Two Eyes Cenote [m] Adder

It was a long while before Eset replied, and Machi found himself grateful for every second of silence that stretched between them. Each passing moment was a small mercy, allowing him to steady his breath, although his opal eyes remained bloodshot. Finally, when she spoke, he nodded in agreement, his voice low but firm.

They will suspect it regardless of whether they know I am behind it or not, he murmured. That is why we won't poison him outright—not with anything lethal, at least. He dared a quick glance at Eset before his gaze fell back to the floor, his mind racing through the details of his plan.

I have enough of these buds left to contaminate the food, he continued, his voice growing steadier with each word. We can strip them of their resin, crush the seeds, use the entire bud if necessary. It doesn’t matter how it’s done, only that it is.

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the stillness of the room. Then, his voice softened, taking on a more persuasive tone. Let yourself be convinced by him, Eset. Accept whatever treasures or bribes he is willing to offer. Bring him to dinner, and have the Mazoi escort me out. A fellahin must serve—one who is not privy to the plan. All dishes must be taken from the same tray, all wine poured from the same shell. He can switch plates, or have his own tasted—it will make no difference.

Machiavelli's gaze sharpened, a predatory gleam flickering in his eyes. After that, we only need to keep up the charade for fifteen minutes. Then, when the time is right, I will kill him. And he did meet the golden eyes now, his own knife-sharp with deadly resolve.