Page 40 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)

Elizabeth watched me, absorbing my words as they reshaped the narrative of her past. A silent understanding passed between us—a bridge built from opposing legacies, light and dark, bound together by the unrelenting pull of Solaris.

Lying there, tangled in the crumpled sheets that bore witness to our shared revelations, I studied her face as she spoke.

Her eyes, heavy with the sorrow of loss, held a glint of something else.

Pride.

“My mother taught me her craft,” she said softly, almost wistfully.

She drew a breath, the weight of memory pressing upon her. “Mother always employed a helper—an assistant. She was meticulous in every precaution, ensuring every step was taken with the utmost care. But no matter how careful they were… they always died. The poisons claimed them, without fail.”

Her words lingered in the space between us, heavy with implication.

My brow furrowed. “And yet, these assistants perished—but not your mother. Not you. You’ve handled the deadliest substances, yet here you are, untouched. Do you know why?”

Elizabeth hesitated before responding. “I wear these leather gloves,” she murmured, lifting her bare hands as if to show me. “I douse them in essential oils. It’s a protective measure.”

I shook my head, exhaling sharply. “No, love. I’m certain your mother’s assistants did the same. But that’s just a myth. The scent-covered gloves do not prevent the death lurking in those poisons.”

My heart pounded as the realization struck me like a bolt of lightning. My gaze locked onto hers, and the answer unraveled before me.

“It’s because you and your mother are Timehealers. Your bloodline doesn’t just grant you the ability to create these poisons—it grants you mastery over them. To wield them. To survive them.”

Her breath hitched, but I wasn’t finished.

“And for the poison you crafted—the one meant to drive the people of France to their knees—you needed the blood of darkness.”

I leaned in, my voice low, edged with a demand for the truth.

“Tell me, Elizabeth… whose blood did you use to craft the poison?”

Elizabeth took a deep breath before revealing the source of the blood of darkness.

“The blood my mother used… belonged to a man named Mathias.”

A shiver ran down my spine at the mention of his name. The air between us thickened, charged with something unspoken, something that set my nerves on edge.

I swallowed hard, trying to process the weight of her words. A chill swept through the room as if nature recoiled at the power of Mathias’ blood and the horrors it could create.

“Mathias?” I repeated, his name tasting like bile on my tongue. The urgency in my voice made Elizabeth flinch. “How did your mother know him?”

Her breath caught as she hesitated. “He is—was—a family friend,” she stammered, startled by the sudden storm in my eyes. “He hasn’t returned since my mother died. But… that’s how she made the poison.”

Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over and tracing silent paths down her cheeks.

“My mother thought once she acquired the final ingredient, the poison would be complete.” Her voice trembled, heavy with sorrow. “But she made a mistake. A fatal one. She inhaled the lethal fumes… and within a week, she was dead.”

“But are you sure it was a mistake?” he said, his tone low, skeptical. “Your mother was a Timehealer. A single breath of poison wouldn’t kill her that easily—not unless something else was at play.”

The confession settled between us, as thick as smoke, suffocating in its weight.

Her eyes flickered at my words—clouded with grief, but not doubt. It was like the thought of something darker, something intentional, hadn’t touched her mind.

I watched her closely. That same hollow look clung to her face, like sorrow had wrapped its fingers around her throat and wouldn’t let go. She was too far gone in mourning to consider the possibility that her mother’s death was more than a mistake.

But I couldn’t let it go.

A Timehealer? Dead by poison? No. That didn’t sit right. It clawed at the back of my mind like a whisper I couldn’t ignore.

She blinked, slow—like she was dragging herself out of a place I couldn’t follow. Then she went on, voice flat, mechanical, untouched by what I had just said.

Like the truth hadn’t reached her yet. Or maybe... she just didn’t want it to.

“With her death, our family shattered. My father and brothers… became more ruthless in pursuing power. Their thirst for control knew no bounds.”

Her hands clenched into fists as her voice hardened with conviction. “But I refused to follow in their footsteps. I vowed to put an end to their corruption.”

She drew in a deep breath, steadying herself before continuing. “The poison needed years to ferment, to reach its full potency. And when it was finally ready… I traveled to France to begin my mission.”

Her words lingered in the silence that followed—a declaration of defiance, sacrifice, and war she had waged alone.

And now, I understood.

She wasn’t just fighting against corruption; she was fighting against the legacy that ran through her veins.

I reached for her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “And how is it that you did not die, my love?” My concern for her safety momentarily overshadowed the storm of questions swirling in my mind about Mathias.

Elizabeth shifted, lifting herself onto her elbow to meet my gaze. “I waited until the poison had fully matured,” she said, her voice quiet yet resolute.

A flicker of something darker crossed her expression.

“There were moments when guilt consumed me, whispering doubts, making me question whether I was inflicting suffering on innocent lives. But then I would remind myself of the atrocities committed by Lord Winston, by my father—true monsters and sadists who thrived on pain and power.”

Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as memories resurfaced, raw and unrelenting. Without hesitation, I reached for her, pulling her into my arms. She melted into my embrace, her body trembling as she released the emotions she had buried for so long.

“You did the right thing,” I whispered against her hair, my grip tightening around her. “You had to protect yourself. You had to stop them.”

Her grief was a tangible force, tugging at the threads of my soul.

Slowly, she pulled back, her tear-streaked face lifting to meet mine. Her eyes, filled with an aching vulnerability, searched my own.

“Amir, you have been my protector, my solace. You have shown me kindness and comfort, shielding me from my father’s fury.

” Her voice wavered, but the truth in her words was undeniable.

“Despite your claims of being darkness… of being a monster… there is so much more to you. I’ve always seen the man beneath it all.

But here, lying beside you, it’s undeniable.

You’re strong, brave… and far kinder than you let the world believe. ”

She exhaled shakily, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw.

“You would have been a wonderful father,” she whispered.

The words hit me like a blade to the chest, carving through the walls I had spent years fortifying—a father.

The thought had never crossed my mind. Duty was always my priority—loyalty to Lazarus, the mission, the war.

There had never been room for such dreams. And yet, something stirred within me, something unfamiliar and dangerous.

I swallowed, the weight of an impossible future pressing against my ribs. “If I ever had sons, I would raise them to be fearless warriors. They would embody honor, bravery, resilience, and heroism,” I declared, my voice steadier than the storm raging inside me.

Elizabeth tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her gaze. “What would you name them?”

For the first time, I imagined a life beyond bloodshed, beyond vengeance—a future where I was more than a weapon.

“My sons would have powerful names,” I mused. “One would be Roman. And if I had another, I would name him Marcellious.”

She smiled softly, then asked, “And what if you had a daughter?”

A daughter.

The thought nearly unraveled me. I had always envisioned raising warriors and preparing them for battle. But at that moment, I saw her—a girl with Elizabeth’s strength, fire, and gentleness—a daughter who would be fearless, resilient… and unstoppable.

“She would be just as strong as her brothers,” I replied, my voice quieter now.

Elizabeth’s fingers traced slow, thoughtful patterns on my chest. “What would you name her?”

I exhaled, the name forming on my lips like a prayer. “Reyna,” I whispered.

A single tear slipped down my cheek.

Because I knew I would never have her.

I would never have any of them.

The fantasy burned through me, leaving only ashes. Duty would always come first. Lazarus had forged me into something that did not belong to this world—into a future of love and family.

But then Elizabeth’s fingers intertwined with mine, her touch impossibly soft, like the petals of a rose.

She leaned closer, her breath mingling with mine—a sweet blend of lavender and vanilla.

The world around us faded to insignificance as her lips met mine, a gentle caress that spoke of longing and tenderness—a whispered promise, a silent vow.

At that moment, time stood still. None of the weight of war, bloodshed, or duty mattered. All I felt was her. The warmth of her love wrapped around me like a comforting embrace from the heavens.

When we finally pulled apart, her gaze scorched into mine with unwavering conviction.

“Amir, I want to help you take down my father’s society—and others like it.

” Her voice was firm, unwavering. “We can work together. I’ll perfect the Noctyss poison and use it at the masquerade.

Together, we can be free from my father and Lord Winston.

We’ll be partners in destroying these oppressive societies. ”

I stared at her, my heart swelling with something dangerous—something I dared not name. This woman was delicate in appearance yet carried a strength rivaling any warrior I had ever known.