My eyes darted from the leaves in her basket to her wicked smile. How had I never seen it before?
“You are the Viper,” I said. “Youmade all the potions.”
Her mouth formed a fine line. “Like I said…we do what we can to survive.”
She walked a few paces until she stood in front of a plant with heart-shaped leaves with thick stems. I followed her, eyeing the beautiful fuchsia flowers that grew in small clusters at the top.
“For example,” Mother tapped on one of the shining leaves with the tip of her shears. “When the Duchess came to me needing to make an heir, I offered her a mixture from the milk of the Venus heart. That secret granted me access to the Hytons’ inner circle…but I never thought my little potion would create a high demand.”
My stomach twisted into a knot—she invented Cupid’s Blood. The hazy memory, the blood-speckled thighs, and the violet sickness all came from her hands.Sheruined my chances at being Duchess.Shehad a hand in the invasion of my body. My own damn mother.
My nails bit into the leaf. “Then you could have made it wrong. You could have made it less effective.”
“I could have. Once.” The wicker handle of the basket crinkled in her grip as she looked at the pink flowers. “If I made the poison, I controlled what was in it. I knew the smell. The taste. The way it changed the way wine sloshes around the goblet. That knowledge waspower.Your father never faced the axe for high treason because Anders needed me.”
What she had done was disgusting…but I was not sure if I could blame her. Her wrists were bound the moment my father inked that agreement with Duke Hyton. Crafting potions might have been the only back door of that horrible deal.
Ravenwoods survive, she had always told me. Was that not all she had done?
Was that not allIhad done?
I loosened my grip. “So that is why you were the Duke’s mistress. It was just a cover for potion making.”
A forlorn smile grew on her face as she eyed the pink petals. “No, though Anders did believe having the Viper in his bed made the outside world much less frightening.”
I nearly retched.
She lifted one of the leaves of the Venus heart. “Get a closer look, these little ones like to hide in the shade.”
I leaned over and spied a small plant with jagged, spiked leaves and black flowers like fangs shooting out of its bulbous top.
“Thornebow thistle,” Mother said in a dark voice. “The nectar from this creates the deadliest poison known to man. Normally people poison their victims over time, little by little. Once there is enough poison in the body, the victim’s blood turns black, the muscles spasm out of control, and they die within minutes.”
My hand crawled to the side of my bodice, right over where my wound had been. My eyes danced from thistle to thistle as my blood ran cold.
Thatwas what had poisoned me on Nordingaard.
But how? Erik and Endre certainly would not have poisoned me, Ganora would not have worked with anything like poison with how much power she wielded, and Daigen needed me and would have never risked my life.
So where had it come from? Who could have even gotten the Thornebow thistle into my body while I was sitting on Riyan’s shoulder more than ten feet in the air?
And that dangerous little plant was just sitting in the middle of the palace conservatory whereanyonecould have access to it.
My mouth was almost too dry to speak. “Why grow it at all? If you destroy it, it cannot poison anyone.”
“A viper needs her venom.” She picked up her basket. “But now that you mention it, being the Duke’s mistress was an excellent cover for my potion making. No one thinks a whore can be good at anything.”
She turned and walked toward the bookshelves. Mother was being odd, as usual, but maybe she could help me on my original quest for knowledge. “I am looking for a book for Brietta—something enlightening.”
Mother reached up and grabbed a blue book that read “Secrets of Alastar the Wise” on the spine. “How about this one?”
She tugged on the book and a loud click rang in my ears. Mother pushed the bookcase open like a door. An earthy smell wafted out of the dark space behind the bookcase.
She stepped through the narrow opening and I followed her. Inside was a small room lit only by a narrow window with stained glass panes of purple thistles. Bunches of dried herbs hung upside-down from the ceiling. Glass tinctures lined the wooden shelves on the walls.
Mother set her basket on a work table and laid one of the leaves in front of her. She used a small rolling pin to flatten the succulent leaf and squeeze the gooey nectar out.
“Close the door, Serafina,” she grunted as she rolled.
