The library door finally swung shut behind them with a muffled, echoing thud. For a second, Cherion just stood there in the corridor, leaning his back slightly against the cold wall, letting out a long, ragged sigh that felt like it had been trapped in his lungs for days.
He closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose where a sharp, persistent headache was beginning to pulse behind his temples. They were finally out. They had done the work. After what felt like an grueling marathon through the most obscure texts in the empire, Cherion, Zarius, and their inner circle had managed to pull off a small miracle.
They had narrowed down a list of specific, terrifying poisons that were completely tasteless, entirely odorless, and possessed a brutal, delayed-action mechanism. It was exactly the kind of invisible weapon a coward would use to strike down a royal without leaving a trace on the rim of a silver cup.
