Eliot had transported Eris's body back to the manor under cover of darkness, calling secretly for the family doctor and butler with the utmost discretion. If word got out that the acting head of the Duofuera family's life hung in the balance, vultures would circle to claim their pieces.
Eris's body convulsed, slick with sweat and growing stiffer by the minute. His breathing came in shallow, ragged gasps.
"I'm sorry, young Master Eliot," Doctor Perthran said, his voice tight with frustration. "I've never seen this type of poison before. I'm Lord Eris's personal physician I know his constitution perfectly but if we don't act soon, we'll lose him. His vital signs are failing. His pulse is weakening."
"Then what are we supposed to do, Doctor Perthran, if you cannot intervene?" the butler asked, his usual composure cracking at the edges.
Sitting in the chair near the bed where Eris lay, Eliot was still reeling from the fight. His body ached with exhaustion, and the appearance of the assailant haunted him like a waking nightmare. He had agreed to help Eris track down the people surveilling the family those who might have some connection to Adalisa's death but what he'd witnessed today was on a completely different scale.
They weren't people. No, they weren't human, Eliot thought, his hands trembling slightly. They couldn't be. Their bodies, the way they moved, the way they felt it was inhuman. Abominable.
He raised his head, his expression dark and anxious. His friend lay before him, drenched in sweat and suffering from an unknown poison that even the doctor couldn't identify. His heart tightened. He felt like he was standing in deep water with no way out. If anything happened to Eris now how would the Duofuera family survive such an enormous blow? After Ada's death, they were never the same. Even Eris had completely lost himself. Perhaps the only things keeping him grounded were his fiancée and the responsibility of being the next head of the family, protecting what little remained of it.
The butler and the doctor watched Eliot, waiting for direction.
"Sir Eliot," Doctor Perthran said urgently, stepping closer. "We need to know what to do. Every minute he's getting worse."
Eliot's voice came out faint, strained. "Contact Madame Duofuera immediately. Explain the situation. She needs to know." He swallowed hard. "I can't make these kinds of decisions alone for Eris, even if it means her discovering his plan."
The butler bowed his head slightly. "Yes, sir. I'll see to it at once."
Eliot turned to the doctor, desperation creeping into his tone. "Is there any way to keep him stable? Anything to slow the poison's progression?"
Doctor Perthran's jaw tightened. "I'll see what I can do, but I make no promises. This is beyond anything in my experience."
He moved back to Eris's bedside, opening his medical bag with practiced efficiency, though his hands betrayed a slight tremor.
Earlier That Day
The afternoon light filtered through the tall windows of the drawing room on the first floor, casting long shadows across the Persian carpet and gilded furniture. The room smelled faintly of beeswax and old roses, the scent clinging to the heavy damask curtains that framed the view of the estate grounds.
Eris's mother stood at the window, one hand resting against the frame. Below, her son moved with purpose down the gravel drive, his dark coat sharp against the pale stone path. The wind caught at the edges of his cloak, and she watched until he passed through the iron gates and disappeared beyond the line of ancient oaks bordering the property.
Behind her, the grandmother sat on the velvet sofa, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The old woman's gaze fixed on the same window, though her eyes seemed to look beyond the glass, beyond the grounds, into something neither of them could name.
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked steadily. Outside, the wind rustled through the trees, their branches scraping against the windows like skeletal fingers seeking entry. A crow called from somewhere in the garden, its cry sharp and lonely.
Eris's mother didn't move from her place. Her breath fogged the glass slightly, then faded. A tightness gripped her chest a mother's instinct, perhaps, or something deeper. The way he'd walked, the set of his shoulders, the determination in his stride it all felt too much like a farewell.
The grandmother's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the ivory handle of her walking cane. She felt it too. The weight of something unseen pressing down on the manor, creeping through the halls like a chill that no fire could chase away.
Neither woman spoke. They simply sat and stood in the golden afternoon light, watching the empty drive, feeling the creeping dread that something terrible was already in motion.
Then Vyera turned sharply, crossing the room in three quick strides until she stood directly in front of Lyanna. Her hands trembled at her sides.
"Mother." Her voice cracked. "If what you say you saw that day is true if Ada is truly alive shouldn't we tell the others? I'm losing my mind watching them like this. Lyiss and Eris, they're... they're destroying themselves. We couldn't even hold the marriage ceremony. She refuses to marry. She won't even speak of it."
Lyanna's gaze lifted slowly, locking onto Vyera's with an intensity that made the younger woman's breath catch. "You should concern yourself with how we're going to bring Ada back," she said, her voice low and deliberate. "Not with what you think the others deserve to know."
"But what about my son?" Vyera's voice rose, desperation bleeding through. "What about my other daughter? I can't stand watching them suffer like this. They have to know "
"Silence, Vyera."
The word cut through the air like a blade. Lyanna's knuckles whitened around her cane.
"I told you because you're Ada's mother," she continued, each word measured and cold. "But if you want to lose that daughter forever, then by all means keep running your mouth. I'm doing everything I can." She leaned forward slightly, her eyes burning. "Those two are alive. You can see them, touch them, speak to them. They should know Ada would never accept them treating their lives like this because of her. It's their choice. They're coping with grief like everyone else. They have responsibilities. They shouldn't blame Ada's death for what they're doing now."
"I, I just" Vyera's voice broke, her hands rising helplessly.
"You know nothing." Lyanna's tone softened, but only barely. The weight of her words pressed down like stone. "I'm in contact with someone I trust someone who can help us. But this requires absolute discretion. Absolute silence." She paused, her gaze searching Vyera's face. "I hope you'll be strong for your daughter, wherever she might be. We need to fight for her. Not against each other."
Vyera's shoulders sagged. She turned away, one hand covering her mouth as if to hold back a sob. The clock ticked on. The wind rattled the windows.
Lyanna remained seated, her expression unreadable, her fingers still gripping the cane as though it were the only thing anchoring her to the earth.
Vyera stood alone in her chambers, the lamplight casting long shadows across the walls. She hadn't bothered to change for bed. Her hands rested on the windowsill, her gaze fixed on nothing lost somewhere between the present and the unbearable weight of secrets she couldn't share.
A soft knock broke the silence.
"Madame?" The butler's voice was low, strained. "May I speak with you? It's urgent."
She turned, her brow furrowing. "Come in."
The door opened slowly. The butler stepped inside, his face pale, his usual composure fractured. He didn't wait for her to ask.
"It's Master Eris, Madame," he said, his voice tight. "He's been brought back to the manor. He's been poisoned."
The words struck her like a blow to the chest.
"What?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
"He's gravely ill. Doctor Perthran is with him now, but " The butler hesitated, his throat working. "His condition is worsening."
Vyera didn't wait to hear more. She was already moving, skirts sweeping behind her as she tore past the butler and into the corridor. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The hallway stretched endlessly before her, polished floors gleaming under the dim sconces. Her footsteps echoed like drumbeats.
"Eris," she breathed, her voice breaking. "No. No, not him too."
She rounded the corner toward the east wing, breath coming in short, desperate gasps. Behind her, the butler followed, calling her name, but she didn't stop.
The commotion stirred the manor. A door opened farther down the hall.
Lyanna emerged, leaning heavily on her cane, silver hair loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were sharp despite the hour.
"What is this?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the chaos.
Vyera stopped and turned to face her. "It's Eris," she choked out. "He's been poisoned. He's dying."
Lyanna's expression hardened. For a moment, she said nothing. Then she straightened, her grip tightening on the cane. "Take me to him."
The three of them moved together through the darkened corridors Vyera leading with trembling hands, Lyanna following with grim determination, the butler trailing behind. The manor seemed to hold its breath around them.
When they reached Eris's bedroom, Vyera pushed the door open without hesitation.
The scene inside was worse than she could have imagined.
Eliot sat slumped in the chair beside the bed, face ashen, eyes hollow with exhaustion. He looked up as they entered but said nothing. There was nothing left to say.
Doctor Perthran stood over Eris, sleeves rolled up, hands moving frantically over vials and instruments spread across the bedside table. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful.
And Eris
Vyera's breath caught in her throat.
He was worse. So much worse.
His skin had taken on a grayish pallor, slick with sweat that soaked through the sheets beneath him. His chest barely rose and fell, each breath a shallow, rattling gasp. His body was rigid, muscles locked in unnatural tension, hands curled into claws against the blankets. Dark veins had begun to spread from his neck, creeping upward toward his jaw like roots burrowing beneath his skin.
"Eris," Vyera whispered, moving toward the bed. Her legs felt weak beneath her.
Lyanna stood in the doorway, her knuckles white around her cane. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes her eyes betrayed everything. Fear. Fury. Grief.
"What happened?" Lyanna's voice was low, dangerous.
Doctor Perthran didn't look up. "Poison. Unknown origin. I've never seen anything like it." His voice cracked. "I'm trying to slow it, but "
"But what?" Vyera's voice rose, sharp with panic.
"But I don't know if I can."
The room fell silent except for the sound of Eris's labored breathing and the faint clink of glass vials in the doctor's trembling hands.
Vyera sank to her knees beside the bed, reaching for her son's hand. It was cold. Too cold.
"Please," she whispered. "Please, not him. Not like this."
Lyanna's grip tightened on her cane. For a moment, she stood perfectly still, her gaze fixed on her grandson's deteriorating form. Then she drew a slow, deliberate breath and stepped forward.
"Doctor," she said, her voice cutting through the despair like a blade. "Tell me exactly what you're observing. The progression. The symptoms. Everything."
Doctor Perthran looked up, startled by the command in her tone. He wiped his brow with a trembling hand. "The veins they started at the site of the wound on his shoulder. They've spread across his chest, up his neck. Moving faster now."
"And his breathing?"
"Shallow. Irregular. His lungs are struggling." The doctor's voice wavered. "His muscles have locked some kind of paralytic effect, but not complete. It's as if his body is fighting itself."
Lyanna moved closer, her eyes narrowing as she studied the dark lines beneath Eris's skin. "The rigidity does it follow the veins?"
"Yes. Wherever the poison spreads, the muscles seize." Doctor Perthran gestured helplessly. "But it's not just physical. His pulse is erratic. His temperature is dropping, yet he's sweating as if he's burning from within. It's it's contradictory. Nothing makes sense."
"What about his mind?" Lyanna's voice was sharp.
The doctor hesitated. "He's been delirious. Incoherent. When he was conscious earlier, he seemed " He paused, searching for words. "Tormented. Like he was seeing things that weren't there."
Lyanna's jaw tightened. She straightened, her gaze sweeping over the vials and instruments scattered across the bedside table. "You can't explain the mechanism."
It wasn't a question.
Doctor Perthran's shoulders sagged. "No, Madame. I can't. This poison it's attacking him on multiple fronts at once. Body, mind, vital systems. I've never seen anything like it. It's as if someone designed it to " He stopped, his face pale.
"To what?"
"To break him apart from the inside."
The words hung in the air like a curse.
Lyanna stood motionless for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she stepped back from the bed.
"I need to attend to something," she said, her voice measured and final. "Doctor Perthran, keep doing what you can."
Before anyone could respond, she turned and left the room, her cane tapping a steady rhythm against the floor as she disappeared into the corridor.
Lyanna's chambers were silent.
She closed the door behind her and stood in the darkness, the only light coming from the dying embers in the hearth. Her hand remained on the door handle for a moment, steadying herself. Then she released it and moved to the center of the room.
She closed her eyes.
The world around her seemed to recede the manor, the walls, the flickering firelight all of it fading into nothing. She reached inward, past the surface of her thoughts, past the fear and fury churning in her chest, down to the place where the darkness waited.
The shadow.
It wasn't a physical thing. It was a presence, a connection woven through the fabric of something older and deeper than the world she walked in daylight. She felt it stir as she called to it, her consciousness extending into that vast, silent network.
Monique.
The name echoed through the void, carried on threads of will and intent.
For a moment, nothing. Then the darkness shifted.
A presence materialized within the shadow sharp, precise, familiar. Monique's voice came through the connection, calm and knowing.
I know why you're calling.
Lyanna's breath steadied. Then you know what I need.
I do. There was a pause, and when Monique spoke again, her tone carried weight. I will help. But afterward, we must speak you, I, and the others. This cannot wait any longer.
Lyanna's jaw tightened. First, we save him.
Agreed.
The connection held for a moment longer, then dissolved. Lyanna opened her eyes.
The room was as it had been silent, dim, unchanged. But she was no longer alone.
Monique stood near the doorway, as if she had always been there. She wore robes of deep forest green and earth-brown, layered and flowing, adorned with symbols stitched in thread that caught the faint firelight strangely. Her hair was long and dark, streaked with silver, pulled back from a face that was both ageless and ancient. Her eyes were sharp, piercing the eyes of someone who had seen things most would never comprehend.
She inclined her head slightly. "Shall we?"
Lyanna nodded.
Together, they left the room.
When the door to Eris's bedroom opened, every head turned.
Vyera looked up from where she knelt beside the bed, her tear-streaked face frozen in shock. Doctor Perthran straightened, his instruments still clutched in his hands. Eliot, slumped in the corner, lifted his hollow gaze.
Lyanna entered first, her cane tapping against the floor. Behind her came a stranger.
The air in the room shifted.
"Who " Vyera began, her voice breaking.
Lyanna's expression was calm, absolute. "A healer I know. She specializes in rare afflictions things beyond the reach of conventional medicine. She can help where Doctor Perthran cannot."
Doctor Perthran's face darkened. He stepped forward, his voice tight with wounded pride and desperation. "Madame, I must advise"
"She will examine him." Lyanna's tone was ice, brooking no argument. "Everyone will leave. Now."
The butler, who had been standing near the door, bowed immediately and slipped into the corridor. The remaining servants followed without a word.
Doctor Perthran opened his mouth to protest, but Lyanna's gaze silenced him. He gathered his instruments with trembling hands and moved toward the door.
Vyera rose slowly from where she knelt, her legs unsteady. She glanced back at Eris, then at the stranger, her eyes brimming with unspoken questions.
"Come," Lyanna said quietly, gesturing toward the corridor.
Eliot pushed himself up from the corner, exhaustion etched across his face. He followed without protest.
One by one, they filed into the hallway. The door closed behind them with a soft click, leaving only Monique and Eris within.
Inside the room, silence settled like a shroud.
Monique moved forward with clinical precision, her gaze sweeping over Eris's form. She approached the bed with deliberate, practiced movements, leaning close to study the dark veins spreading like roots beneath his skin, the rigidity of his muscles, the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Her fingers hovered over his skin without touching, as if sensing something beneath the surface.
Then she straightened.
"This poison," she said, her voice calm but grave, "is not meant to kill quickly. It's designed to break him."
She paused, her eyes narrowing as she traced the pattern of veins with her gaze. "Body and mind. It attacks both simultaneously tearing down his physical form while fracturing his will, his sense of self. A slow destruction, methodical and deliberate. Like a fire burning from the inside out, consuming him piece by piece until nothing remains but rot."
The implication hung in the air, though she didn't elaborate.
"He's still alive because his will is strong. But that won't last much longer."
She reached into a worn leather satchel slung across her shoulder and began withdrawing items small vials filled with liquids that shimmered strangely in the lamplight, bundles of dried herbs bound with twine, a smooth stone etched with symbols.
"The poison has already taken root," she murmured, setting her tools on the bedside table with deliberate care. "This won't be easy."
Her movements were precise and practiced as she began her work.
As everyone filed into the corridor, Vyera's gaze found Eliot immediately. He remained pressed against the far wall, his body folded in on itself as though gravity had become too much to bear. His clothes were torn and stained with things she didn't wish to examine too closely. His eyes those eyes that had always held a sharp intelligence were hollow now, haunted by something that had no name.
She approached him slowly, her footsteps deliberate and soft.
"Eliot," she said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Look at me."
He lifted his gaze to hers, and she saw the tremor in him not just physical exhaustion, but something deeper. Trauma. The weight of witnessing something that shouldn't exist.
"You can't help him by destroying yourself," she said quietly. "You need rest. Food. Clean clothes."
He shook his head, his voice hoarse. "I should stay. If he"
"If he needs you, we'll call." Vyera's tone was firm but not unkind. She turned slightly, catching the butler's eye. "Take him to the blue room in the east corridor. Close enough that we can reach him quickly. Provide water, food, and clean clothes. See that he rests."
The butler nodded and approached with the steady, practiced calm of someone accustomed to crisis. He didn't question, didn't hesitate.
Eliot resisted for a moment longer, his jaw clenching as he looked back toward Eris's door. But the butler's quiet presence solid and immovable gradually drew him away. Vyera watched as they moved down the corridor, the butler's hand steady on Eliot's arm, guiding him like a man leading someone back from the edge of an abyss.
When they disappeared around the corner, Vyera turned back to face the closed door of Eris's chamber.
She stood alone in the corridor, waiting.
Lyanna caught Vyera's arm gently, drawing her a few steps away from the others.
Vyera turned immediately, her eyes searching Lyanna's face. "Who is she? Where did you find her?"
Lyanna's expression was measured, unreadable. "Someone from my past. Someone who owes us favors and who understands things Doctor Perthran never will."
She paused, her grip tightening slightly on Vyera's arm.
"But Vyera after we save Eris, we must prepare to leave the manor. There are matters that require our immediate attention. Gather what you need. Tell no one."
Vyera stared at her, questions flooding her mind, but the finality in Lyanna's eyes silenced them all.
She nodded slowly.
Lyanna released her arm and turned back toward the door.
The corridor seemed to hold its breath.