The river spat me out like a curse.
I clawed my way onto the slick, moss-covered stones of the bank, coughing up foul water and what felt like half the Blackwater's filth. My limbs trembled, my clothes clung like a second skin, and my satchel—gods, my satchel, was still miraculously strapped to me, though its contents were surely ruined.
But I was alive.
For now.
The village of Blackwater Bend loomed ahead, a tangle of leaning shacks and smoke-stained chimneys, nestled where the river curled like a sleeping serpent. The air here stank of fish guts and wet earth, of unwashed bodies and the iron tang of the tanner's vats. Home to outcasts, thieves, and those the kingdom had no use for.
Perfect.
I staggered to my feet, my boots squelching. The villagers would already know I was here strangers didn't slip into Blackwater Bend unnoticed. The question was whether they'd help me or sell me out for the coin my face would surely fetch.
A shadow detached itself from the crooked doorway of the nearest shack.
"Lost, healer?"
The voice was rough, amused. I knew it instantly.
"Hera," I gasped.
She stepped into the dim light, her grin sharp as a gutting knife. Hera wasn't her real name—none of us in the Bend used real names, but it suited her. She was all edges, from her cheekbones to the way she held herself, like a blade half-drawn.
"You're a mess," she observed, plucking a strand of riverweed from my shoulder. "And you've brought trouble."
Behind her, more figures emerged from the fog. The Blackwater folk. Silent. Watching.
I swallowed. "The king wants me dead."
Hera's grin didn't waver. "He's not the first." She jerked her chin toward the largest shack the one with the rusted cauldron out front. "Come on then. Let's see what the Witch of the Bend thinks of you."
The Witch wasn't a witch.
She was worse.
Agatha of the Blackwater was ancient, her spine bent like a wind-twisted tree, her fingers curled but still deft as she stirred a pot of something that smelled like rotting roses and myrrh. The inside of her shack was a chaos of hanging herbs, cracked jars, and the skeletons of things I didn't want to identify.
She didn't look up as I entered.
"Sit," she croaked.
I sat.
Hera leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, as Agatha's milky eyes finally lifted to mine.
"You saved the princess,"the old woman said.
"Yes."
"Then the king's brat."
"Yes."
"And now you're here." She sucked her teeth. "Stupid girl."
I bristled. "I didn't have a choice"
"There's always a choice."Agatha's hand shot out, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. She turned it over, exposing the inside of my forearm, and the thin, blackened vein now visible beneath my skin.
My breath caught.
No.
"You didn't notice?" Agatha's laugh was a dry rasp. "Lira's knife was poisoned. Slow, but thorough. You've got maybe two days before it reaches your heart."
Hera straightened. "Can you fix it?"
Agatha released me, reaching for a jar of murky liquid . "i can try , But it'll cost you."
I knew what she meant. The Blackwater didn't deal in coin. It dealt in secrets, In favors,in blood.
"What do you want?" I whispered.
Agatha's smile was a crack in old leather.
"Everything."