Page 31 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)

Chapter Thirteen

ELIZABETH

T he flickering candlelight stretched my shadow across the wooden floorboards, a distorted mockery of the solitude pressing in on me like a suffocating shroud.

I sat hunched over the weathered alchemy book, my mind in turmoil, my thoughts entangled in Amir.

His piercing gaze haunted me.

A riddle wrapped in an enigma, unreadable and infuriating.

And yet—something about him stirred the embers within my chest.

A dangerous, smoldering curiosity.

The more I tried to untangle my feelings, the tighter their grip became.

At night, a different story emerged.

The dreams came.

Vivid. Unsettling.

The Black Wraith’s mask danced through the darkness, its hollow eyes staring into my soul—an ominous portent.

During the day, my obsession with Amir only grew.

I would glance up from my work, half-expecting to find his dark, unreadable gaze watching me from the shadows.

But the cottage remained empty. Oppressively so.

Lord Hassan’s absence from my father’s house stretched into a full week, leaving a palpable void.

His attendance had once filled the manor with silent strength, an aura of control even in stillness.

Now, his absence felt like a missing heartbeat in a body that refused to die.

And I was left alone in my secluded cottage, pouring my restless thoughts into my craft.

The Noctyss poison.

If perfected, the mixture would glow with swirling hues of silver and gold, a beautiful, mesmerizing lethality.

But I had failed.

No luminous shimmer graced the bubbling liquid in the flask.

Only dullness. Disobedience. Frustration.

I sighed, my gaze falling to my hands, clad in leather gloves soaked in essential oils.

It was a necessary precaution when dealing with something that could instantly turn against its maker.

In my palm, I held the Noctyss flower—its petals delicate, unassuming, deceptively harmless.

A bloom so rare and demanding that taking more than one would leave the plant drooping listlessly.

Not dead.

But robbed of vitality.

Weak. Exhausted. Empty.

It would take months before it could bloom again.

I traced the fragile petal with a gloved fingertip, a flicker of understanding whispering.

The Noctyss was like me.

Depleted. Hollowed out.

Waiting.

But unlike the flower, I refused to wither.

Alchemy was a dance—a delicate, dangerous balance of taking and giving, extracting and nurturing. One misstep, one miscalculation, and creation became destruction.

As I sat there, the weight of my isolation pressing in, I couldn’t escape the gnawing question?—

Was it truly the poison I was trying to perfect?—

Or was I seeking an antidote to the emptiness Amir had left behind?

The mortar lay abandoned on the worn table, my fingers trembling as I reached for another blossom.

The cottage held its breath with me.

Weeks had passed since I last harvested from the Noctyss plant.

Enough time, I had calculated, for it to regain its strength.

And yet?—

Where a vibrant bloom should have stood, there was nothing.

A hollow space.

My breath hitched.

A ragged gasp escaped me, my heart slamming against my ribs as an awful, bone-chilling realization set in.

The flower had vanished.

I staggered back, my mind racing.

No one came here.

The ghost of my mother’s touch lingered too heavily for my father to dare step inside.

And Mary—sweet Mary—would never cross the threshold without cause.

That left only two possibilities.

Each one was more terrifying than the other.

Amir.

Or the Black Wraith.

Had it been stolen by the liar who kissed me?

Or the phantom who haunted my dreams?

The answer might be the same.

A sudden knock at the glass jarred me from my spiraling thoughts.

“My lady, your father is asking for you to join him for lunch,” Mary’s muffled but clear voice said.

I whipped around, pulse still erratic, and flung the window open, desperate for a breath of air untouched by alchemical fumes—by the stifling scent of fear now thick in the room.

Mary stood below, her wide eyes drinking in my disheveled state.

I gripped the windowsill, forcing my voice into steadiness.

“Mary,” I began, choosing my words with care, “have you ever been in this cottage by yourself?”

Her reaction was instant.

She recoiled as if struck, her hand flying to her chest.

“No, my lady. I would never.”

The horror in her tone was unmistakable.

And I believed her.

Mary’s loyalty was as unwavering as the northern star.

Which meant Amir had taken it during one of his little shadow-vanishing tricks.

“Of course,” I murmured, more to myself than to her, the mystery of the missing flower deepening like a shadow at dusk.

With a nod of acknowledgment, I signaled the end of our brief encounter and watched as she disappeared down the cobblestone path, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the whispering specters of suspicion.

Stripping off my gloves, I scrubbed my hands clean, ensuring every trace of Noctyss poison was gone.

The water ran red before turning clear. Only then did I allow my breath to steady.

I brushed through my golden hair, the waves cascading down my back, then straightened the simple gown clinging to my frame.

It was time to face him—my father—and the sea of unspoken words that churned between us.

* * *

“Elizabeth,” he greeted me as I entered the dining hall, his baritone rumble echoing off the stone walls. “How is the poison coming along?”

“Excellent, Father,” I replied, the lie slipping easily from my lips. “You’ll be most pleased.”

The morning’s frustration melted beneath the calm of deception. Lowering my gaze, I let my lashes cast shadows upon my cheeks—a subtle veil between us. “Father, it’s been a while since Lord Hassan joined us. I hope he is well?”

A flicker of something—hesitation, perhaps—cracked his usual composed facade. “He’s been unwell,” he admitted. “Recovering. Perhaps it’s the London air.”

The realization hit—cold and cutting, like a blade pressed to skin.

“Perhaps,” I allowed, my voice laced with feigned concern. “Or maybe he inhaled something from my cottage. You shouldn’t have sent him there.” I exhaled, letting worry crease my brow. “He could have had an allergic reaction to one of the plants.”

My father frowned, his brows knitting together like gathering storm clouds. “I never sent Lord Hassan to your cottage.”

A sudden weight settled in my chest, heavy as lead. The truth struck with brutal force—Amir had been inside my haven, weaving lies. He had claimed my father had sent him. But how else could he have found my alchemist’s cottage? It was impossible to locate unless one had already been there.

Further proof Amir was the Black Wraith. The way he moved through shadows—like they obeyed him—wasn’t just skill. It was mastery.

The revelation coiled around me like a tightening noose. I barely touched my meal, my appetite as absent as the truth in our conversation. When the meal ended, my father excused himself, leaving me with untouched food and unanswered questions.

I found Mary in the observatory; her hands stained green from tending to the thriving plants within its glass walls.

“Mary, we need to go to Lord Hassan’s house,” I said, my voice laced with urgency. “He took something from me, and I have to get it back before it’s too late.”

Her brow furrowed, concern darkening her features. “How do you plan to do that?”

“We go in secret,” I whispered, the words cold with certainty.

Mary hesitated, her voice barely above a breath. “But how will we get in?”

“You’ll invite yourself in as a guest. I’ll slip inside while no one’s watching,” I replied with authority, my pulse thrumming against my ribs.

Her lips parted in protest. “That’s dangerous.” Fear warred with loyalty in her expression.

“I can’t just knock on his door and ask for entry,” I snapped, frustration edging my voice. “This has to be done quietly. If he finds out, everything will be ruined.”

Mary let out a shaky breath, doubt flickering in her eyes. “And if we’re caught?”

I swallowed hard, my certainty hardening like tempered steel. “We won’t be.” The words left my lips with more conviction than I felt. My tone softened, but the urgency remained. “Please, Mary. Just trust me. Get me in, handle your business, and then leave. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Mary’s gaze searched mine, looking for the girl she once knew. She wouldn’t find her. That girl was replaced by someone desperate, willing to play with fire.

With a slow nod, she sealed our course, and together, we stepped into the unknown—allies in a game where the pieces never stayed still.

As we neared Amir’s estate, the sun dipped below the horizon, draping the world in the cool embrace of twilight. It was five o’clock. The city pulsed with its affairs, oblivious to mine.

I pulled my hood lower, letting the heavy fabric cast deep shadows over my face as Mary and I approached the grand wrought-iron gates.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears, but my steps remained steady.

Mary clutched the woven basket in her arms, playing the part of a dutiful servant delivering a token from Lord Alexander with grace.

The gatekeeper barely spared us a glance. The guise was too ordinary, too unremarkable, to warrant suspicion.

The first hurdle was behind us.

I met Mary’s gaze, a silent exchange of understanding.

Leaning in close, my voice barely more than a breath, I murmured, “Straight to the kitchen. Keep them busy. I need at least twenty minutes.”

Mary gave me a small nod, her lips pressed into a tight line.

As we slipped through the servants’ entrance, a wave of warmth enveloped us, thick with the scent of baking bread and simmering spices.

The kitchen bustled with movement, but Mary stepped forward with ease, her voice carrying just enough authority to command attention.