ella

nomic tick of a grandfather clock in the hall. Each tic

tany that sharpened my focus, hardened my hands. I laid out the contents of my pouch: crushed nightshade petals, powdered

This was the alchemist's gambit. Julian's poison was meant to attack the heart, slowly crystall

s scent. But he didn't know its true purpose. It wasn't a mask; it wa

hen came the needles. I pressed them into the points my grandmother's journal described

s nothing left

. Ten minutes. T

d? The thought of Julian's triumphant face, of my own body being dragged to the cellar, sent a tremor through me.

es left on the c

began to tremble, then convulse, a violent, rattling shudder that shook the entire

ts. It smelled of incense and bitter almonds-the smell of the poison being expe

ttered. Then, t

rk, and utterly feral. There was no confusion in them, no weakness. Only pain, and a cold, pr

r came at the precis

htened my dress, and walked

her knees, praying. Clara was weeping into her hands. And Julian... Julian looke

irk playing on his lips. "Has y

g. I simply s

blood still staining his lips. He was pale, gaunt, and looked like a man who had clawed his way out of his own gr

dissolved, replaced by a ma

on his throne. And