THE TASTE OF JASMINE AND BETRAY

Elara Vance

The smell of jasmine used to be my favorite. Now, it was the scent of my end.

I lay paralyzed against the silk pillows of my marriage bed, my chest heaving as I fought for a single scrap of air. It felt as though my lungs had been filled with wet sand. I tried to scream, to lash out, to grab the heavy silver bell on my nightstand, but my body was no longer mine. It was a cage of cold, numb meat.

Beside me, Caspian; my husband, my "protector" held my hand. His grip was firm, but his touch made my skin crawl. He looked down at me with eyes brimming with tears, his face a mask of perfected agony.

"Stay with me, Elara," he whispered, his voice cracking beautifully. "The physicians are coming. Please, my love, don't leave me."

In the corner of the room, near the shadows of the heavy velvet curtains, stood Lyra. My sweet, younger step-sister. She was dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. To anyone looking through the door, we were a portrait of a tragic family.

Then, the heavy oak door clicked shut. The guards’ footsteps faded down the stone corridor.

The "grief" in the room vanished like a blown-out candle.

Caspian dropped my hand as if it were a piece of rotting fruit. He stood up, his face shifting from devastation to a look of utter boredom. He walked to the mirror, calmly straightening the collar of his royal tunic.

"How much longer, Lyra?" he asked. His voice wasn't trembling anymore. It was cold. "The paralysis should have reached her heart by now."

Lyra stopped "crying" instantly. She let out a small, airy giggle. The same musical sound I had spent my life trying to protect. She walked toward the bed, looking down at me with a sharp, glittering hunger in her eyes.

"The merchant said this poison is slow, Caspian," she said, leaning over me. She reached out and playfully flicked the mole behind my ear, a gesture she had done since we were children. "Our Elara always did have a stubborn heart."

I stared at her, my eyes wide and pleading. Why? I screamed in my mind. I gave you, my jewelry! I gave you, my trust! I loved you!

Lyra must have read the look in my eyes, because she smiled. It was the smile of a predator.

"You always were the 'lucky' one, sister," she hissed, her face inches from mine. "The beautiful heiress. The one who inherited Mother’s fortune and Father’s lands. Did you really think a man as ambitious as Caspian could actually love a boring, dutiful doll like you? He only wanted the keys to the Vance treasury. And now, he has them."

Caspian walked back to the bedside, looking down at me with the same indifference he’d show a broken chair. "Don't look so shocked, Elara. It’s pathetic. Once you’re gone, the King will appoint me as the administrator of your estates. And Lyra? She won’t be the 'poor step-sister' anymore. She will be my new Duchess."

Lyra leaned in even closer, whispering into my ear. "We’ve been waiting for this since the day we met, Elara. Every hug I gave you, every secret I told you... I was just waiting for the moment I could watch your eyes go dark."

Caspian didn't even wait for me to stop breathing. He pulled a small dagger from his belt and used the tip to pry the Vance family signet ring off my paralyzed finger. The gold tore at my skin, but I couldn't even feel the pain. I could only feel the cold.

"Goodbye, Elara," he said, turning toward the door. "Thank you for the wealth. We will spend it well."

"And don't worry," Lyra added, blowing me a mock kiss as she followed him out. "I'll wear your emeralds to your funeral. They always did look better on me."

They blew out the candles, leaving me in the suffocating dark. My heart gave a final, desperate thud. One. Two.

Silence.

The darkness didn't stay empty. Suddenly, a sound echoed through the void… Ting. It was the sound of a small, silver bell.

I blinked. I wasn't in my bedroom. I was standing in a narrow, misty aisle of a shop. The walls were lined with thousands of glass jars filled with swirling, colored smoke.

"A bit early for a visit, isn't it?" a deep, papery voice asked.

I turned to see a figure in grey robes sitting behind a wooden counter. His face was hidden, but his hands were long and thin.

"Where am I?" I gasped. I could speak. I could move. My heart was racing, but I was... dead?

"You are in the Shop of Lost Regrets," the figure said, his eyes glowing like embers under his hood. "I am the Archivist. You have just died, Elara Vance. And quite a stupid death it was."

The humiliation stung more than the poison. "They betrayed me! I want them to pay!"

"A heavy price for a heavy soul," the Archivist said, reaching under the counter. "I can send you back. But you will no longer belong to yourself. You will perform the tasks I give you. If you fail, the death you just escaped will return for you. And it will not be so gentle next time."

"I don't care," I snarled, my voice shaking with a rage I had never known. "Send me back. I want to see them crawl."

The Archivist pulled out a silver needle. "Give me your hand."

He pricked the skin behind my ear, right on the mole. A surge of freezing electricity bolted through my spine.

"Wake up, Little Crow," he whispered. "The game has just begun."

I snapped my eyes open.

Sunlight blinded me. I wasn't in my marriage bed. I was in my childhood room.

"Sister? Are you awake? You’re going to be late for breakfast!"

The door creaked open. A young, fourteen-year-old Lyra skipped in, looking like a blooming rose in her white dress. She jumped on the edge of my bed, grabbing my arm with a "loving" squeeze.

"Come on, Elara! Father is waiting! Why are you looking at me like that? It’s like you’ve seen a ghost!"

I looked at her hands. The same hands that would one day help Caspian kill me. I felt a wave of nausea, but I forced my face into a calm, blank mask.

"I'm fine, Lyra," I said, my voice sounding young and thin. "I just had... a very long dream."

I walked to the mirror. I was sixteen again. But behind my ear, the mole was no longer brown. It was a deep, glowing red.

Task One: “The cold voice of the Archivist echoed in my skull. The Duke of Thorne arrives today. Secure his attention, or your heart will stop before the moon sets.”

I gripped the dresser until my knuckles turned white. The revenge I wanted was finally within my reach, but I was already living on borrowed time.