A Usurper's Cause (Book #4)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Occidentis Caelum

The poor soul—the fourth who'd volunteered to be her next test subject for her latest potion—began to seize and release choking sounds that horrendously bounced off the bare walls of the underground tunnels.

Haven rubbed her chin and tilted her head, examining the paling of poor Balin's skin. She retrieved her journal from where she'd kept it tucked beneath her armpit. A lovely lady by the name of Alma who'd unexpectedly become Haven's personal assistant of sorts, stepped forward, holding an ink well and a quill. Haven grabbed the feathered pen and dipped it into the ink before opening her journal to a new page and scribbling away, constantly glancing up at Balin.

She hummed and nodded. "Fascinating... fascinating. This didn't happen with Eldon." Then she inched closer and repeated the spell she'd already memorized by heart. "Nae ya forgatthia daise of purity. Ye forgatthia daise of ye vide. Spirtis long ido, trae su fuerzio y granta es solicitido."

Balin gaped up at her for a short while before his head fell forward and he slumped to the cold stone ground, unconscious. Haven noted that as well before handing her journal and quill to Alma. She kneeled in front of Balin and checked his breathing and his pulse. Steady. The corners of her lips rose.

"He's alive," she announced. "That's certainly different."

"Hopefully he does not die like Aldis did," Alma murmured.

Haven sighed. "I don't mean to kill anyone... at least not with this. I'm trying to recreate something. The only certain ingredients I could detect in the original was aconite and the dormancy dust." She'd spotted remnants of glitter from that black and purple powder that put anyone to sleep by merely blowing it in their faces. That was made from lavender, lemon balm, ash from burnt corpses, and crushed amethyst. But its real effect came from, of course, a spell that would enhance the ingredients. The same method was used with potions.

Ingredients themselves would have their own peculiar effects on a person, but it was the assistance of the lost and corrupt souls that gave potions their full strength. As long as the ingredients made sense together for whatever the user was attempting to make, that is. That's how it'd always been. That was why Haven had picked things she knew had negative outcomes on the brain and memory, but she also had to take the color into consideration.

"Aconite and dormancy dust mixed with opium poppy and some sage might or might not pair well with the spell," she said, absently.

"What do you mean?" Alma questioned.

Haven arched an eyebrow and looked up at her. "I was mostly talking to myself, but what I mean is that the spirits don't exactly know what I'm trying to do with this potion, leading them to kill my test subjects rather than manipulate their minds and wipe them clean."

"What does that spell even mean? I've heard you say it so many times and I cannot fathom—"

"Now forget days of purity. You'll forget the days of your life. Spirits long past, bring me your strength and grant this request."

"That's it?"

"Did you expect an entire song?" Haven rose and turned to Alma. "My previous attempts resulted in instant deaths and one coma that eventually led into another death." That last one was the most curious one. Filmore seemed to have been impossibly drained of his blood. But since he'd been asleep, Haven supposed it was still a peaceful way to go.

"So, do you think this one will work, then?" asked Alma, gesturing to Balin.

Haven pursed her lips, inspecting Balin a second time. "The potion resulted in a darker color than I wanted, but I suppose we won't know if that matters or not until he wakes up." If he woke up at all...