Page 62 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)

With barely a word, the warriors took up their paddles. The canoes glided across the river, as smooth as silk, propelled by an almost reverent rhythm. The water mirrored the stars above, a dark glass reflecting the night sky, broken only by the gentle dip and pull of the paddles.

There was none of Jules’ gruff shouting, no harsh splashes of our flatboat—only the whispers of the river, the hushed song of the wilderness, and the slow, inevitable passage into the unknown.

I clutched the side of the canoe, my gaze fixed on the dark water ahead. Whatever awaited us beyond the bend, I could only pray it would not ask more than we had left to give.

The canoe’s hull scraped the pebbled shore with a muted grind.

I jolted, but Dancing Fire’s firm grip steadied me as he helped me disembark.

My legs trembled beneath me, weak from fear and fatigue, and I staggered on the uneven riverbank.

He offered silent support, never releasing my arm until I had found my balance.

Beside us, Sky Raven extended his hand to Mary, who gripped it like a lifeline.

Her face was drawn and pale in the moonlight, but her eyes were wide with lingering terror.

I reached for her hand as soon as she was upright, and together, we clung to each other—our last thread of familiarity in this strange land.

“Where are you taking us?” The words burst out before I could temper them, edged with anxiety and raw exhaustion. My voice rang out too harshly in the quiet, shattering the solemn hush of the woods.

Dancing Fire turned toward me, his gaze unwavering, his expression unreadable but clear. “Like I said... to our chief. To the village.” He spoke slowly in his halting English, each syllable carrying a weight far greater than its sound. “Both of you are safe here.”

Despite the uncertainty surrounding us, something about his voice—low, certain—cooled the fire of panic that had begun to flare in my chest. His assurance was not just spoken; it radiated from him, as solid and immovable as the earth beneath our feet.

Mary and I walked close, our shoulders brushing, taking comfort in that slender connection thread.

As we followed Dancing Fire through the forest’s hush, my mind spiraled back through everything we had endured since the flatboat—Widow York’s biting commands, Jules’ rough kindness, the bloodshed, the loss, the chaos, and Amir.

His name was a wound—raw and silent. His absence was a gaping void I dared not dwell on, not here, not now.

Through the trees, the village appeared like a dream, the silhouettes of cone-shaped dwellings glowing softly with the light of fires and torches.

Shadows danced across the stretched leather surfaces, flickering like spirits as we passed.

The air was filled with a strange quiet—not silence, but a peace borne of ritual and purpose, of people living by the rhythm of the land.

We wove between the dwellings, the earth solid beneath our feet, anchoring us in a world that felt foreign and strangely grounding at once. For the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel like I was falling.

At the village’s heart stood a larger structure, its timber beams adorned with feathers, bones, and beads, each a testament to a history I did not yet understand.

Firelight spilled from the entrance, casting golden ripples across the ground.

Smoke rose gently into the night sky, carrying prayers or warnings to the stars above.

I knew this was where our fate would be decided without being told.

Dancing Fire stepped ahead and motioned us forward.

“This is Chief Red Feather,” he said with a reverence that made me straighten instinctively.

The man before us stood tall, his face lined with age but resolute with strength.

His gaze met mine, heavy with a wisdom that seemed to weigh and measure me in a single breath.

They spoke in their own tongue—fluid and melodic, like a song born of earth and sky.

The cadence was unfamiliar but oddly soothing like waves lulling you into peace even as they hide the depths beneath.

Every so often, the chief’s eyes flicked toward Mary and me, assessing, questioning, and deciding.

Dancing Fire turned to me, his expression gentle yet serious.

“Elizabeth,” he began, and just the sound of my name felt like a lifeline.

“My father wishes you to know that the Kiowa are dangerous. If we had not intervened, they would have… harmed you greatly. We are grateful you and your maid live.” His voice dropped lower, almost intimate.

“He asks that you stay here. As our guest. Among our people. You will be protected.”

Protected. The word echoed in my mind, both a relief and a shackle. My chest tightened.

“No, no. We can’t stay,” I whispered, though the conviction in my voice was thin, cracked at the edges. The baby. Amir’s child. I couldn’t give birth here, not in a strange place, not surrounded by people I didn’t know. We needed to keep moving, didn’t we?

Mary’s hand gripped my arm, her fingers digging in—not from panic, but from urgency, strength. She turned to me, eyes fierce and clear.

“Elizabeth,” Mary said, her voice low, desperation threading through every syllable.

“We have no place else. No money. No protection. You can barely stand from fatigue, and that child inside you grows stronger every day. We need rest. We need safety.” She turned to Dancing Fire, her tone softening like worn cloth.

“Let us stay. Just until the birth. Please.”

Her words struck like an arrow, piercing the fragile shield of denial I had wrapped around myself.

I looked around, absorbing the firelight’s warmth, the stillness of the chief, the quiet certainty in Dancing Fire’s eyes.

This wasn’t captivity. It wasn’t a weakness.

This was a refuge—a rare chance at survival.

At that moment, with the promise of sanctuary offered by a man as silent and controlled as the moon above, I felt a sliver of hope break through the dense fog of despair.

Chief Red Feather’s gaze held mine, unwavering and unblinking. His brow furrowed with thought, his lips moving in quiet words only his son could understand. Dancing Fire nodded solemnly as he listened, absorbing each word with gravity and making my stomach clench.

When he turned back to me, there was something in his eyes—not fear, not pity—but reverence.

“Elizabeth,” he said, my name falling from his lips like a sacred secret. I couldn’t say why it sent a chill down my spine. “The Chief has asked me to tell you something of great importance. You are… special. The life you carry—twins—was foretold.”

I froze, the air stolen from my lungs.

Twins?

The word echoed in my mind—impossible and inevitable all at once.

“There is a chance, a rare and powerful chance,” Dancing Fire continued, his voice firm, like stone worn smooth by time.

“That your children will be born on the day of the solar eclipse; if that happens, they will not be ordinary. They will be Timebornes—blessed with the ability to travel through time.”

I gasped, my heart stumbling over itself in terror. The word Timeborne lanced through me—piercing, unwelcome, unrelenting.

Memories I had tried to bury surged like a tide, clawing at the fragile dam I had built inside me—whispers in dark corridors, stories of those marked by time, cursed with destinies they could never escape.

No.

No, this was not the life I envisioned.

All I craved was peace, not prophecies or power. Not fate. Not time.

“Twins? And time travel?” My voice cracked, shaking under the weight of fear. “No—no! I just want peace! I don’t want anything to do with Timebornes, Timebounds, Time?—”

The words dissolved into sobs. Tears spilled down my cheeks unchecked, and my body trembled as I tried to breathe past the storm inside me. I shook my head, desperate to reject it, to deny it, and pretend I hadn’t heard.

Destiny could be changed. It had to be.

“Timebornes. Timebounds. Timehunters,” Dancing Fire echoed softly, his brow furrowing, confusion etched into every line of his face. “How do you know these words?”

“My father was a Timehunter,” I whispered, broken and breathless.

“I ran from that life. I ran from the bloodshed, the death, the evil they carried in their hearts.” My eyes locked with his, pleading, desperate.

“That’s why I left England, why I crossed an ocean.

Why I hid. And now your chief tells me I carry twins—twins who might become what I feared most.”

The truth poured from me, jagged and raw. “I can’t do it again. I can’t live like that. I just want to be free of it.”

Chief Red Feather stepped forward, his expression unreadable but his aura grounding, like a great oak standing amidst the storm. He spoke, his English broken, but each word was pointed, heavy, and final.

“Elizabeth… you have nothing to fear. You are safe.”

The Chief’s words moved like wind through leaves—soft, ancient. “My predictions… they may not be true. The future is not always clear. Do not stress. Do not fear. You are tired. Hungry. Let my people care for you.”

His gaze, aged and wise, held mine. I wanted to believe him, to drink in the peace he offered. But fear had rooted itself too deeply.

“Dancing Fire will look after you. Sky Raven will guard Mary.” His voice lowered. “You are not alone now.”

His eyes—weathered by time, shaped by hardship—softened, and with a final word, he dismissed the storm inside me with quiet authority.

“Rest.”

Before I could protest and ask the thousand questions clawing at my throat, he gestured for Dancing Fire to lead me away. I turned, my steps unsteady, and let myself be guided from the council fire’s warmth into the night’s cool embrace.

But with each step, dread coiled tighter around my heart.

Twins. Timebornes.

The things I had fled now clung to me like shadows at dusk, impossible to outrun. Fear gnawed at my soul.

I had left a trail of destruction behind me. Two powerful Timehunter societies lay in ruins—because of me. Because of the poison I created. The secrets I carried. The war I started.

Timehunters showed no mercy. They never did. They sought Timebornes and Timebounds like wolves stalking prey—cold, and cruel.

And now, Salvatore hunted me. His name alone sent a shiver through me. He wanted the truth—about the Noctyss flower, the poison, the future growing inside me.

My heart twisted. Amir.

Dead and Gone. Because of me.

His death was a wound that never closed, a punishment I could never escape.

And now, I was to bring Timebornes into this world—a world soaked in blood, ruled by power, haunted by death. What life could they possibly have, shaped by the chaos I’d created, carrying the burden of the path I chose?

Desperation pressed against my ribs, suffocating me. All I yearned for was escape.

From the nightmare. From the prophecy. From myself.

But deep down, I knew.

My sins would not let me go.

They waited in the dark, patient and silent?—

Ready to strike.