an extraordinary feeling spread through her limbs. She lay down on the long bench, stretching her body out full length.

The instant her head touched the bench, she felt herself falling back—back into a memory.

It was after she’d left Hal and moved back to Wexford to be closer to Ariana. After she’d had her vision.

She was standing in front of the queen, in the throne room, her hands clutched tight behind her as she tried to think of the best way to explain what she had to say. “Your Highness, I’m worried about Ariana.”

The queen quirked a razor-thin eyebrow but said nothing.

“She’s not herself at all. There’s something seriously wrong with her.” The queen’s eyes pierced Kyra. Queen Lilly, the Clear-Sighted One, seemed to look right into Kyra’s soul.

“Did Ariana send you? Is this her latest scheme to get out of marriage and her duty to her country?” Obviously the queen had no idea what was going on with Ari.

“Your Highness,” Kyra said, “that’s just it. Ariana doesn’t want to cancel the wedding at all. She seems to be looking forward to it—and we both know that’s not her. Have you seen the new dress she’s designing? It’s bright pink and covered in more ruffles and bows than you’d find on all of the noblewomen’s dresses put together.”

The queen’s response was dismissive. “Not everyone wears green to their wedding, Kyra. Pink has a long tradition. Do you object to a tribute to the Goddess of Love?”

Kyra wanted to scream. The queen was completely missing the point. Was a gaudy pink dress the sort of dress Ariana would ever wear on purpose? “It isn’t just the dress. She barely acknowledges me. I’m lucky to be invited to sit in with her sewing circle. The one time I tried to talk to her alone, she pushed me away. Now she won’t even look at me.”

“Ariana is growing up, Kyra. I appreciate the friendship you’ve shown her over the years, but right now perhaps it’s the ladies in her sewing circle she needs. She’s about to become a married woman and take the first step to ascending the throne. The free-spirited life you lead doesn’t fit who she must become right now.”

Kyra stared at her.

The queen smiled unexpectedly. “She’ll come back to you in the end. Just give her time. Ariana will no doubt see the value in keeping the kingdom’s leading potions weapons master close to her.”

See the value in keeping the kingdom’s leading potions weapons master close to her? Kyra’s knees trembled. The idea that their friendship would be reduced to a wise monarchical business relationship left her with an empty feeling.

The queen was wrong. Kyra knew it. But she couldn’t tell her about her Sight. Kyra would have to save the kingdom—and the princess—another way.

She spent days in the library trying to find some clue as to what had happened to her friend. One by one, she ruled out every possible explanation: it wasn’t a spell, a curse, the effects of a potion.

That left only the possibility of possession. The soul crushed inside the body by the weight of another.

There was no recovery from possession.

Ariana—whoever she now was—remained a threat to the kingdom. She had to be stopped.

And Kyra was going to have to be the one to do it.

She felt again the heat of the sauna and the hard bench beneath her, and for the first time in her life, embraced her spark. Her inner vision flared, this time flinging her forward. Images flooded her mind—some memories, others something more. The leering face of the witch who’d captured her and Fred. Rosie gazing up at her with trusting eyes. Her parents silently eating breakfast together. Fred, all rumpled hair and green eyes, in the garb of a king’s soldier, wielding a full-length fighting staff, its sharp end glowing with a deadly poison.

And she saw the Gypsy band marching north—the apple harvest they’d find that fall, the kitten Nadya would adopt, and most of all, the empty space in the caravan where Kyra was not.

Because she wasn’t going with them.

And she knew it.

Her duty lay with the Kingdom of Mohr.

Kyra felt as though she’d melted into the sauna bench. Light-headed, she got up and stepped outside, welcoming the stinging embrace of the cool spring evening.

“How was it?” Nadya asked from her perch on a bench a few feet from the door. She was whittling a small figure with her knife. “Easier to See?”

Kyra nodded grimly.

Nadya’s cheeks rounded in a smile. “I thought it would be.”

“But horrible,” Kyra added. “Is it always like that? A big rush of random images?”

“Sometimes. With training you can direct it, to bring it out when you want to know something. But it is never an exact art.” Nadya set down her knife. “This doesn’t have to be a burden, but you do need to prepare yourself. The Sight will not be denied. It’s only going to get stronger with each vision you have.”

“I see the future,” Kyra said. “It just seems so hopeless. Is it set?”

“You see possible futures, but that doesn’t mean the future can’t change. Or be changed.”

“Oh.” Kyra sat down on the wagon steps. “I hope you get the kitten anyway. I think it will be good for you.”

“A kitten?” Nadya’s voice filled with pleasure. “Let’s hope that’s one of your more accurate visions.” She laughed, then grew serious. “When you first came, I had a vision of you. My Sight showed me the potioners’ tag on you, of course, but there was more.”

Kyra hugged herself in a sudden chill breeze. “What was it?”

“Your life was hanging in the balance—sometimes you fell one way, sometimes another.” Nadya watched Kyra for a moment. “Either way resulted in your death. Is your mission so important that you’ll throw your life away?”

Kyra swallowed. “It is.”

Nadya nodded. “Then I wish you all the luck in the world.” She put down her whittling and walked away.

Kyra picked up the piece of carved wood—it was the figure of a tiny pig, a basket slung below its snout, a smile on its face. She grinned and clutched it in her fist.

A little extra luck definitely couldn’t hurt.