Chapter 46

Elouera

The Grand Apothecary’s records room smelled of dried plants, old books, and something rotten.

I hid in the narrow, dark space behind the tall wooden shelves in the lower records room. My heart was beating so fast it felt like it would jump out of my chest.

Outside the iron door, I heard guards marching along the stone corridor. They were changing shifts. I had less than ten minutes before the man in charge of the records returned.

My hands shook as I pulled a thin iron lockpick from beneath my fingernail and carefully worked it into the rusty padlock on Master Vane’s private cabinet.

Click.

The lock opened.

I quickly reached into the drawer, pushing aside records of cough medicine and fever treatments until my fingers touched a thick bundle of papers tied with a ribbon.

The Imperial Crest was stamped on the seal, but someone had already broken it. This was a hidden copy of the original records, secretly kept by the old apothecary before his sudden death three months ago.

I pulled the ledger into the faint light coming through the small opening above me.

My chest tightened. I could barely breathe. I had spent weeks searching for this document.

It contained records of every special medicine and tonic delivered to the Second Prince’s bedroom over the past six years.

Uncle Holden’s gentle voice suddenly echoed in my mind.

“Just your usual medicine for your weak lungs, little bird,” he used to say whenever I cried from the fever in my sickroom. “It will protect you from the cold palace air.”

I turned the pages, reading the apothecary’s small handwriting.

Month of the Harvest: Ten drops of crushed white willow, three measures of dried violet root, and three drops of Catalyst-7.

Month of the Frost: Twelve drops of sweet almond oil, two measures of winter moss, and three drops of Catalyst-7.

I froze.

My thumb rested on the page as I stared at the words.

Every single record from the past six years contained the same extra ingredient.

Catalyst-7.

My hands moved faster as I flipped to the last pages. The apothecary had also recorded where the ingredients came from and how they were used to prepare the medicines.

I leaned closer, desperate to understand what I was reading.

Then I saw something that made my blood run cold.

There, written in neat handwriting beneath a drawing of a black flower with six petals, was the list of ingredients used to make Catalyst-7.

Night-bloom resin.

Vaporized silver mercury.

A concentrated substance used to suppress Omega abilities.

Beside the list, the apothecary had written a note in red ink.

Note from Archduke Holden: Increase the Night-bloom dosage by two drops every month. The subject’s natural abilities must remain suppressed, but the toxin must continue building up in her blood. Once exposed to heat, the reaction must happen immediately and completely.

The room seemed to spin around me.

I grabbed the cold wooden shelf to keep myself from falling. A weak, painful gasp escaped my throat.

It had never been a cure.

It had never been medicine to keep me alive.

For six years, I had trusted Uncle Holden. I had spent those years lying in bed with a fever, shivering beneath my blankets and believing he was the only person in this bloodstained palace who truly cared about me.

But all that time, he had been poisoning me.

He hadn’t been hiding my Omega nature from the Empress to protect me. He had been filling my blood with a dangerous substance, turning me into a weapon that could explode at any moment.

He had given me the very poison that caused my heat to erupt violently at the Gala when the incense triggered the reaction.

He had used my mother’s memory, my trust, and my desperate need for family to turn me into a weapon against the imperial family.

And when the time came, he had thrown me into danger without a second thought.

“Uncle…” I whispered into the empty room.

A hot tear slipped down my cheek, leaving a wet trail through the pale dust on my skin.

His betrayal hurt more than Callan’s anger or the Empress’s executioners ever could. Something inside me broke. The little girl who had once believed in love, family, and kindness was gone.

All that remained was an emptiness so deep it felt impossible to fill.

Suddenly, I heard the heavy clink of metal outside the iron door.

“Check the lower archives,” a guard shouted from the corridor. “The Empress wants every part of the lower levels searched before the High Council meeting.”

I quickly wiped my face with my sleeve. My grief disappeared beneath a wave of anger.

I folded the report and pushed it deep into the hidden pocket inside my boot.

There was no time to cry. I had to get out.

I slipped from behind the shelves and hurried toward the dark passage hidden behind the tapestry.

I had taken only three steps into the narrow stone tunnel when a cold, strong hand suddenly grabbed my wrist from the darkness.

I gasped and reached for the small silver knife hidden in my sleeve, but the hand gripping my wrist tightened and pulled me roughly into a dark corner.

“Don’t scream,” a low, dangerous voice whispered into my ear.

A strong scent of damp earth, crushed cedar, and lightning filled my senses. I knew that scent. It was enough to make me forget my fear for a moment.

Jace.

He was no longer wearing his Vanguard uniform. Instead, he wore a plain, dark leather coat. His face was pale, and his jaw was tight with anger.

But what caught my attention were the heavy iron chains still locked around his wrists. The chains hung loose, broken at the ends, and fresh blood dripped from them. He must have torn them straight out of the dungeon wall.

My breath caught.

“Jace,” I whispered, my hands moving to his chest without thinking. “Holden said you were chained up. He told the council”

“I escaped ten minutes ago,” Jace interrupted, his voice rough.

His hazel eyes searched my tear-stained face, looking darker and more dangerous than I had ever seen them.

“They’re bringing the Northern executioners to the square. Holden isn’t waiting until noon, Elouera. He’s already taken control of the royal vaults.”