But Kid couldn’t have reached him if he was under the influence of cottosvy. As Treycore recalled, those who recovered didn’t gradually regain their memories. It was instantaneous… like being shaken awake.
Something else was going on.
He recalled the chamber where Vera had kept her herbs and accompanying literature. Perhaps there was something about cottosvy he hadn’t considered. When Vera went to bed, he slipped past her guards, as he had done in the past to sneak into her library—a place he had enjoyed spending much of his time. He crept into her chamber of herbs and spices and riffled the bookshelves for information on cottosvy.
In a few of the texts from the botanists of Heaven, namely his old friend Sharire, who had been brutally murdered just before the War, he discovered the accounts of cottosvy recovery.
As Vera had mentioned, there were accounts of higherlings and fallens recovering from the herb when meeting with one they loved. However, as he read on the symptoms of the plant, he noted the irises of the poisoned victim would turn gray.
Kid’s irises weren’t gray, were they?
He remembered distinctly when he’d seen him in Vera’s lair they’d had that same brown shade he’d remembered so well… the shade he’d seen when Sydar had tricked him.
Either the text was mistaken or Vera was a liar, and he knew which was the case. Heat flashed through his cheeks. If not cottosvy, what had she given him that had made him like this?
He searched the chamber high and low, hoping to find a clue, something that would indicate what she was up to. He checked for books, notes, anything that would indicate a plan, but found nothing. This would not have been the room where she would have plotted, though. Her study, which was just a few corridors from this room, was where she worked night and day, as she had when they had been together.
It would be guarded, for it was the room where she conspired against the Council and the Leader.
He sifted through the books for a concoction he could create—one that would help him infiltrate her chamber. When he found a suitable mix, he fished through the herbs and grabbed a few bottles, which he quickly mixed before he made his way down the hall.
He peered around the corner.
Two guards stood outside the study. One was Ficorn, the other Treycore recognized as Kenth. Like Ficorn, Kenth wore black slacks, a leather harness, and a metal collar. He was far shorter than his comrade, though still taller than Treycore. Even though his height was less impressive, the bulge in his slacks, creeping down his thigh, suggested he had far more to offer than his neighbor.
Treycore walked casually toward them, acting as nonchalant as he could.
The guards eyed him but didn’t seem to be concerned by his presence.
“Hey, listen, guys, I’m a little lost. Can you help me out here?”
Ficorn’s eyebrows came together. He was clearly suspicious of Treycore’s motives.
Treycore undid his belt and the button of his pants.
Ficorn’s gaze softened, as his concern seemed to dissipate. Kenth grinned, looking at Ficorn.
Treycore slid his pants and underwear down to his knees, exposing his massive length and girth.
Their eyes were wide, as he knew they would be. Kenth had been as eager as Ficorn to steal a taste of Treycore during his time with Vera. And now, here they were, granted their opportunity to take advantage.
Ficorn and Kenth dropped to their knees and licked either side of his cock.
He thought of Kid, his love, so it stirred to life, convincing them of his intentions.
He wondered how long it would take for his plan to work, but no sooner than when Kenth’s tongue reached his balls, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed onto the floor. Ficorn looked at him, then at Treycore, who smiled as his victim passed out on top of the former.
“Thanks for the head, guys.”
The substance he’d created in Vera’s study was a powerful sedative, which he’d lathered on his dick to give his victims orally.
He slipped past the guards, opened the door, and entered the chamber, nearly as big as Vera’s dining hall. Chalk-ridden blackboards lined the walls. Papers were strewn about the floor around a desk. This must have been where she crafted her contracts.
He’d never been in this room, as even during their relationship, Vera had insisted this be her place of privacy. As he stepped inside, he noticed a nook at the far left of the room. Curious to see where it led, he approached it.
On a wooden slab pressed against the wall, chains restrained the limbs of a spread-eagle body. The face and body of the captive had been carved up so blood dripped from gaping cuts onto the floor, filling a tray beneath it. Various arms and legs had been sewn haphazardly across the creature’s body with what appeared to be wire. Wings behind the immortals back, wedged between him and the wooden slab, were cut off just above his shoulders, blood staining the white feathers.
Placed before the wooden slab, various torture devices—knives, daggers, barbed wire—scattered across a small table.
