Amara hesitated, then nodded, her eyes distant, lost in some memory she chose not to share. “Yes,” she whispered. “Two since I’ve been here.”
Elora gulped, her mouth dry, the icy dread settling deeper in her bones. She had known that the wards’ lives were difficult, harsh even, but this… this was something else. This was hopelessness. And now she understood why the wards had looked so hollow, why their eyes seemed hazy and lifeless. Walking corpses that haunted the Institute’s halls. Back in the common room was the only time she had seen any of them smile.
Amara finally made eye contact, her face relaxing as if she sensed Elora’s growing terror. “Don’t let it get to you,” she said gently, forcing a smile that fell short of her eyes. “It’s hard, I know. But you’ll find a way to manage. Most of us do.”
Elora nodded, but the knot in her chest didn’t completely ease.Manage.That’s what the others had resigned themselves to—enduring.Her gaze drifted toward the barred windows, catching the faint glimmer of moonlight beyond. Everyone else might see those iron bars as a dead end, but she refused to. Tehvan would get her out. He said he would. Healwaysfound a way.
Chapter 16
Thorn
Today was the day. Nine years of watching, waiting, while Tehvan’s naïve protection allowed her to believe she was something more than she truly was. But that would end soon enough. Elora would see the truth today. She would know what she had been all along.
Thorn traversed the halls, the steady rhythm of his boots echoing in the silence. Old parchment, burnt herbs, and the metallic tang of alchemical residue faintly perfumed the air. The blend seeped between the stones and clung to every corner of the institute: the walls, the paintings, the upholstery, everything. The summer heat made it worse. Permanently damp and humid air hung heavy, the mist-shrouded sea constantly moistening the island.
He despised the disheveled state it caused him; the sweat beading on his forehead and slipping down his temple like a betrayal of his usual composure. His meticulously pressed coat stuck uncomfortably to his skin. He’d pick up a cooling draught on his way back to his study. He refused to let the humidity spoil today.
The wards, those miserable souls who had managed to survive this long, were already hard at work. They scurried past him,avoiding his gaze. They knew better. Unlike that insolent girl, Elora. But she would learn.
He passed over closed doors of lecture rooms and study chambers, none of any interest to him. He had only one destination in mind. There would be no interruptions this morning. This was a personal matter.
Tehvan’s study appeared ahead, and Thorn neglected to knock. He had no need for pleasantries.
Tehvan glanced up from his desk, startled, his ink-stained fingers frozen mid-sentence on the parchment in front of him. The irritation that flickered across his face was brief, but Thorn caught it.Always so predictable.
The man always maintained a facade of composure, always so maddeningly calm. He had a knack for carrying himself like he wasn’t a failure. Yet, Thorn saw the cracks in Tehvan’s armor. They were plain to anyone who knew where to look.
“I need a memory potion,” Thorn said flatly.
Tehvan hesitated, eyes flicking from the workbench to Thorn’s face. “What are you planning, Abernathy?”
Thorn’s jaw tightened, his irritation flaring like a spark against dry tinder.Abernathy.The name felt inappropriate here, in his sanctum, where he ruled with absolute authority. It was too familiar, too casual.
“Does it matter?” He pushed his frustration aside. “You have the skill. I need the potion.” Thorn could make the potion himself in mere minutes. He was better than Tehvan at everything, but that wasn’t the point.
Tehvan hesitated, then sighed, a sound filled with reluctant resignation. Thorn could almost hear the internal struggle. Obey orresist. Challenge or concede. Thorn knew how this would end. He always won.
Tehvan stood and moved to the workbench. Thorn watched with cool detachment as he began the meticulous process of gathering the ingredients, his hands slightly unsteady.
It was fitting, Thorn thought, that Tehvan would be the one to create the tool for what came next. He had shielded Elora for years, sheltered her from the truth. Now, he would unwittingly contribute to the very thing that would shatter the illusion he had worked so hard to maintain.
As Tehvan worked, Thorn’s attention drifted toward the open doorway. Movement caught his eye. One of the matrons walked past, her arms filled with linens.
“Matron,” he called, his voice keen enough to freeze the woman in her tracks.
She turned, wide-eyed, and quickly dipped her head in a shallow bow. “Yes, Master Thorn?”
“Bring Elora to the cell next to my study,” he said, brushing an invisible lint from his coat. “And make sure she has cleaned herself up.”
The woman nodded hurriedly, backing out of the room before scurrying off to do as he commanded. Thorn let out a slow breath, shaking off the faint disgust that lingered at the thought. The image of the courtyard from the night before flitted through his mind. He had made her stay after the others left. Scrubbing on her knees in the muck, cleaning the discarded food, spilled wine, and trampled mud from the party. Hours more of humiliation under his guards’ watchful eyes. As satisfying as it had been to see her reduced to that, hands raw and clothes soiled, he had no intention of suffering the lingering stench himself.
He turned back to Tehvan, who was just finishing the potion. For all of Tehvan’s apparent weakness, his skill in alchemy had never faltered, a fact Thorn hated to admit even to himself. He held it up to the sun beaming through the window, swirling it in the flask, the pale, shimmering liquid dancing in the vial. It was perfect. Of course it was. Tehvan was too precise, too annoyingly meticulous to make a mistake. Yet Thorn scrutinized him all the same.
“You’ve gotten slow. What is it? Something on your mind?” Thorn said, feigning genuine concern.
Tehvan paused for the briefest moment, his head tilting slightly as though he were considering what to say. “Alchemy doesn’t favor haste. But you would know that if you had paid attention in your studies.”
The insolence of this man.Thorn held his composer, despite the overwhelming urge to dissect every failure, every flaw, every shameful regret Tehvan had buried. He wouldn’t rise to the bait. Tehvan was permitted to speak freely now, but the repercussions of his actions would soon become clear.
