Page 47 of Crowned In Venom
47
ANYA
A sharp noise cuts through my sleep, pulling me from the depths of exhaustion. I stir, my fingers curling against the warmth beside me, but something is wrong. The air is different—thicker, charged with tension.
Varkos is standing, his muscles coiled tight, his blade in hand.
I blink the haze from my eyes, following his gaze?—
And then I see him.
The Ghost.
The hooded figure stands in the dim firelight, his presence unnatural, his stillness almost inhuman.
But it’s his words that send a cold bolt through my spine.
"I was the one who tipped off the Matriarch."
A violent shudder rocks through me.
No.
I push myself upright, breath sharp.
Varkos does not move.
He is stone.
"Why?" His voice is hoarse, raw, barely restrained.
His grip on the dagger is white-knuckled, his entire body trembling with something I don’t know if it’s rage or desperation.
I reach for him, my fingers grazing his forearm.
A grounding touch.
He does not shake me off.
"You served my father," Varkos breathes, voice thin. "Why would you betray him?"
The Ghost tilts his head slightly, unreadable beneath the deep hood.
"I did not betray him."
Varkos bristles, shoulders going rigid.
"You told her!" He snarls. "You told her I was poisoning her!"
The Ghost finally moves.
A slow step forward, deliberate, calculated.
"Yes," he murmurs. "And I replaced it."
The words slice through the air.
A stillness falls over the room, suffocating, unbearable.
"Replaced it?" I repeat, my voice barely a whisper.
The Ghost inclines his head.
"With something stronger."
My blood runs cold.
Varkos stiffens.
"What?"
"Your poison was weak," the Ghost continues, his tone almost dismissive. "Too slow. Too merciful."
He steps closer, and the firelight finally catches the lower half of his face—just enough for me to see the cold amusement in his mouth.
"I used something undetectable. No smell. No trace. No color."
A different kind of fear coils in my stomach.
I look at Varkos, but his expression is unreadable, his mind working through the implications, calculating every possible meaning.
"You're lying," Varkos says, but his voice is hollow.
The Ghost shrugs. "Why would I?"
"Then why are you telling us now?" I demand, my voice sharper than I expect.
The Ghost turns to me.
And then—he smiles.
"Because it's too late."
A breath catches in my throat.
"What do you mean, too late?" Varkos demands, stepping in front of me, his body a wall of protection.
The Ghost watches us both, as if amused by the futility of our horror.
"The poison remains dormant," he explains smoothly. "Unless activated."
Activated.
The word feels heavy, full of unseen implications.
Varkos narrows his eyes. "How?"
The Ghost finally looks at me.
And for the first time, something like regret flickers in his gaze.
"Heartblood of someone who ingested the poison."
The air vanishes from my lungs.
"Preferably human," the Ghost adds.
A sharp breath escapes me.
I stagger back.
My mind races, the meaning sinking in too fast, too deep.
Varkos is silent.
But I see it.
That flicker in his face.
That moment where his mind goes somewhere dark.
Where he considers it.
My blood turns to ice.
"Don’t." His voice is a command.
Varkos steps in front of me, blocking me from view, shielding me with his entire body.
"You will not touch her."
"It’s already done," the Ghost replies coolly.
I freeze.
"What do you mean?" I whisper.
The Ghost meets my gaze, impassive, unflinching.
"You have already consumed it."
The world stops.
Varkos stiffens. "What?"
"From the first day you arrived here," the Ghost says smoothly. "It was in your food. Your drink. Your body has carried the poison all along."
I stagger back, my head spinning.
No.
No, no, no.
My fingers press against my stomach, my chest.
As if I could feel it inside me.
As if I could tear it out.
"You—" Varkos’s voice is pure rage. "You fed it to her?"
The Ghost does not deny it.
"I did not expect it to matter," he admits. "At the time, she was nothing. An offering. A pawn."
The words slice through me.
A pawn.
Nothing.
Varkos clutches me, his hands shaking.
He shakes his head.
"No," he whispers, his voice raw, broken.
I cannot move.
I cannot breathe.
I look at him, at the anguish in his eyes, at the helpless fury in his clenched jaw.
And then?—
"Heartblood."
The word escapes me in a breathless whisper.
My heart pounds violently.
"I have to die, don’t I?"
Silence.
Varkos shakes his head, fast, desperate.
"No."
His arms tighten around me.
"No, we will find another way."
But even he does not sound convinced.
I stare at the Ghost.
He does not answer me.
He does not need to.
Because I already know.
The only way to stop this.
The only way to end the Matriarch.
Is with my death.