Page 21 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)

On a nearby table, I traced my fingers along a mortar and pestle, its bowl dusted with the fine residue of crushed minerals. Sulfur. Possibly cinnabar. A heavier pestle sat beside it, meant for breaking down metals—its surface still gleaming from recent use.

A set of brass scales rested, perfectly balanced, near the table’s edge. Tiny fragments of mercury and salt clung to its surface—symbols of alchemy’s eternal pursuit—transformation, the line between ruin and rebirth.

I moved toward the furnace. Its dormant heat brushed against my skin as I leaned down to peer inside. The air still carried the faint scent of scorched metal.

A pair of soot-stained tongs lay discarded nearby, their edges blackened with residue from something recently extracted. Just behind them, a set of bellows rested, its handle worn smooth from years of use, waiting to stoke the fire into a roaring blaze.

But the scrolls unsettled me the most.

Hung on the walls, rolled and pinned with care, filled with symbols, diagrams, formulas—many of which I couldn’t decipher. Their meanings eluded me, but the weight of their significance pressed against my chest.

This wasn’t the simple workshop of a healer.

This was a place of secrets.

Of experiments.

Of someone teetering on the edge between science and something far darker.

I let my fingers brush the worn leather cover of a manuscript, the grain of it rough beneath my touch, as if time had etched warnings into its surface.

My gaze wandered to the large retort on the adjacent table, its snake-like neck poised to condense vapors into liquid gold—or so the legends promised.

A soft hiss reached my ears—something bubbling in one of the alembics, its sound hypnotic, alive, full of potential.

The air here was thick, with something more than heat and alchemical residue.

It breathed.

This wasn’t merely a study in transmutation; this was a place where ancient philosophies met modern ambition, where the impossible—the Philosopher’s Stone, the elixir of life—felt, for a moment, tantalizingly close.

I prowled deeper into the room, muscles taut, every sense attuned for the unexpected.

And then—I saw it.

A flower.

Suspended within glass, untouched by time.

Its petals were silver and black, spinning slowly as though dancing to an unheard melody.

A prickle of unease crept up my spine.

This was no ordinary bloom.

It was the Noctyss flower.

Rare. Forbidden. A harbinger of death.

My pulse quickened.

This—this was the handiwork of the one who had unleashed death upon the Timehunters’ orgy in France.

A confirmation. A warning. A threat woven in delicate petals and dark magic.

My gaze flicked across the room, catching on to something that made the breath stall in my lungs.

A book.

Old—ancient—its spine cracked, its pages thick with the scent of centuries. The ink had faded in places, but the title remained legible.

The Sacred Alchemy of Solaris: Secrets of the Celestial Forge.

A bolt of ice shot through my veins.

Solaris.

My homeland.

The world I had been torn from, the legacy I had been forced to leave behind.

Slowly, reverently, I reached out, tracing the embossed letters with a touch that felt almost… devotional.

What secrets did this tome hold?

What knowledge had been plundered from the sacred halls of Solaris?

With the book clutched tightly, I knew—this was more than an abandoned cottage.

I had stumbled upon a nexus of past and present, a bridge between who I had been and what I must become to protect those ensnared in the web of this unfolding tragedy.

My fingers flipped through the brittle pages, parchment whispering under my touch.

And then—I found it.

A recipe.

A poison so malevolent, so unforgiving, that it did not simply kill—it decapitated, melted flesh, deformed bones.

My breath stilled.

I traced the list of ingredients, my eyes narrowing—until they landed on one.

Noctyss flower.

The Bloom of Death.

A single petal capable of slaying the darkest of lords and ending Timehunters with a mere drop in the bloodstream.

A slow, crawling shiver etched down my spine.

This—this was an assassin’s dream. A toxin so absolute that no mortal body could withstand its wrath.

But the revelation darkened.

The only known antidote?—

Snake venom.

Lazarus’ cure.

The very substance he had once used to heal me.

The irony clawed at my ribs, a bitter, twisted truth that left a weight in my chest.

A human who dared hope against such a toxin—who thought they could fight against its creeping death—would find none.

They would succumb.

They would die.

My grip tightened on the book as my gaze fell upon another list—a litany of impossibilities, of forbidden flora not meant for this world.

Frost Bloom.

Sunspire Root.

Time Weaver’s Root.

Each name burned into my mind.

These were plants from Solaris.

A realm thought lost, unreachable to those who dwelt in shadowed secrecy.

Yet—here the Noctyss flower was.

How had it been procured?

Who had crossed the boundary between worlds?

Who wielded the power to bridge realms, to steal from Solaris itself?

The answer hung in the air, unseen.

Waiting.

And I had every intention of finding it.

I turned the page.

The Noctyss flower

Mind corruption. Soul devourer. Magic suppression. Deformity.

A death sentence—not just for the body, but for the very essence of a being.

My fingers trembled as I read the warning, scrawled in jagged red ink across the margins?—

To tamper with the Noctyss is to gamble with fate itself. Only the foolish or the damned would seek its full potential.

The ingredients were listed with the cold exactitude of an execution order:

—One petal of the Noctyss flower

—Five drops of darkness blood

—10 mL of charcoal-distilled plant extract

—A dried sprig of mugwort

Beneath them, the instructions were laid out in careful, meticulous detail—each step a pathway to something far beyond a mere poison.

The warnings were more harrowing:

—The blood of darkness increases the poison’s potency and danger to the alchemist. Use extreme caution.

—Avoid direct skin contact and ensure all tools are properly disposed of or purified.

—This poison is a weapon of unmatched lethality—its misuse could unleash chaos.

I held the alchemy book open, my gaze locked onto the ink-stained page, my pulse pounding.

I had always known the raw power of the Noctyss flower—how its mere essence could unravel the strongest minds, devour the souls of those who dared wield it and suppress magic at its very core.

But now?—

Now, I realized what it became when combined with the blood of darkness.

Not just a tool of death.

A force of absolute annihilation.

A poison so potent, so damning, that it could shatter the invincible, unmake the unbreakable.

This was not simply an assassin’s blade.

It was the undoing of the gods.

Then—an intrusion shattered the stillness.

The weight of my discovery had barely settled when the door groaned open, its creaking hinges slicing through the quiet.

My head snapped toward the entrance.

In one fluid motion, I vanished into the shadows, the journal clutched tightly to my chest, my breath slowing to a controlled hush. Years of survival, of lurking in unseen places, guided my movements, rendering me nothing more than a ghost in the dark.

The intruder entered, draped in black.

A mirror image of myself.

My pulse pounded as I took in the familiar cut of the dark fabric, the precise way the hood draped over the face.

I had seen this before.

In France.

Among the chaos of the Timehunters’ demise, amid the spilled blood and whispers of Noctyss-born death.

Whoever this was?—

They belonged here.

They moved through the space with ease, each step calculated, unhesitating, as if they had done this a hundred times before.

The true keeper of this hidden lair.

My breath hitched as they pulled back their gloves, the dark fabric sliding from their fingers in smooth, practiced movements. Then—the cloak fell away.

And the world stopped.

A shockwave of disbelief tore through me, my grip tightening around the alchemy book as though it could tether me to reality.

Elizabeth.

Her name rang through my skull, an unrelenting echo of denial and realization colliding.

Elizabeth Alexander.

The woman I had sought to protect.

The woman whose quiet strength had drawn me to her, whose every movement I had memorized in the briefest encounters.

She stood before me—no longer the shy, reserved lady confined by the world’s expectations.

Here, bathed in the glow of flickering candlelight, she was something else entirely.

A woman etched in secrets, molded by the darkness I thought I alone carried.

Not delicate. Not fragile.

An enigma cloaked in night.

My world tilted, torn between the gravity of what I had uncovered and her undeniable pull on me.

Elizabeth Alexander, the keeper of alchemy’s greatest weapon.

And she had no idea I was watching.

The scent of crushed herbs drifted through the air, mingling with the lingering traces of sulfur and age-old parchment.

Elizabeth worked with practiced ease, her slender fingers stained green and brown as she crushed the herbs into a fine paste. Every motion was purposeful, her actions instinctive—this was no idle hobby.

This was mastery.

This was her sanctum—a place where nature’s raw gifts were transformed, where potions of healing and destruction were woven from the same hands.

A sudden knock broke the stillness.

Elizabeth froze, her grip tightening around the mortar.

“Who’s there?” Her voice, usually composed, carried a thread of alarm.

“It’s me, sweetheart. Agnes Holloway.”

The tension in her shoulders eased.

“Oh! One moment, Mrs. Holloway.”

She wiped her hands hastily on a rag, smearing plant residue across the fabric before hurrying to the door.

The old wood groaned as she pulled it open, revealing an elderly woman cloaked in years of wisdom and time.

Silver hair framed a face lined with deep creases, each etched with the weight of experience. A cane supported her frail frame, yet there was a keenness in her gaze, a clarity that spoke of a mind untouched by age’s cruel hand.

“My dear,” the woman greeted, her voice warm yet expectant. “I’ve been waiting patiently for my next herbal concoction—my hands feel much better. Where have you been?”

A flicker of exhaustion crossed Elizabeth’s face, too fleeting for most to notice.

“Oh, my father had me otherwise occupied,” she replied, her tone gentle though it carried an undercurrent of fatigue.

From my shadowed vantage point, I remained still, my mind a war zone of conflicting revelations.

This was the same woman who had easily handled the Noctyss flower and uncovered the darkest formulas of alchemy.

And yet—here she was, a healer, offering comfort to weathered hands that reached for hers in gratitude.

Two sides of a coin.

One who could mend—and one who could destroy.

Which was her true nature?

Or, more dangerously?—

Was she both?

“I have prepared you another concoction for your hands, and I hope it will last longer,” Elizabeth assured the older woman, her voice carrying a promise as delicate as the lace at her collar. “I promise I will stay in touch better next time.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. You’re such a powerful healer,” the woman praised, her voice warm with gratitude. She shuffled toward the door, stepping out into the creeping dusk, leaving behind a silence thick with implications.

Elizabeth sighed, leaning against the closed door, the moment’s weight pressing into her bones.

She never saw me coming.

I stepped forward, emerging from the darkness like a specter of truth, a shadow cast in flesh and intent.

Our eyes met.

Horror.

It flashed across her face, her blue eyes wide with the terror of being discovered.

She didn’t breathe.

She was a doe caught in a hunter’s sights for a single heartbeat—frozen, waiting, calculating her escape.

Then—

The sound of boots on the forest floor.

Elizabeth’s gaze snapped to the windows, her body rigid as the realization sank in.

My men had arrived.

They were an unrelenting force, surrounding the cottage like wolves closing in on their prey.

The net was tightening, and at its center was Elizabeth Alexander—vulnerable, exposed, no longer the enigma hidden beneath layers of secrecy.

“So, you took over my role in France.”

My voice was devoid of hesitation, betraying none of the inner turmoil being near her evoked.

Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak.

She knew what I meant.

“You’re the one who threw the poison. The one who wiped out the entire French Timehunter society.”

The accusation hung between us, as damning as the Noctyss flower she had wielded.

Elizabeth shook her head, her breath sharp and shaky.

“No!” she cried, her voice slicing through the tension. “I’m not part of my father’s twisted game.”

Tears glistened in her eyes, but her chin lifted in defiance.

A challenge.

A plea.

I couldn’t suppress a scoff, though something inside me quailed at the idea of her innocence.

“But here you are,” I continued, my voice cold and biting, as I gestured to the alchemy tools strewn across the room. “Creating powerful concoctions, working with forbidden knowledge, leaving traces of your work in France.”

My eyes narrowed, watching her, waiting for the cracks to form.

“I read your notes, Elizabeth.”

The name seared on my tongue.

“You’re involved.”

She shook her head desperately, eyes wide, hands trembling.

“I promise you, I have nothing to do with this!”

I didn’t blink.

“We shall see.”

The words sliced through the air—calm, merciless, stripped of warmth.

“One way or another, I will loosen your lips.”

Her breath hitched.

“And if you refuse to cooperate?—”

I stepped closer, towering over her, watching how her body tensed.

“You’ll regret it.”

A flicker of fear passed through her gaze—but she didn’t back down.

Not yet.

Then—the sound of boots.

My men stepped forward, their appearance swallowing the small cottage like an inevitable fate.

Elizabeth’s breathing turned shallow and erratic, her body coiling as if preparing to flee?—

Then, she screamed.

A sound raw and unfiltered, like a wounded animal’s final cry, tearing through the trees, desperate and wild.

But there was no time for hesitation.

There was no room for doubt.

“Take her to my dungeon,” I ordered, my heart steeling against the surge of pity that tried to creep into my chest.

Elizabeth struggled, eyes fiery, fury mixing with terror—but it was too late.

With a whispered incantation, darkness coalesced around us, swirling, pulling tight, wrapping Elizabeth in its unforgiving embrace.

And in the blink of an eye, we were gone?—

Vanished into the abyss.

To a place where secrets would unravel?—

And truths would be laid bare.