Chapter 96 Poison
ADIRA
Kelvin’s words echo like a riddle I can’t untangle.
“Even if you search the entire outskirts of the city, every goddamn inch, she’s not there. You’ll find nothing.”
It replays in my mind like a whisper turned drumbeat even now, as I sit in the silence of my private chambers, the firelight throwing sharp angles across the stone walls. My hands are steady in my lap, but my heart won’t stop its pounding.
And it all began to make sense. The outskirts, nobody would have ever thought she would be there. Nobody has searched there for Iris because the possibility was ruled out before it was even considered.
Nothing in the outskirts.
Not because there is nothing but because that’s where she is, hidden in plain emptiness.
I rise from the velvet chair and begin to pace. I’ve ordered three separate search parties into the heart of the city, wasted resources combing alleys, cellars, old temples. All on false leads and distractions. She isn’t in the city. That coward girl has fled into the only place no one dares linger long: the wild ring of land outside the Haven walls.
And Kelvin, that pathetic bleeding-heart fool, gave me the truth disguised as dismissal.
A dry laugh escapes me. It’s clever, I’ll give him that. But clever doesn’t win wars. Ruthlessness does.
I stop pacing and walk to the mirror. My reflection is calm. Regal. Every pin in place. Not a hair astray.
If Darian stays hidden long enough, if Iris stays alive long enough, Zeus inherits the throne by default.
And I?
I’m nothing.
No crown. No alliance. No seat.
I slam my hand against the vanity, rattling the silver combs and perfume bottles. One falls, a delicate vial of rosewater, and shatters across the stone floor. The scent rises instantly. Too soft. Too sweet. A mockery.
I can’t afford another failure. I cannot afford another day of waiting.
I know Zeus won’t move against Iris. He has pre planned every single thing that’s happening and somewhere deep down, he likes that she won his brother’s devotion. A fairy tale prince, clinging to honor and fate.
Which means I need someone else. Someone powerful. Calculating.
Someone who understands that to win, sometimes, you must let something bleed.
I dismiss my aides.
They flinch at the sharpness in my tone but obey without question. I lock the chamber door behind them, then move quickly through the private corridor toward the east wing.
The torchlight flickers as I descend.
When I reach the door, I don’t knock.
Alpha Conan is standing at the hearth when I enter.
His back is to me, but even in shadow, his presence fills the room.
“Adira,” he says, voice a low rumble. “You came without an invitation.”
I step forward and bow my head, just enough. “Because I come with a purpose.”
He turns, eyes sharp, reading me in a glance. He gestures to the chair opposite his desk.
“Sit.”
I do.
He pours two glasses of wine, no offer, no question, then places one before me. I don’t drink. Not yet.
“You look exhausted,” he observes. “Worn thin. You’re bleeding influence, daughter.”
“I’m bleeding time,” I say, not flinching. “Darian’s run to the wild with that girl. They’re hiding and if I wait for them to crawl back, it’ll be with Zeus on the throne and me in chains.”
My father’s jaw flexes slightly. “And you want my help. To do what, exactly?”
“I want her gone, dad,” I say. “I want Iris dead.”
He doesn’t blink.
There is silence between us for a long, drawn-out moment. Then he leans back in his chair, swirling his wine. “Many have wanted that girl dead. Few have succeeded.”
“I’m not many,” I reply, voice low. “I know where she is now. Or close enough. But sending another pack of soldiers? It won’t work. Darian will fight. Kelvin might warn her. I need something quiet. Something final.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “What are you asking me for, Adira?”
I meet his gaze. “Poison.”
Stillness.
He watches me over the rim of his glass, unreadable. Then he sets the cup down, steeples his fingers beneath his chin.
“You understand what that means?” he says softly. “If this goes wrong, if it’s traced, the Council will not spare you. They’ll gut you in the square.”
“It won’t go wrong,” I answer. “Not if you help me do it right.”
He studies me for a long time, then rises.
From behind a tapestry, he unlocks a hidden drawer, one even I never knew existed. From it, he pulls a small, cloth-wrapped bundle.
He returns, unwraps it slowly. Inside: a glass vial no larger than my thumb. The liquid inside is clear as spring water.
“This is Vallora,” he says. “Extracted from the blossom of the grey iris. Tasteless. Odorless. Five drops in wine or water, and the heart stops within minutes. Looks like natural failure, unless you know what to look for.”
I reach for it.
He doesn’t let go.
“Once,” he says, voice deadly quiet, “I used this to end a king who tried to break our treaty. I told no one. Buried the truth in the roots of peace. Do you understand the weight of what you’re asking for, Adira?”
I grip the vial firmly. “I do. And I accept it.”
He watches me a beat longer, then releases his hold.
“But it must not be traced,” he warns. “No reckless assassins. No foolish letters. If you use this, you use it alone. And if you fail…”
“I won’t.”
His eyes flick with pride, and something darker. “Then go.”
The halls are empty as I leave.
The vial is cold in my hand, wrapped now in soft velvet and slipped inside my cloak. I keep one hand over it the entire walk back to my chambers, heartbeat drumming against my ribs like a war cry.
This is what power feels like. Not loud. Not blood-soaked. Not fury.
But precise, icy and immensely deliberate.
I reach my door, shut it behind me, and lock it.
Inside, the room is too quiet. I move to the window, part the curtains.
Out beyond the city, the outskirts stretch like a dark promise beneath the night sky.
Iris is out there. Somewhere.
And now?
Now, I have to find her.
The poison will do the rest.
I turn from the window and walk back to my mirror.
I press my fingers to the velvet hidden beneath my cloak.
Soon, she will be a whisper, too.
I lower my voice to the quiet room and whisper, “I will find you, Iris.”
And when I do, it will be the last thing she ever sees.