Page 57 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)

Chapter Twenty-Two

AMIR

I awoke to the sensation of fire coursing through my veins—raw, consuming, alive. Each jolt of pain was more agonizing than the last, stealing my breath, dragging me back into a world I no longer recognized.

The pit was alive.

A writhing mass of serpents coiled over me, their slick bodies sliding across torn skin, scales gleaming, fangs bared. They struck without mercy, again and again, piercing deep, their venom a torment I could not escape.

I screamed, hoarse and ragged, as their bites tore through me like searing needles. But beneath the agony, I could feel something else—something darker, something purposeful.

The venom.

And the antidote.

Twisting together inside me like enemies locked in war.

It surged through my blood, battling the poison that had infected me, fighting to cleanse it. Their healing was no act of mercy—it was as savage as the sickness it sought to destroy.

Between the convulsions, my mind shattered into fragments.

Elizabeth.

Her face haunted me—those pale, frightened eyes etched into memory—the last time I saw her. I could still feel her slipping from my arms, still hear her voice in my bones.

Was she safe?

Did she escape?

I didn’t know.

And the not knowing was its own kind of torture.

All I could do was endure.

I writhed beneath the swarm, powerless, as the serpents moved with single-minded purpose—each one a tormentor, a savior, a curse and a cure in the same breath. Their mission was etched into the pain they inflicted, a language of suffering I could no longer fight.

Then—suddenly—they stopped.

One by one, the serpents slithered away, disappearing into the shadows of the pit, leaving me alone in the silence they abandoned.

I lay there, drenched in sweat, my body trembling, skin torn and bruised, marked by a thousand wounds.

Each breath felt foreign, each heartbeat uncertain—a question I had no answer for.

Broken—but purified.

Time unraveled around me.

Reality blurred, slipping at the edges of my awareness, until the tremors inside me dulled to a distant roar—quiet enough to breathe, to think, to move.

With a guttural groan, I rolled onto my side, pain screaming through every muscle, my body a ruin barely stitched together by will. I crawled toward the edge of the pit, dragging myself inch by agonizing inch.

Each movement was a battle.

Each breath, a victory.

At the edge, I braced my arms and forced myself upright, staggering to my feet as my legs shook beneath me. A caftan lay crumpled on the cold stone floor—a shred of dignity amidst the carnage. I seized it, slipped it over my battered frame, and without looking back, left the snake pit behind.

One thought dominated all others.

Elizabeth.

“Where is she?”

The words tore from my lips—hoarse, broken—a vow and a question fused in desperation.

The underground palace stretched out before me—shadowed, silent, forsaken. Every hallway felt endless, every shadow a threat, every breath too loud against the stillness.

My heart hammered, a frantic drumbeat in my chest as I tore through corridor after corridor—room after empty room—shouting her name into the void.

“Elizabeth!”

My voice echoed back at me—hollow, mocking, a cruel mimicry of hope that shattered against the silence.

Desperation clawed at my insides, gripping tighter with every step. She wasn’t here. She was nowhere.

And in that deafening silence, a dreadful truth bled through me?—

I might have lost her.

I roared again, “Elizabeth!”

The sound ripped from my raw throat—a savage, broken plea.

No reply.

Only the oppressive hush of ancient stone, its stillness a tomb for my hope.

My mind reeled.

Had she died?

Had I failed her again?

The venom in my veins still scalded, but it was nothing.

Nothing compared to this.

Her voice.

Her face.

Her glacier-colored eyes—filled with fire and fear—gone.

Elizabeth, forgive me.

I should’ve been there.

I should’ve protected you.

I stumbled forward, each step heavier, burdened by loss and a love that felt doomed from the start.

I stormed through the labyrinth, the echo of my footfalls chasing me like a hound at my heels. Torchlight flickered across the stone walls, casting shadows that danced along the corridors—taunting, fleeting, just beyond reach.

Every corner turned.

Every hall searched.

No closer.

No answer.

The dread inside me coiled tighter, a knot of grief and fury pulling me under—threatening to consume what little strength I had left.

Then—at last—I found him.

Lazarus.

Seated in his study, quill scratching across parchment, his eyes fixed on the page as if the world outside his door wasn’t unraveling. As if I wasn’t standing there—ablaze.

He didn’t look up.

Didn’t flinch.

Just wrote.

Calm. Detached.

As though none of it mattered.

“Elizabeth,” I breathed. Her name slipped from my lips, barely more than a whisper, a question, a plea.

“Is she?—?”

“Alive.” His voice was flat, unaffected. He didn’t pause, didn’t lift his gaze.

“She’s back home. Recovering. Her father lives too—though paralyzed. She is not alone. Her maid tends her.”

Relief hit me like a wave—hot, blinding.

It seared through my veins like the serpents’ antidote, stinging, cleansing, overwhelming. A weight lifted—but only to be replaced by another.

Urgency.

Need.

Her.

“I have to go to her,” I said, the words ripping from me, half-prayer, half-declaration. Her face filled my mind—sky-blue eyes, wheat-blond hair—etched into my soul.

I needed to protect her.

I needed to see her.

“No, Amir.”

Lazarus’ voice cut through my thoughts—leaving no room for argument.

He looked up. Finally.

Eyes like ice, gaze honed enough to flay me where I stood.

He rose slowly, every movement deliberate, authority cloaking him like armor. The quill slipped from his fingers, forgotten.

“You will stay away from Elizabeth,” he said.

His voice was iron. Final.

“That’s an order.”

Silence thundered between us.

My heart pounded, fury igniting like dry tinder. Every fiber of me rebelled.

“What?” The word tore from me—a half-snarl, half-wound.

Lazarus didn’t blink.

“I’ve been watching you, Amir. Since the moment your mission in England began.”

His voice was unnaturally calm. Controlled to the point of menace.

A stark contrast to the storm raging inside me.

“Getting involved with the daughter of your enemy?”

Lazarus’ voice was low, but the weight behind it hit hard, each word laced with quiet condemnation. He shook his head slowly, disappointment settling in his eyes—cutting deeper than any wound I’d ever taken in battle.

“And now,” he sighed, “Lady Alexander is revealed to be a Timehealer. One who has crafted a potent poison meant to ensnare Salvatore.”

My heart pounded, each beat like a war drum battering against his words.

“If Salvatore or Mathias see you together,” Lazarus warned, his voice hard, “they’ll connect the dots. Instantly. And she—she will meet her demise.”

He paused, gaze sharpening.

“He will spirit her away, torture her for her secrets. She will die, Amir. Do you understand this?”

For a breath—just a heartbeat—his tone softened. A rare fracture in the armor of the man who had shaped every step of my life.

“I’m sorry. I know you love her,” he said quietly. “But you must let her go.”

The words hit like steel, twisting in my gut, tearing something raw and sacred inside me.

My fists clenched at my sides, the stoicism I wore like armor beginning to fracture beneath the weight of his demand.

“Love demands sacrifice, Pasha Hassan,” he added—almost idly.

But that phrase…

It hung like a noose between us.

Letting her go…

My voice was a whisper carved from stone.

“It might be the hardest battle I’ve ever fought.”

“Indeed,” Lazarus said, turning back to his desk, dismissing me—as if my agony was nothing more than collateral.

“But it is one you must endure—for her sake.”

The heat inside me ignited, fury surging beneath my skin.

A wildfire.

Uncontainable.

“None of this—none of it—would have happened if you had controlled Isabelle. If she hadn’t separated the Blade of Shadows.”

My voice thundered through the study, shattering the quiet like glass underfoot.

Righteous fury propelled every word.

“The weight of this disaster rests on your shoulders, Lazarus. You have cursed me—condemned me to a life of darkness, of unfulfilled longing. I can never truly be happy, never find love in this wicked world.”

I could feel the truth in my veins, in every syllable.

“With the Blade of Shadows severed, Isabelle and Armand are dead. And now—Alina of Solaris has returned from the grave. And you—what do you do, Shadow Lord?”

I stepped closer, voice rising like a battle cry.

“You sit idly, barking orders... while our world burns.”

The words had barely left my lips when he struck.

The blow wasn’t just flesh and bone—it was power, raw and ancient.

Dark energy surged through his fist, through me, and agony exploded across my face.

Pain blinded me, and then my lungs seized.

I staggered back, hands clawing at my throat.

Invisible manacles—tight, unrelenting—strangling the life from me.

Panic tore through me, a caged animal thrashing in my chest as I fought for air, for life.

Each breath became a war.

Every second stretched into an eternity of terror.

And in that moment—gasping, choking, collapsing—I finally understood.

The fragility of life.

Of defiance.

Of myself.

Lazarus stood over me, towering and unmoved.

His eyes burned with fury, a storm barely restrained beneath the surface.

He raised his hand—without hesitation, without mercy—and I shattered.

Slammed to the ground by a force I couldn’t resist, pain exploded through me. I gasped, mouth open, body convulsing, lungs dragging in ragged bursts of air as pain racked every muscle.

His voice roared above me, every word a hammer blow.

“I know about Alina. I know what Salvatore and Mathias are planning. I know Mathias hunts for the blades. I know my failure to Isabelle and Armand.”