“Leave it there,” Thorn said as Tehvan placed the finished potion down.
The moment had come. Thorn pricked his finger with a sharp pin, watching as the crimson bead welled up before dropping it into the shimmering potion. The liquid rippled, its color deepening, swirling with a new intensity as Thorn’s blood merged with the alchemical mixture.
Tehvan stood beside him, and Thorn could feel the weight of his gaze. There was no mistaking the worry that darkened Tehvan’s eyes. He knew. He knew what memory Thorn had chosen.
“Abernathy,” Tehvan said, almost pleading. “Don’t do this. She doesn’t need tosee…”
Thorn’s sharp smile silenced his words before they developed. He didn’t bother to look at Tehvan. The vial already held the sealed memory, and Elora would soon see exactly what Thorn wanted her to witness.
“Don’t hurt her,” Tehvan tried again, his voice cracking, almost desperate now.
Finally, he spoke, with all intention of slicing through Tehvan’s pathetic attempts to dissuade him. “Hurt her? Oh, Tehvan...” His gaze lifted, pinning the man with an icy stare. “I’m not going to hurt her.” He paused, savoring the flicker of confusion and dread in Tehvan’s eyes before leaning in slightly. “You are.”
Thorn’s fingers constricted around the flask, the soft clink of glass against his rings the only sound in the suffocating stillness. His smirk deepened as he watched the words sink in, watched the horror creep across Tehvan’s face like ink spreading through water.
“It’s time you took some responsibility, don’t you think?” He straightened, with a sharp, intoxicating feeling of power. “After all, you’re the one who has been lying to her all this time.”
The cell’s door creaked open as Thorn stepped inside. A weak odor of dampness clung to the stone walls, and the murky light barely illuminated the small space. She was positioned near the tiny window, trying to glimpse the world beyond. The sight amused him, a caged animal desperate for freedom, unaware of how little control she truly had.
She turned when he entered, her soft blue eyes meeting his. Somehow, under the notion that she was still untouchable, she wouldn’t meet his gaze if she thought otherwise. Thorn scrutinized her, noting every detail. Damp strands of dark hair clung to her face,framing her pale complexion. He noticed faint bruises on her cheek as if they had already been healing for a week instead of only one day.
Her fingers gripped the fresh gray ward’s dress, fidgeting with the frayed edges of her sleeve. It was an ugly dress, plain and utilitarian, just as Thorn had intended. The dress’s design perfectly suited it for melting into the scenery and being forgotten, as the wards should be. Its shapeless form hung on her frame; loose sleeves rolled up for work, its hem stopped at mid-shin to avoid dragging in the dirt. A single tie at the waist cinched it in slightly, though it did little to give the garment any definition. The wards didn’t need adornments or comforts. Their clothing, like their lives, was practical, stripped of anything unnecessary or indulgent.
Elora said nothing, only stared at him. Good. She had at least learned something.
“Come,” he ordered.
Without protest, she trailed him out of the cell and into the corridor. Thorn walked with purpose, leading her to his nearby personal study. An expansive chamber opened before them, much larger and far more organized than the cramped mess of Tehvan’s office. Bookcases covered the back wall, each shelf full of old tomes, vials, jars of ingredients, all perfectly labeled, each in their rightful place. A large mahogany ‘L’ shaped workbench dominated the center of the room, his latest experiment’s notes and drafts sprawled out yet meticulously scattered to be exactly where he needed them. Everything had its place, strictly arranged for efficiency. Thorn thrived in this space; here, control was absolute.
Against one wall was a metal gurney, its surface stained with dried blood from the last poor soul Thorn had experimented on. Elora certainly noticed it. She paused in the doorway as she scannedthe room, her entire posture taut as she inched backwards as if she were about to bolt. He would love to see her try, but she didn’t. She knew better.
“Relax,” he said, as if he actually cared. “You’re not here for that.”Yet.
Elora’s anxiety didn’t fully ease, but she redirected her attention back to him as he motioned to a large wooden chair positioned at the workstations. His chair.
“Sit.”
She hesitated, casting another look around the room, but eventually lowered herself into the seat. Thorn observed her carefully, studying the subtle movements of her body, the restrained uncertainty in her eyes. She was trying to stay composed. Trying and failing.
“What is this place?” Her hands picked at her fingernails as she avoided his gaze.
Thorn’s lips curved into a subtle smile, yet he didn’t bother answering. The question was irrelevant, and before long, she would become all too familiar with the room and its purpose. There was no need to explain it to her now.
Moving closer, he reached down and tilted her chin upward, making her meet his eyes. Her skin was cool under his fingers, her fear just barely concealed behind the mask of calm she was struggling to maintain.
“There are more important matters to deal with,” he murmured, then released her.
From his pocket, Thorn retrieved the vial, the memory potion, its silvery pink liquid swirling softly inside the glass. Elora’s eyes were glued to it immediately. He saw the recognition in her eyes. She knew exactlywhat it was.
Of course she did. Despite Tehvan’s coddling, Elora was skilled in alchemy. Thorn allowed himself a moment of regret, not for her sake, but for the potential wasted because of Tehvan’s foolish indulgence. Under different circumstances, she might have been something else. A more useful tool. A sharper weapon.
But that didn’t matter now. This was her fate.
“You know what this is,” Thorn said softly, letting the golden light from the orbs above them catch the swirling liquid. Elora’s silence was answer enough.
She remained focused on the potion, her bottom lip beginning to tremble. She was right to be afraid. But this was necessary. She had to see. She needed to understand.
Thorn turned the mixture between his fingers, savoring the moment before her world would truly unravel.
