Brilliant botanist Saffron Everleigh has set sail on her first research expedition, but it’s disrupted by accusations of murder when one of her fellow scientists is murdered in this daring fifth installment.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from A Botanist’s Guide to Tradition and Treachery by Kate Khavari, which is out June 9th 2026.
Saffron Everleigh is newly engaged and full of optimism as she sets off on the adventure of a lifetime for any scientist: a research expedition. She sails to newly formed Turkey with her fiancé, Alexander Ashton, and a bevy of fellow researchers under the watchful and reformed eye of Dr. Henry. With only two other women on board, Saffron soon finds she is right back in the same infuriatingly misogynistic environment that marked the earliest days of her career. Only this time, Saffron is determined to show everyone, including Alexander, that she can handle the trials of an expedition.
And trials she has in spades. Before the expedition team has even arrived, Saffron has managed to find an enemy in historian Joseph Clark, who frequently torments the assistant that Saffron has taken under her wing, Martin Neill. But when Martin unexpectedly dies, Saffron is targeted as the main suspect.
Falling ruins, venomous snakes, and mysteriously blocked passages are the least of Saffron’s worries. With unexpected help from a familiar face, Alexander and Saffron have to work fast to prove not only that Saffron is innocent but that they both have nothing to do with a larger conspiracy at play among the expedition crew.
Chapter 10
When the lunch hour came, and all the local workers rose up from the pit to perform their prayers and eat their meal, Saffron took advantage of the temporarily empty site to take a more leisurely look at the ruins. She was not alone in this idea, for several of the archaeology contingent joined her. Not to mention Martin Neill was still trailing her like a lost puppy.
It was perhaps not accurate to call it a pit, as all the crew did, she thought as she stepped carefully over discarded picks and brushes. It was more like a very rough bowl comprised of twenty-foot walls which showed the striations of its history. Dirt revealing the white roots of the faded grass sat atop a layer of irregular rocks, which preceded stones placed by human hands. Those stones formed walls, which were interrupted every five feet or so by pillars jutting out from the uniform surface. It was from these pillars that the first three arches grew, the ones rebuilt by the locals to demonstrate what the stoa would have looked like. Mr. Apak said this stoa extended all the way to the far side of the field, connecting to the basilica. Saffron could see it in her mind: dozens of these arches creating a passageway, the glaring sun striping the ground with their shadows.
The trench—but that word wouldn’t do either—extended some forty yards to the north, and several areas branched off of it. The first market stall, where her wares had been discovered, was found just next to the rough stairs constructed to allow entry into the pit. Half-way down the length of the pit, they’d uncovered something the archaeologists decided was a stair, suggesting the location of one of the cisterns Clark and Apak had mentioned. From the talk about her, that was of some interest. But she moved on from it, as she didn’t particularly want to spend her lunch hour peering down at a single rectangular piece of stone in the midst of hard-packed dirt.
She left the cluster of archaeologists—which luckily did not include Clark—and wandered to the far end of the pit, where the most work was happening to dig out the second market stall. Martin dawdled near the archaeologists’ mysterious step, and when she glanced at him, he looked away quickly as if embarrassed. He’d done that most of the morning, looking anxious to be helpful yet equally anxious whenever she spoke to him.
Sighing, she idly examined the tools laid down randomly in the dirt and the section of wall they’d been digging into. At the bottom, a stone was lodged in the compacted earth, surely one of the stones that made up a fallen arch, given the perfection of its angled edge.
After a while, she gave up on trying to make out anything from the dirt. The others must have decided it was time to down a quick meal before work resumed, for the pit was now silent and empty save for her and Martin. They ought to go eat, too.
“Don’t touch the wall,” she murmured when Martin pressed himself up against the wall to let her pass.
“Oh!” He leaped away into the wall nearly into her and caused her to knock against a toolbox, which clanged loudly as a pick fell from where it rested on the edge into the metal basin.
Grimacing, she planted a hand on the wall to keep from falling. “Don’t touch that,” snapped a voice.
Martin’s rounded eyes met hers. “Oh no, I am sorry—”
“It’s fine,” Saffron muttered, straightening up to see Clark watching her from the entrance to the first stall. “I wasn’t touching the wall intentionally, Mr. Clark.”
“Intentionally or not,” he said loudly, “you might destroy something important, just as I feared.” He stepped away from the stall toward the steps. “I hesitate to tell you, since you plainly don’t know how to handle yourself at an archaeological site, but I’ve found something that you might find interesting in one of the little nooks carved into the walls inside there.”
Despite herself, Saffron perked up. “What is it? Will you show me?”
“Oh no, not now. I’ve worked up quite an appetite,” he drawled, already walking up the steps. “Some of us have actually done work today, you know.”
She ground her teeth together to prevent herself from retort-ing. She had done work this morning. She’d made preliminary sketches of the stall, the pit, and the vessels they were to open that afternoon, which he would have known, had he not wandered off an hour after they’d settled into work. She’d seen him hanging around in the shade of a tent when she’d been standing in the sun to make her sketches.
Clark had disappeared. She looked longingly into the stall. Though the mostly underground state made her skin crawl, she was eager to see what it was Clark had found.
A loud grumble interrupted her thoughts. She turned to Martin, who looked like he wished he could sink right down into the dirt.
“I-I beg your pardon,” he stammered, pressing a hand to his stomach.
“It’s all right,” she said quickly, “I’m hungry, too. Let’s go to the tent to eat.”
“But . . .” He looked at the stall guiltily. “Shouldn’t we see what Mr. Clark found?”
Would it be better or worse to look at it now? If she did, Clark would likely say she’d damaged whatever it was. This might be a ploy to get her to inadvertently break some artifact. But what good would that do Clark? He’d benefit far more from intact pieces, not broken ones, even if it would damage her reputation.
On the other hand, Clark would probably proclaim her a cow-ard, or say by not looking at whatever he’d found without him meant she didn’t believe in her own abilities.
She didn’t know what would be worse. But between herself and Martin, she was sure she could manage not to ruin it.
She grinned at Martin. “Let’s take a quick look. Light that lamp?”
Martin snatched up the lamp sitting on the last stair, fumbled for matches from his pocket, and lit it. She allowed him to go into the stall first, and certainly not because stepping into the dim space gave her the shivers. She refused to be frightened. They were not even properly underground, she told herself.
Within sat several large carved stones, set aside and numbered with chalk, likely for later reconstruction. The walls were packed dirt, the ceiling reinforced with wood beams. This room had been the first they’d uncovered, and so many feet had passed through, the floor was quite even.
It was that reason that, as Saffron looked around at the walls, she realized Clark couldn’t have actually discovered anything new within. Dozens of people had already examined this room.
“We might as well go up to the tent,” she said sullenly. “Oh, but look,” Martin said, pointing to the wall.
There were a number of nooks, almost like shelves of stone built into the walls. Some were smooth, while others had looser stones. Martin was pointing to one that looked especially loose.
Saffron stepped forward and tugged on it. It gave, sliding out.
Excitedly, she grinned at Martin. “Do you think this is it?”
“I don’t know,” he said, peering at the stone. “It looks ordi-nary, doesn’t it?”
“Lift the lamp,” Saffron said. “Maybe Clark meant it was behind the stone?”
Martin did, and she leaned closer to the hole the stone had left behind.
Something gleamed gold in the lamp’s light. Saffron’s breath caught. Carefully, she put her hand into the hole to take the trea-sure out. Her fingers touched something cool and textured.
She jerked her hand away with a strangled yelp.
It was not a treasure. It was a snake. And it was not pleased to be disturbed.
“Mr. Ashton!”
Alexander looked around for the source of his name and saw only the crew digging into the simple but delicious fare Mr. Assam had promised the crew for lunch. The rice, fish, and roasted vege-tables could not have been more welcome after the morning on-site, though he heard a number of grumbles about eating sitting on rugs spread over the ground.
A ripple of interest went through the assembly as Martin Neill came dashing into the shade of the mess tent, looking a little wild.
“Neill?” Alexander hailed him, and the boy scrambled over to him, nearly tripping over Kent to get to him.
“Mr. Ashton, where is Mr. Dunmore?” Martin asked, dark eyes shifting over the crew. “I need him to come down to the first stall right away.”
Alexander swallowed a sigh. “You don’t have to report every reptile you spot to him.”
“It’s not that—it’s a viper!”
That got the attention of the dozen or so crew members sitting on the ground around them.
“What? A viper?” “Where?”
“Someone grab a shovel—”
Annoyed the assistant had stirred up a building uproar, Alex-ander put a hand on Neill’s shoulder and pushed him from the tent. “What’s going on?”
“It’s a viper, sir,” he panted. Sweat trickled from his brow. “It’s down in the stall. Miss Everleigh sent me for Mr. Dunmore—”
“What?” Alexander snapped.
Neill flinched at his harsh tone. His voice dwindled as he spoke. “S-she sent me for Mr. Dunmore, because he’d know how to catch it . . .”
Struggling for patience, he asked, “And where is Miss Everleigh?”
“In the stall,” Neill whispered.
“Find Dunmore.” And then he was jogging to the pit and down the steps.
He found her in the stall, lit by a lamp she held up and away from her body at an odd angle.
Her look of expectation fell to dismay when he entered. “Mar-tin couldn’t find Dunmore?”
“He said there’s a viper down here,” Alexander said, coming to a stop as he remembered if there was a viper, he ought to pay attention to where he was walking.
“Well, yes,” she said, “that’s why we need Dunmore. Anyone else would likely just kill the snake. But Dunmore should see to it, to make sure no one gets hurt. Including the snake.”
“If there is a viper,” he ground out, “why are you still in this room?”
“Someone had to make sure it didn’t slither away and hide in some crack, only to bite someone later.” She said it like it was obvious.
“Where is it?”
She wiggled the lamp, which she was now supporting with two hands. “It’s in an alcove behind the lamp. Martin suggested we could use it to block it from getting away.”
Alexander decided not to say something like Why isn’t Martin Neill holding the lamp, then? and instead came forward to take the lamp from her, not moving it from where it hung in the air.
Saffron sighed with relief as her arms dropped to her sides. “Thank you.”
Footsteps thundered down the steps of the pit, and a moment later, Dunmore rushed into the room followed by two locals armed with shovels and a bucket.
Dunmore came forward, his round face bright with excitement and his hands clutching a metal rod with a hook at the end. “What have we here, then? Neill said we’ve got a viper! I didn’t expect to find one here in the agora!”
The assistant chose that moment to careen into the room with a specimen cage.
“Ah, good!” Dunmore waved the hook at Alexander. “Step aside, then, Ashton, and let’s see this little beauty!”
The Turks set down the bucket and raised their shovels. Dun-more glared at them. “None of that, now. Put those down.”
The Turks looked at each other. Dunmore looked at Alexander. “Tell them to put the shovels down. I don’t want them harming my specimen.”
“It isn’t a bad idea to be prepared in case—”
Dunmore’s mouth fell open. “No one is going to be hitting any of my specimens with a shovel!”
Neill looked between Alexander and Dunmore before saying brightly, “I’ll get Mr. Banks.” He dashed back out of the room.
Dunmore turned back to the Turks. Loudly, he said, “Put the shovels down!”
Next to Alexander, Saffron sighed. “I really didn’t mean for this to turn into a circus.”
But the sound of more feet coming down the steps told Alexander the real circus was about to begin. Neill had apparently summoned not only Banks to translate, but also Dr. Henry and Mr. Hayrettin. They packed into the tiny stall, pressing Saffron into his side.
“What’s all this about?” asked Dr. Henry. “There’s a snake,” Alexander said.
“A viper!” Martin added.
“Tell these men they will not be harming the snake,” Dun-more told Banks.
Banks, who looked on the verge of laughter despite the fact he was tucked up against the wall, his head nearly brushing the ceil-ing, spoke to the Turks.
This led to an argument that lasted all of one minute, involving the two locals, Banks, and Hayrettin, who tried to gesticulate but couldn’t, being pressed between the locals and Banks. Martin Neill was saying something to Saffron, and Dunmore was trying to speak over everyone about the potential importance of an urban specimen of viper. Meanwhile, Alexander’s arm was starting to burn from holding the lamp up.
The last straw was when Clark appeared in the door, and with a barely concealed grin, asked, “May I be of some assistance?”
“Everyone out,” Alexander called, silencing the argument. “Except Dunmore. Neill, give me that specimen cage.”
To his relief, everyone filed out of the stall. Saffron gave him a sympathetic look from the open door, where she crowded around with the rest of the group.
Eagerly, Dunmore came forward, hook at the ready. Alexander slowly removed the lamp from before the gap in the wall, and Dunmore stepped forward to fish the snake out.
Alexander held his breath as the creature was extracted. It was small, but a small viper could still hurt someone badly.
But something was strange about the twisting body of the snake. It looked as if the bottom two-thirds of its body had been dipped in paint.
Dunmore scowled, swinging around to the door. “You said this was a viper!”
Saffron blinked. “I—”
“This is Platyceps najadum.” He lifted his hook where the snake writhed. “A whip snake!”
“Is it dangerous?” Alexander asked, wary of how insecure the animal looked, dangling from the hook.
“They do produce venom, but this species never developed fangs—” Dunmore squinted at the snake. “This—this is the same bloody one I caught earlier today! Neill! What the devil have you been doing with my specimens!”
Alexander couldn’t see past the group to Martin Neill, but he imagined the boy looked aghast. The rest of the group grumbled as they dispersed, apparently dissatisfied there wasn’t actually any dangerous animal at hand.
“Put it in here,” Alexander told Dunmore, and once the crea-ture was settled into the cage, Alexander was able to get a better look at it. Its head and the first few inches of its body were light brown, with darker spots on its sides. The rest of the body was a ruddy tan, uninterrupted by pattern. For anyone glancing into a dark cranny in the stone wall, it would appear to be a different kind of snake.
Dunmore took the specimen cage and muttered about wasting his time and mishandling his specimens. Just outside the stall, Clark was speaking to Martin Neill, who was looking at the ground, clearly crestfallen. Saffron stood several feet away, looking thoughtfully at them.
“Chin up, lad,” Clark was saying to Neill. “Not your fault the girl doesn’t know a viper from a harmless little worm.”
“But I—”
“He’s right,” Saffron interrupted. “I didn’t realize the snake wasn’t a viper. I’m happy to be wrong, in this case.”
Clark betrayed surprise for a half second before giving her a condescending smile. “Don’t worry, Miss Everleigh. You’ll soon learn very little we will encounter on this expedition will be cause for putting up such a fuss. You don’t want to be interrupting the entire crew every time a little snake crosses your path. People will think you’re not up for field work.”
“Of course,” Saffron said. “I do wish you would have warned us about the snake before you sent me into the stall. You were coming out of it just before we went inside. You must have seen it, since you recommended we examine the walls’ alcoves.” She tapped a finger to her chin. “But perhaps you’d forgotten that was where you’d seen the snake, considering I saw you standing outside the tent with Dunmore’s specimens earlier.”
Alexander glared at Clark.
“That sounds like you’re trying to make an accusation,” Clark said with the hint of a smile.
“I’m not trying to make an accusation—”
“You have no sense of humor.” He shook his head. “I can’t help it if you lost your head over a harmless little snake. You even had Neill with you.”
Saffron’s mouth hung open. “It is venomous—”
“It doesn’t have fangs,” Clark said, enunciating each word. “Surely you heard Dunmore say that just now.”
“That doesn’t mean someone couldn’t be harmed by it.”
Clark waved a hand lazily. “No one was harmed. It’s a bit of fun.”
Alexander cut in before either of them could provoke the other more. “Clark, you shouldn’t have taken one of Dunmore’s speci-mens, even a nonlethal one, especially not for a joke. We are here to do work.”
Clark glanced meaningfully between Alexander and Saffron. “Right. Work.” He laughed softly as he strode past them to the stairs. “I’ll be sure to remind you both of that, should you forget.”
He disappeared over the top, still chuckling.
Saffron’s face was red, and not just from the heat of midday. Fists clenched, she stomped up the steps after Clark. Was she angry at just Clark, or Alexander, too, for how poorly he’d handled that? He pushed his hair back, frustration churning in his chest. The only way it could have gone worse was if the snake actually had been a viper.
