Page 29 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)

Chapter Twelve

AMIR

T he harpsichord dominated my music room, its grand, wing-shaped body polished to a deep golden hue under the flickering glow of candlelight. The legs, carved with exquisite detail, bore gilded accents that swirled along them like creeping vines, as if alive with some unseen magic.

My fingers trailed over the delicate floral patterns adorning its case, marveling at the artistry. When I lifted the lid, my breath caught.

Beneath it lay a pastoral scene, painted with such detail that I could almost hear the wind rustling through the rolling hills and whispering trees. Though faded with time, the colors still carried the vibrancy of an imagined world—a place untouched by this one’s cruelty.

I sat upon the gilded bench, my hands hovering over the keys. Ivory was cold, smooth, and flawless beneath my fingertips. Gold leaf inlays shimmered faintly in the dim light, each an intricate masterpiece in its own right.

I played.

The first note unfurled into the air, silken, slow, a serpent uncoiling, poised to strike.

The only melody I knew seemed simple—a lullaby of deception, a masquerade of elegance. But beneath its charm lay something far more dangerous. Its magic thrummed through the air, sinking into the bones of those who heard it, ensnaring their senses, lulling them into surrender.

And when they succumbed—when the spell took hold, weaving euphoria through their veins—that was the moment I would take their life.

That was the moment I would feast upon their soul.

My fingers danced over the keys, each note wrapping the space around me in an intoxicating, suffocating pull. But my thoughts drifted, tangled in something else. Someone else.

Elizabeth.

Her voice echoed in my mind, the blade of her defiance slicing clean through the hypnotic spell of my music. It was her declaration—her vow to become the master chemist of her father’s wretched society.

Such ambition.

Such ignorance.

She had no idea the weight of the path she had chosen, the depth of the abyss she was stepping into.

And worse—she did not understand the flower she now possessed.

The Noctyss.

The very bloom whose poison she had crafted with her own delicate hands.

She had no idea what it could truly do.

The harpsichord’s melody faltered, the once-enchanting notes unraveling as my mind spiraled deeper into the dangers she did not yet comprehend.

“I need to know more,” I muttered, the sound of my voice fracturing the spell that had lingered in the air.

The music was no longer a refuge but a distraction.

I stilled my fingers against the keys, the last note hanging like a specter in the silence, an unfinished whisper lost in the dimly lit room.

Where had she found the flower?

The question gnawed at me. There were layers to this game—pieces shifting in the shadows, invisible hands orchestrating a far more dangerous symphony.

If I intended to protect her—from her father, from Salvatore, from the very horrors she toyed with so naively—I needed to find that bloom before they did.

I leaned back, exhaling through clenched teeth as memories clawed their way to the surface.

Lord Alexander’s torture chambers.

The screams echoing off cold stone. The stench of iron and despair, of bodies broken beyond repair.

Timebornes and Timebounds shackled, their gifts wasted on agony.

My skin crawled with revulsion. I had seen horrors before, had committed them in the name of power, in the name of war—but this was different.

It wasn’t the violence that unsettled me. It was Elizabeth.

Her place amidst that darkness, her peril, her recklessness as she wove herself into a world that would swallow her whole.

“Be cautious, Amir,” I whispered to myself, a warning for no one but the man I had long ceased to recognize. “You cannot betray who you are. Not now. Not when so many lives hang in the balance.”

The stakes had risen.

Elizabeth’s choices could be her downfall. Or worse—mine.

If she discovered my true nature and learned the full extent of my past and the weight of my sins, there would be no going back.

And yet, she had done something far more dangerous than uncovering my secrets.

She had unknowingly mastered the Noctyss poison.

That flower was a curse, a weapon unlike any other.

And if Salvatore or Mathias learned of it, their wrath would be swift, merciless.

They would stop at nothing to kill Elizabeth.

And possess that flower.

The weight of my duty settled upon me, a burden I bore as shield and sword.

“Lazarus must know of this,” I vowed.

The poison needed to be secured—soon. But how? When every shadow could harbor an enemy, and every whisper could be a death sentence?

A knock sliced through the stillness, jarring me from the storm of my thoughts.

I rose, spine rigid, every nerve sweltering with the promise of violence.

“Yes? What is it?” My voice carried the authority I wielded, yet a thread of urgency was coiled tight beneath it.

“Sir, Lord Alexander has requested a meeting.”

The servant’s voice was polite but insistent, filtering through the heavy wooden door like an omen.

A pause. Then?—

“When?”

I rose from the bench, the image of that vile chamber, of shackles and screams, still clawing at my thoughts.

“At once, sir.”

There is no room for argument. No room for hesitation.

I exhaled slowly, already running through the implications of this summons.

What game was Alexander playing now?

I swept my cloak over my shoulders, the dark fabric settling around me like armor against whatever twisted machinations awaited me.

I did not wait for further instructions. I stepped toward the door—ready.

The hooves of my steed echoed like distant thunder, striking the earth with rhythmic finality as I approached Lord Alexander’s estate.

A house of power.

A house of monsters.

I dismounted with a fluid grace that belied the storm churning within my chest, handing the reins to a groomsman who barely met my eyes before scurrying away with my horse.

Cowards. They all were.

Each step I took onto the fine gravel path felt like an echo in the cavern of my thoughts—footfalls against the weight of treachery.

The door loomed before me, aged wood worn by time yet immovable, like the man who ruled behind it.

I raised my hand. Knocked once. Twice.

The sound rang solid through the silence.

The door swung open immediately.

They had been expecting me.

Without hesitation, I was ushered inside, into the dim corridors where the air felt suffocated, thick with the ghosts of hidden horrors.

The servant led me through halls I knew well—opulent, draped in finery meant to dazzle, to deceive.

But I knew better.

Every lavish tapestry concealed something.

A scream once stifled.

A body once broken.

A secret waiting to be unburied.

As I walked deeper into the lair of Lord Alexander, I prepared myself for the monster I was about to face.

The door to his study swung open, revealing the inner sanctum where power and depravity coiled together in a macabre embrace.

The hidden passageway to his dungeon loomed in the corner—a silent specter watching over the room, a reminder of its concealed horrors.

Elizabeth had walked down those steps.

Alone.

Armed only with her defiance and the weight of a name that no longer protected her.

My jaw tightened at the memory. She should not have seen what lay below.

She should not have been forced to carry that weight.

I wanted her safe—free from her father’s dark ambitions. And yet, she moved closer to the flame, willingly stepping into the abyss.

And the abyss would swallow her whole.

Unless I stopped it.

The cloying scent of cigar smoke curled through the air, its stench wrapping around me like rot.

I didn’t need to turn to know the source.

Lord Winston.

He fouled the very air, his bloated form spilling over the chair, lips slack around his cigar as if his body had long since given up the effort of holding itself together.

My stomach churned, repulsed by his stench, excess, and decay.

And yet—this was Elizabeth’s world.

This was the lineage she was bound to.

And I would destroy it all before I let it consume her.

I forced my expression into careful neutrality as I turned to Lord Alexander.

“Lord Alexander.”

My voice was cold steel wrapped in civility despite the bile rising in my throat.

His eyes met mine—a predator assessing another.

“Lord Hassan,” he replied, his tone laced with unease.

Good.

Let him fear me.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, his gaze calculating. “Rumors reach my ears,” he murmured, voice deceptively smooth. “Whispers of the Black Wraith’s intentions to raze my dominion.”

Of course, he was afraid.

The Black Wraith was not a ghost to him. He was a nightmare.

And nightmares were relentless.

I allowed a slow breath, ensuring my next words landed precisely where I intended.

“Which is exactly why the grand masquerade is crucial.”

Lord Alexander’s fingers twitched, but I did not give him time to interrupt.

“It will serve as the perfect lure.”

I let the idea settle, let him feel the edges of its possibility, its inevitability.

“A gathering of such magnitude will draw him out. He cannot resist.”

A pause.

And then, with methodical finality, I added?—

“After all, he has his spies.”

I met Lord Alexander’s gaze, unflinching.

“Just as we have ours.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and waiting.

I stood firm, my resolve steeling me against the filth of both this room and these men. Every instinct screamed to torch it all, to unsheathe a dagger and carve their monstrous arrogance from their bloated bodies.

But I did not.

Not yet.

This was a dance, a careful, intricate performance where missteps meant ruin—not just for me, but for Elizabeth.

I had to play my part.

The wet, muffled thud of Lord Winston’s cigar hitting the ashtray made my stomach coil. His trembling hands relinquished the sullied roll of tobacco, his saliva gleaming on its end like a mother’s nipple, wet from the suckling of a greedy babe.

Revulsion licked at my throat.