Page 72 of Alchemised
Ferron paused, his eerie eyes instantly alighting on Helena, his gaze flicking to the open dining room doors.
“I didn’t realise you let your prisoner have free rein in the house,” Atreus said, looking at her with distaste.
Ferron raised a silencing hand, his focus on Helena, a predatory intensity illuminating his eyes.
Her instincts screamed for her to flee, but she didn’t want to find out how fast he could set the house on her; the cage of iron bars in that foyer could easily chase her down.
Best to avoid suspicion.
She forced herself to stop and face them, burying her hand in her skirts.
Ferron drifted towards her. His gaze seemed to be cataloguing her, as if there was a checklist he was reviewing. He idly pulled his gloves off, pocketing them.
She took an involuntary step back, the pattern of the knife hilt biting into her palm.
“I don’t often see you in this part of the house.” His voice was casual. “Was that your first time in the dining room?”
Her mouth went dry. “I was—looking at the flowers.”
He glanced towards the dining room again, eyes narrowing. “Were you, now?”
She used his distraction to adjust her grip on the knife. “Yes. I like—flowers.”
Heat rushed along her neck, a cold pit forming in her stomach.
“Let’s see it, then.” His eyes were on her hand where it was hidden amid her skirts.
Helena’s heart dropped like a stone as she tried not to react, to appear innocent.
“What did you take?” He held out his hand.
She could try lying. He wouldn’t believe her. She could try running. He’d catch her.
She could try killing him.
Yes. She’d do that.
She let her eyes widen, jaw slackening with surprise. His mouth curved into a faint smirk.
She lunged.
She had minimal training in combat alchemy, but her body moved on instinct. The blade sliced through the air as she flung herself at him.
Ferron dodged, as she’d known he would. A perfect basic defence dodge.
She let go of the knife, sending it spinning through the air.
Resonance would have made it easier, but she could do without.
She caught the hilt in her left hand, ignoring the pain that shot up her arm. With resonance she would have transmuted the length, but it took a split second longer to slam the blade into his chest, straight for his heart.
Pain exploded through her wrist. She’d thrown all her weight into the blow, but she could have been stabbing granite; the blade barely pierced him.
Ferron gave a low gasp as if she’d knocked his breath out, catching her by the shoulders as he doubled over. She used both hands and pushed harder as something inside her left wrist tore, trying to force the blade through his heart.
Ferron laughed, his lips close enough to her neck that his breath ran down her spine.
“And here I thought you’d use poison,” he said, his voice mocking.
