Page 56 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)

Mary and I exchanged a glance—silent understanding forged in fire, refined under years of shared fear and loyalty.

The morning light filtered through the stable’s slats, casting long shadows that seemed to chase us here.

The carriage groaned as Harry hitched the horses, every creak a countdown to freedom or capture.

When it was ready, we threw our satchels onto the seat—each thud a punctuation mark to our frantic, pounding hearts.

I climbed to the driver’s bench, hands trembling as I seized the reins, the leather biting into my palms like a vow.

Mary followed, sitting beside me like a lifeline, a thread anchoring me to sanity in a world undone.

“Where are we going?” she whispered, as if afraid that speaking might shatter our fragile escape.

I clucked to the horses.

They lunged forward, hooves striking the ground with a fierce, eager rhythm.

Just like us—ready to run.

“To the cottage first,” I said, my eyes fixed on the winding road ahead.

“Then... we go to the Americas.”

A beat of silence.

The words tasted foreign but strong.

An unfamiliar sense of peace settled into me—hard, cold, unshakable.

I had been forged in betrayal. In fire.

Now, I would rise from the ashes.

And across oceans, beyond the reach of my father’s shadow, the next chapter waited.

One I would write in my hand.

The carriage wheels crunched over the gravel path, each rotation a thunderous reminder of all I’d lost.

We arrived at the cottage?—

A place that once whispered secrets now stood eerily silent, its door ajar like an open wound.

I dismounted, heart thudding against my ribs, panic clawing at my throat.

Inside, chaos reigned.

Drawers ripped from their places, glass vials shattered, bundles of herbs strewn like corpses across the floor.

A violent search. A desecration.

A mirror of the turmoil inside me.

“Elizabeth?”

Mary’s voice floated from the doorway, thin with worry.

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

Desperation moved my limbs, each step frantic as I tore through the wreckage, searching for two sacred things?—

The Noctyss flower, once preserved beneath the glass.

And my mother’s alchemy book, the legacy of everything she was.

Gone.

Both gone.

My breath hitched?—

A sound of grief, of failure.

They had taken everything.

I had destroyed my father’s Timehunter society—yes.

But that wasn’t the promise that mattered.

There had been one sacred vow I made to my mother as she lay dying?—

And I had failed her.

No flower. No book. No legacy.

I stood there, ruins at my feet, my hands trembling at my sides.

But I couldn’t stay here.

Not in this grave of memories.

I pressed a hand to my heart, choking back tears.

“I promise you, Mother,” I whispered.

“I will fulfill your dying wish… when the time comes.”

A vow?—

Not broken. Delayed.

“Mary,” I called, my voice hollow.

“Before we go, I must say goodbye to my father.”

She stepped into the light, her face shadowed with sorrow.

There was no need to explain.

The need for closure.

The faint hope for something human in him?—

It was all laid bare in my eyes.

“Are you certain, Lady Elizabeth?”

Her words were soft but heavy—weighted with the hopelessness we both felt.

I nodded, the tremble in my lips betraying the pain.

“I need to.”

We climbed back into the carriage, the horses sensing our urgency. Their hooves struck the dirt road with a restless rhythm as they carried us toward a farewell steeped in dread and longing.

I clung to a sliver of hope—not for forgiveness but for clarity, to clear the air soured by secrets, lies, and bloodshed.

The carriage jolted violently over a rut, nearly pitching me forward.

I gripped the seat’s edge, my knuckles white, breath shallow.

Outside, the landscape blurred, trees and hedgerows racing past.

I saw none of it.

My mind was fixed on the house.

And the man inside it.

Every mile closer felt like a stone pressing against my lungs.

I should have been relieved to leave it behind—his rage, his contempt, his damnation of me.

I should have embraced freedom, the promise of a new life beyond his reach.

But instead—I turned back. Unable to let go without one last word.

What was I hoping for?

A kind word?

That man was gone.

Buried beneath bitterness.

Rage.

And scars that ran deeper than flesh.

But still?—

I had to face him.

One last time.

And still, some part of me couldn’t stop hoping.

Hoping that if I just explained?—

Why I did what I did.

Why I couldn’t be the perfect daughter he demanded.

Maybe he’d understand.

Or at least… stop hating me.

I wasn’t sure I could bear leaving without trying.

Without saying goodbye to the man he had once been?—

And the girl I had been when I still believed he loved me.

The road curved, and the house came into view—dark, unwelcoming, crouched beneath a dull gray sky like a grave marker.

My stomach twisted.

The last time I stood there, he’d thrown me out like a stray dog, his voice still echoing in my ears—full of fury, full of finality.

I told myself this was a mistake.

That I should turn around and keep going.

Never look back.

But my mouth stayed shut.

And the carriage rolled on.

I didn’t know what I’d say when I saw him.

I didn’t know if I could weather his anger again.

But I had to try.

For myself, if nothing else.

To leave without trying felt like abandoning the last shred of love or loyalty I still had for him—no matter how much it hurt.

The mansion loomed larger, a monument to everything we had been—and everything we’d lost.

My resolve wavered.

But loyalty to the man my father once was nudged me forward.

It was a duty born of love—however fractured.

A final act.

A daughter to her father.

Before the last threads between us unraveled completely.

The mansion’s shadows clung to me like a second skin as I slithered through its silent, treacherous halls.

Each step was heavy—each breath taut with the weight of a choice.

To confront.

Or to flee.

My heart was a storm—thunderous, erratic, betraying my every doubt.

I reached the threshold of his study.

The familiar scent of aged leather, scorched tobacco, and old mahogany enveloped me, pulling me back into old rhythms—of obedience, of fear.

Then—

A voice. Not his. Piercing. Otherworldly.

“Do you know who I am?”

The words sliced through the stillness like a blade.

My pulse kicked. A jolt of alarm surged through me.

It wasn’t my father.

Inside, his brittle reply echoed—defiant, shaking.

“No. Should I? Why the fuck should I know you?”

That rasp—arrogant on the surface, but I heard the fear buried beneath.

And then, the name dropped like a guillotine.

“My name is Salvatore. I am your master. Mathias reports to me. Where did you get the Noctyss poison?”

Every syllable was a poisoned barb.

Salvatore.

Amir’s warning hit me hard—a memory laced with dread, cold and unforgiving. It struck like lightning, illuminating the shadows I thought I’d buried.

I tried to face him once before.

Tried to stand against him... and I failed.

The memory clawed its way back—Salvatore’s eyes burning into mine, the weight of his power pressing down until I could barely breathe. The vial in my hand. The fear. The recklessness. The consequences.

And now?—

Here he was again.

I froze, breath caught in my throat, my limbs heavy and unwilling to move—pinned by the gravity of his authority, the terror of his voice.

Inside, silence.

My heart a drumbeat of panic.

Then—

My father’s voice cracked through the stillness like thin ice beneath a heavy step.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, strained. “I know nothing about a Noctyss poison.”

A lie.

A weak one.

But it was all he had.

Salvatore’s laugh followed—cold as a tomb, the sound of death scraping stone.

“You are living proof of the Noctyss poison,” he hissed. “I can smell it. Feel it. It’s lodged in your broken, misshapen bones.”

A pause followed—slow and cruel, heavy with unspoken threat.

“Your society was powerful once—herbs, fear, reputation. Until your wife died.”

His voice darkened, each word dipped in venom. “So I’ll ask again—who created the poison?”

Silence stretched, razor-thin, every breath a risk. The air around us was a noose.

“It was Lord Hassan,” my father said.

A lie.

A shield.

Cast over me like armor I didn’t deserve.

My eyes widened, breath faltering, heart lurching in my chest.

Why?

Why would he protect me—after everything between us?

Our relationship—a tangled tapestry of control, rebellion, and pain—suddenly bore a single thread of sacrifice.

I pressed closer to the door, peering through the narrow crack. My fingers were ice-cold, my breath held hostage, my soul trembling in its cage.

Salvatore stood still. Unmoving. Yet the air shivered around him, as if reality itself recoiled before him.

Then he spoke?—

Low. Venomous.

“No... it was not Lord Hassan. The alchemist was a woman.”

His head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing like a predator scenting blood.

“Where is your daughter... Elizabeth?”

My breath caught, the world spun sideways.

“She’s dead,” my father answered, his voice hoarse. “She didn’t make it.”

Silence.

A beat of stillness that stretched the air razor-thin.

Then Salvatore screamed—a sound of pure rage and inhuman fury, the kind that fractured stone.

“Lies!” he bellowed, and the walls themselves quaked beneath the force of his wrath.

I stumbled back from the door, spine pressing to cold stone, heart slamming in my chest like a drum of doom.

Salvatore moved—like death given form.

Silent. Inevitable. Unstoppable.

A flash of steel.

A wet, broken gurgle.

And then—my father collapsed.

A man who once ruled over everything... reduced to a lifeless heap.

The world fell to stillness. Blood pooled across polished floors, soaking into the silence like a curse.

“I will find out where your daughter is hiding… and kill her!”

Salvatore’s roar shattered the air—a nightmare loosed upon the world.

Horror gripped me, rooted me in place, paralyzed my limbs for a single, eternal heartbeat.

Then instinct took over.

I turned—ran.

My skirts whispered against the marble like ghosts, feet barely touching the ground as I fled. My heart pounded, my blood boomed in my ears.

Bursting into the daylight, I threw myself into the carriage beside Mary.

“We need to leave. Now!” I gasped, voice raw, a desperate scrape torn from a throat tight with fear.

The horses whinnied, sensing the storm in my chest, hooves hammering the ground like war drums as we surged forward—toward the docks, toward escape.

My mind raced ahead—over the ocean, across an expanse vast and unknown.

To the Americas.

A refuge...

Or another battlefield.

I didn’t know.

I didn’t care.

There was no time for doubt.

Only survival.

Only escape.

Only the road ahead.