Raul—Costa—whatever name he wanted to go by, scoffed beside him. “Let’s poison him. I can make the belladonna stronger.”
No.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to retreat into some safe place in my mind. But there was no escape.
The pungent scent of poisoned herbs invaded my nostrils, burning my throat.
Balthazar’s voice came from everywhere—from within me, outside, the walls, and the air. It wrapped around my mind like a snake, suffocating, inescapable.
“Where’s Emily?”
The hallucinogenic grip of belladonna tightened, dragging me into its depths. My vision wavered. My body shuddered. Breathing became a battle; every inhale was a ragged, broken gasp.
Hold on. Fight it.
But my mind was slipping. My mouth moved without permission, the words tumbling free, unbidden, and raw.
“I didn’t mean to kill all those people. I swear I didn’t.”
An inhale—a rustle of movement.
Balthazar’s voice boomed in my ears. “Yes! Tell me!”
The dam inside me crumbled. The poison had control now.
“I’m a monster,” I choked out. “A dark monster who enjoys killing. I tried to destroy my brother. I tried to kill his wife.”
I trembled, my body racked with sobs, my sins spilling forth like a confession at the gallows. “I lost the first love of my life. I lost my child. I don’t want to lose Emily. I don’t want to lose our child.”
A silence—thick, expectant.
Triumphant, Balthazar pressed.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Tell me everything, my son.”
He spoke to me like a father, a priest, someone I could trust with my secrets.
“I want to be a father so badly,” I confessed. “Not a father with dark ways. But the darkness—” I shuddered. “I crave it with every fiber of my soul. And yet... a part of me wants to be good. Emily makes me better.”
Poisoned as I was, I couldn’t separate fact from fiction. Shadows twisted into figures. Light warped and flickered. The things before my eyes—were they real? Or were they just figments of my broken mind?
Balthazar’s voice slithered through my ears, soft, insidious. “Now you’re going to tell me where Emily is. And where’s my dagger?”
My lips parted, treacherous. “She’s with Count Montego.”
Silence.
Then—“Who the hell is Count Montego?” Balthazar hissed.
I struggled to connect the dots. “He’s a count, a nobleman. He traveled with us… let us stay with him,” I mumbled.
“Where does he live?”
Costa’s voice cut in from the darkness. “What did he say?”
Balthazar’s voice grew louder, triumphant. “He says she’s with Count Montego.”
Costa scoffed. “Oh. Just an old man. We can easily overpower him.”
