Chapter 18: The Poisoned Offer
The obsidian walls of Eris’s study drank the light from the sconces, leaving the air thick and shadowed. It smelled of old strategies here—dust, cinnamon, the metallic tang of ink, and that strange, electric hum that seemed to emanate from the very stones. I found him at the great black desk, a glass of wine untouched at his elbow, his gaze fixed on nothing. He was a statue carved from tension.
I took a breath, the sealed parchment from Rhysand cool in my damp hand. The walk from the receiving orb had felt miles long. I forced my shoulders back, the way I’d seen Feyre do when facing a council of surly Illyrians, and stepped into the pool of light around his desk.
He didn’t look up immediately. He’d known I was there the moment I’d crossed the threshold. This was his territory, every current of air reporting to him.
“They’ll help us,” I said. My voice sounded too bright, a bird’s chirp in a tomb. I placed the heavy cream envelope beside his wine glass. The official Night Court seal, a mountain and three stars, winked in the dim light.
Finally, he moved. His eyes lifted to mine. There was no warmth in them, only a chilling, appraising calculation. It was the look he gave maps and battle reports. It pinned me to the spot.
“Help is a vague term,” he said, his voice flat. “Define it.”
I swallowed. “Rhysand insists we need a better plan than open warfare. Something precise. Untraceable.” My fingers trembled slightly as I reached into the pocket of my dress and withdrew a second, smaller piece of paper, this one soft from handling. “They sent this.”
I unfolded it, smoothing it on the dark marble before him. The handwriting was unfamiliar, elegant and looping. A list of ingredients. Measurements. A method of preparation that made my stomach turn.
Eris’s eyes scanned it. He didn’t touch it. His expression didn’t change, but the air in the room grew heavier, colder. “Wolf’s bane. Phantom orchid pollen. Ground midnight lotus seed.” He named them like inventory. “A heart-stopper cocktail. Elegant. Painful.” He looked up at me. “The High Lord of the Night Court keeps such recipes on hand. How instructive.”
“It’s from his spymaster, I think,” I murmured, defensive of my friends. “The point is, it’s undetectable. It mimics a catastrophic heart failure. No magic residue. No trail.”
“And how,” he asked, picking up his wine glass finally and taking a slow sip, “do you propose we get my father to consume it? He has tasters for his wine, for his food. He trusts nothing. He enjoys nothing but the fear of others.” He set the glass down with a soft click. “This is a thoughtful gift, Lilly, but it is a blade without a hilt. You cannot wield it.”
This was the moment. The confession curdled in my throat, tasting of shame and sea-salt. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling the chill of the obsidian room seep into my bones. I could feel his eyes on me, patient and relentless.
“There’s a way,” I said, the words barely a whisper. I forced myself to meet his gaze. The calculating look flickered, replaced by a sharper attention.
I took another shaky breath. “I have an ability.” I looked down at my hands, twisting together. “A dark one. I don’t like to use it. I’m… ashamed of it.” The admission burned my tongue. “Feyre and Rhysand knew because they figured it out before I did. I didn’t even understand what was happening at first.”
I chanced a glance at him. He was utterly still, a predator listening for the shift of a leaf.
“I didn’t want to tell you,” I rushed on, the words tumbling out now that the dam had broken. “Not because I don’t trust you. But because I hate it. I have healing abilities as well, but you knew about that. This… this is the opposite.”
“What is it?” His voice was neutral, giving me nothing.
I bit my lip, hard enough to sting. “I can get people to follow my command. Not just a suggestion. A compulsion. If I… if I sing a certain way.” I flinched at the memory of the first time, a rowdy merchant in Velaris who wouldn’t take no for an answer, who suddenly, placidly, turned and walked into a wall until I stopped in horror. “They call it a siren’s song. I hate it.”
The silence that followed was absolute. The hum of the room seemed to pause. Eris’s eyes had narrowed, not in disgust, but in rapid, reassessing thought.
“He needs to consume the whole thing,” I said, pointing a trembling finger at the recipe. “All of it. For it to work perfectly, to be truly untraceable.” I made myself say it, the plan forming as the awful words left my mouth. “All I have to do is… siren sing. And he’ll be compelled to drink the whole thing. The poison won’t be traceable, and it will look like he just suffered a heart attack.”
I finished, breathless, awaiting his recoil. His judgment. His fear.
He didn’t move. He stared at me, then slowly, his gaze traveled back to the recipe. Seconds ticked by, marked only by the frantic beat of my heart.
“A compulsion,” he repeated, testing the word. “Strong enough to override a High Lord’s will. To make him drink poison knowingly.”
“He won’t know it’s poison,” I whispered. “The command would just be to drink. His mind would rationalize it. Find a reason. But he’d empty the cup.”
Eris leaned back in his high-backed chair, steepling his fingers before his mouth. His eyes were no longer on me, but looking through me, into a dozen branching futures. “This changes the geometry of every possible strategy,” he said, almost to himself. “The risk shifts. From a physical incursion to a single, perfect performance.” His gaze snapped back to me, sharp and probing. “The strain on you? The cost?”
He watched me, waiting for the answer to the cost. The question hung between us, another ledger item in his mind. I could see him weighing it, the potential damage to me against the certain death of his father.
I closed my eyes and shook my head, a hard, sharp motion. “There is no strain, Eris.” I opened my eyes, forcing myself to hold his penetrating stare. “I wasn’t made like some fae are. Not by the Cauldron.”
I let that truth, the one I’d carried from another world, sit in the electric air for a heartbeat. His eyebrows drew together slightly, the only sign of his surprise. “I was made fae by something much older.” The words felt foreign, dangerous. “Using my ability on him would take as much effort as lifting a glass of wine.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, a feeble shield. The silence that followed was different. It wasn’t thoughtful. It was stunned. “You can’t tell anyone about this,” I whispered, the plea sharp. “About how I was made. About how much power I wield.”
I saw it then, the flicker in his gaze. Not fear, but a sudden, brutal recalculation. I was no longer just a bold human-turned-fae from a strange world. I was a variable of immense and unknown potency. I bit my lip, the tang of copper blooming. “I should’ve told you this. But I didn’t want you to be afraid of me. Or think I was a monster.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. He looked from me, to the poison recipe, and back to me. His face was a mask of carved amber, but his mind—I could almost hear the frantic, strategic clicking behind his eyes. He leaned forward slowly, bracing his elbows on the dark marble. The silver locket on the desk hummed, a faint vibrational song.
“A monster,” he repeated, his voice low and considering. He picked up the recipe again, his fingers careful on the paper. “This plan just evolved from a precarious dagger-thrust to a guaranteed kill shot. Because of you.” He set the paper down and looked at me, his green eyes gleaming in the sconce light. “Do I look afraid?”
He didn’t. He looked fascinated. Hungry. It was more unnerving than any revulsion would have been.
“I look relieved,” he stated, answering his own question. He finally rose from his chair, the movement fluid and deliberate. He came around the desk, stopping an arm’s length from me. The scent of cinnamon and him washed over me. “For five centuries, I have had to strategize with weakness. My own. My court’s. My allies’ limitations.”
He took one step closer. I didn’t retreat. “You are not a weakness, Lilly. Or a monster.” His gaze traveled over my face, as if seeing the hidden architecture for the first time. “You are a catastrophic advantage. One only I know about.”
His hand came up, but instead of touching me, he gestured to the room, the castle, the world beyond. “This changes everything. The timeline condenses. The risks are different, but they are manageable.” He finally touched me then, a single finger tilting my chin up. His touch was warm, his expression ruthlessly focused. “Can you control it? Precisely? The command would need to be specific. ‘Drink this.’ Nothing more. No flourish.”
I nodded, my skin burning where he touched me. “Yes. It’s a directed compulsion. I can aim it.”
“Good.” He released my chin, his hand falling back to his side. He turned and walked to the towering obsidian fireplace, staring into the cold, dark grate. “We will need a reason for you to be near him at a private moment. A social function. A familial summons he cannot refuse.” He spoke to the ashes, his mind racing ahead. “He will want to see you. To assess the creature his son is so curiously attached to. His arrogance will demand it.”
A cold knot tightened in my stomach. It was real now. We were planning it. “When?”
“Soon.” He turned back, his silhouette dark against the stone. “The next full moon. There is a harvest revel at the Forest House. My attendance, with you, is expected. It provides the opportunity.”
He walked back to the desk, picked up the Night Court’s sealed letter, and broke the crest with a clean snap of his thumb. He scanned the contents, his eyes darting side to side. A faint, cold smile touched his lips. “Rhysand offers more than a recipe. He offers a distraction at our borders. A convenient incident to pull my father’s guard detail to the western woods.” He looked at me. “They are committing to this. Because of you.”
He let the letter fall to the desk. The hum of the silver locket seemed to grow a fraction louder. “You understand what you are offering? Once done, it cannot be undone. You will have killed a High Lord.”
“I understand.” My voice was steadier than I felt. “I’m not offering to kill a High Lord.” I met his gaze, letting him see the resolve there, hard and clear. “I’m offering to kill the male who left you in the dark for a year.”
Something fractured in his composure. A barely perceptible flinch, a tightening around his eyes. He looked away, towards the fogged window that showed nothing but night. The silence stretched, filled with the memory of his own shattered voice in a silk-draped room.
When he looked back, his face was smooth again, but his eyes held a new, grim light. “Then we have a plan.” He moved to a cabinet, pulling out a rolled map. “We prepare. Every detail. Every possible variable.”
He unfurled the parchment across the desk, the sound loud in the quiet room. The map showed the Forest House in intricate, inked detail. He pointed to a chamber on the eastern wing. “His private solar. He retires there after formal revels, before the more… base festivities begin. He will be alone there, for a window of perhaps twenty minutes. That is our moment.”
I approached the desk, looking at the labyrinth of hallways and courtyards. “How do I get in?”
“With me.” His finger traced a path from the great hall. “As my escort, you will be granted access to the family wings. I will create a reason to leave you near the door. A forgotten shawl, a request for air.” His finger tapped the solar’s location. “You will go in. You will have the poison already in a decanter, something from his own stock. You will sing. He will drink. You will leave.”
He said it with such clean, procedural certainty. “And you?”
“I will be establishing an alibi in the hall, in plain sight of a dozen influential courtiers.” His voice was devoid of emotion. “When the news breaks, my grief will be… contained. Appropriate.”
The clinical nature of it was chilling. This was the reality beneath the quiet mornings and the butter cakes. This was the male he had been forged into. I didn’t flinch from it. I understood it.
“We practice,” I said. He looked up, questioning. “The compulsion. You need to know what it feels like. So you understand, and so I know I can control it perfectly.”
He considered this, then gave a single, slow nod. “Tomorrow. In the training yard at dawn. No one will be there.” He rolled the map up, the decision made. “For now, we sleep. Or pretend to.”
He extinguished the sconces with a wave of his hand, plunging the study into darkness save for the weak moonlight from the window. He didn’t take my hand, but he stayed close as we walked from the room, our shoulders almost brushing. The ghost of the plan walked with us, a silent, third companion down the darkened hall.