Page 32 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)

I lingered in the shadows of the still room adjacent to the kitchen, where the air carried the faint, familiar smell of herbs and sweet preserves.

The space was cluttered, but not in a way that spoke of neglect—it was the organized chaos of purpose.

Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of jams, jellies, and dried herbs, their colors dimmed by the flickering oil lamps that spilled soft light from the kitchen.

A large wooden table dominated the center, its surface strewn with mortar and pestles, glass bottles, and muslin cloths for straining.

It reminded me of my alchemy cottage—where science and secrets intertwined.

In one corner, copper pots bubbled gently over a low flame, steeping some remedy or tonic, their fragrances twining together—lavender, rosemary, and the faintest trace of currant preserves left to cool.

This wasn’t a room of grandeur but of quiet craftsmanship—a retreat from the kitchen clatter, where skill and patience reigned over haste.

I inched closer to the doorway, straining to hear.

“This is a gift from Lord Alexander,” Mary said sweetly, lifting the basket with a graceful tilt. “For the master of the house.”

The cook, her hands dusted with flour, turned to her with interest. Her face brightened at the mention of Lord Alexander. “Oh, what a fine gift! Thank you, dear. I’ll see that Lord Hassan receives it.”

Mary hesitated for half a breath before pressing on. “Is he here? Lord Alexander asked that I present the gift to him personally.”

From my position in the shadows, I caught the briefest flicker of her glance—quick, subtle, intentional.

The cook waved Mary deeper into the kitchen, and I watched as she seamlessly fell into conversation. Within moments, the staff was fully engaged—discussing pastries, Lord Alexander’s good fortune, anything but me. Their focus was elsewhere.

That was my cue.

Keeping my head low, I slipped past the kitchen unnoticed, my steps light against the stone floor. My pulse thrummed in my ears, a rhythm of urgency. Amir had taken something from me that could unleash immeasurable damage in his hands. I couldn’t let that happen.

When I stepped beyond the kitchen’s warmth, the silence became suffocating. The vastness of the house swallowed me whole; it was quite unnatural, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath. The distant clatter of pots only underscored how hollow the space was.

Where were the footmen, the butlers, and the endless parade of attendants expected in a house of this stature? The kitchen had been running with a skeleton crew, and the rest of the estate felt… abandoned.

Did Amir truly live in this barren expanse?

My fingers grazed the polished wooden banister as I ascended the stairs, each step slow and stealthy. The air thickened as I climbed, heavy with the weight of dust and absence.

The upper halls mirrored the desolation below—not a single candle flickered, nor a voice carried through the air. Shadows clung to the walls, stretching long and eerie in the dim evening light.

I moved swiftly, methodically. The flower had to be here.

But dread twisted in my gut as I searched, opening drawers and scanning shelves. It was nowhere.

Desperation gnawed at me like a starved creature.

The emptiness chased me from room to room, each search yielding nothing but my mounting unease.

Until I reached the dungeon.

My breath hitched.

The weight of memories crashed into me.

Chains. Stone. The phantom bite of cold iron against my wrists.

I had been here before.

I knew this place.

A slow, dreadful realization settled in my chest like a poisonous bloom.

I had been here with him.

The Black Wraith had brought me here.

Amir.

The world tilted, my pulse hammering with a terrible certainty.

Amir was him and I could no longer deny it.

The man who claimed to hunt the Black Wraith was the Black Wraith.

Relief and terror warred inside me.

He was not my father’s pawn.

But he was still a liar.

And then—my breath stilled.

Something glinted in the shadows.

Half-hidden beneath a wooden chest, nearly swallowed by darkness, something awaited me.

I dropped to my knees, my fingers trembling as I shoved the chest aside.

And there?—

The unmistakable, haunting mask of the Black Wraith.

I snatched it up, gripping the leather edges, turning it in my hands, my heartbeat roaring in my ears.

The mask was shaped like a skull, but it didn’t feel like something dead.

It felt… possessed. Its surface was bone-white, not smooth but cracked—veins of shadow splitting across the forehead and cheeks like old wounds that never healed.

I couldn’t tell if it had been damaged or if it had always been this broken.

The eye sockets were the worst. Deep, black voids that swallowed the light, wide enough to lose someone in. Staring into them felt like falling. As if something inside was still breathing.

Its grin stretched across the jaw, frozen in place. Not a smile. A snarl. The teeth were jagged, uneven—too detailed, too human. Like whoever made it had studied pain and carved it into every curve.

There was nothing ornate about it. No markings. No jewels. No color. Just white, black, and silence. And yet it radiated power. Sorrow. Rage.

A slow chill seeped into my bones.

This was it.

The proof.

No more denials. No more guessing.

Amir Hassan was the Black Wraith.

And he had been playing me all along.

In the cold air of the dungeon, where shadows twisted like specters of the past, I found a grim solace. The truth would come to light. And I would be the one to set it free.

Still frustration boiled beneath my skin—I hadn’t found the flower.

I made my way out, avoiding the only rooms still bustling with life—the kitchen and servants’ quarters. But something pulled at me, a force whispering for me to turn back.

A decision slithered its way into my mind.

I retraced my steps, moving with care.

Up the staircase I went, each step a silent plea for answers.

Back in the study, I stood before the large mirror.

Once, it had seemed ordinary. Innocuous.

But now—now it whispered of secrets.

Its smooth surface gleamed under the fading daylight, waiting.

Daring me to look deeper.

My gaze snagged on an inscription along the frame—“1 - 7”—a sequence begging for attention. Heart pounding, I pressed each engraved number in turn. A chime rang out with every press, the sound soft yet resonant.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six?—

There was a faint click.

Disbelief anchored me in place as the mirror swung open, revealing a hidden compartment.

And there it was.

The Noctyss flower.

Nestled within, its petals shimmered in eerie silver and black, pulsing with an almost unnatural vibrancy. My hand trembled as I reached for it, its significance sinking deep into my bones.

I closed the mirror with a muted thud, sealing away the secret it had guarded for who knows how long.

Then—

“Elizabeth...”

The voice, dark and razor-edged with fury, sent a shiver down my spine.

Through the reflection, I saw him.

Amir.

His skin was shadowed with anger, his eyes wild—a tempest barely contained.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice a snarl.

I spun to face him, my grip tightening around the mask I had found earlier. The Black Wraith’s mask.

I held it up like a damning accusation. “How did you get this?” My voice was steady despite the fire raging in his gaze. “This mask belongs to the Black Wraith.”

A slow, wicked smile curved his lips—dangerous, knowing.

“Did it, now? And what were you doing in France?”

His voice was silk and steel, each word dripping with something venomous.

“And how, pray tell, do you know what the Black Wraith’s mask looks like? Have you met him… personally?”

His eyes narrowed to slits, dark pools that saw too much.

I swallowed hard, realizing my mistake. I had given him something—a thread to pull. But I wouldn’t let him unravel me.

Ignoring his question, I lifted my other hand, revealing the container that held the Noctyss flower.

“This is mine. You stole this flower from me.”

Amir’s jaw clenched, his muscles taut with barely restrained emotion.

“The flower, darling, is dangerous. And if you don’t leave this place right now, you’ll regret it,” he growled, the warning hanging between us like a guillotine’s blade.

With quiet defiance, I stepped forward, my pulse hammering, and placed the flower on the desk.

“I’m not leaving until I have answers.” My voice was steel now. “You stole my flower. You have the Black Wraith’s mask. You knew where my alchemy cottage was, which could only mean one thing?—”

I exhaled, the words slicing the air. “You’re the masked man.”

Something flickered across Amir’s face for a moment—denial or something deeper. But it was gone as swiftly as lightning.

“I tracked down the mask maker responsible for crafting the Black Wraith’s mask,” he said smoothly. “I forced him to reveal its origins before ending his life.”

His voice was even. Unapologetic.

“And yes, I took your flower.”

My stomach twisted, but I held his gaze.

“Because in the wrong hands—or the right ones with enough knowledge—it’s more than dangerous.” His voice dipped lower, a quiet finality in the words. “It’s catastrophic.”

“Tell me the truth, Amir.” My voice didn’t waver this time. “How did you find my alchemy cottage?”

His gaze didn’t flicker. “Your father told me where it was.”

The lie curled between us, too smooth, too convenient.

“And as for the masked man,” he continued, stepping closer.

His lips curved into something cold.

“Let me make one thing clear—I am not the Black Wraith.”

I searched his face, my breath shallow, waiting for the flicker of a lie.

Amir Hassan was an enigma. A fortress with walls too high to scale. He stirred embers of fear and fascination within me, but I held the card now—I knew.

And I knew he was lying.