For a tense heartbeat, nothing happened. Symond’s chest tightened.Did Elora’s potion fail?
Then the cook swayed, the pot slipping from his hands and clattering loudly to the floor. Symond winced at the noise, but the man didn’t react. His body went slack, and he crumpled to the ground, soft snores filling the air.
Symond and Rell hoisted themselves through the window, landing silently on the kitchen floor.
“Once we’re in the hallway, you need to snuff out the torches,” Rell murmured, his voice barely audible. “Then we use the shadowmeld potion to blend into the darkness.”
I know,Symond thought, biting back the urge to snap.It was my plan, after all.But Rell always had to remind him, like hecouldn’t be trusted to execute his own ideas. Symond rolled his eyes but said nothing.
He approached the door, easing it open just a sliver. The long corridor beyond matched the layout they had memorized during the scout—a narrow hallway leading to a staircase at the far end, its length illuminated by three flickering torches mounted on the left-hand wall.
Symond uncorked the wind potion hanging from his belt and brought it to his lips, swallowing it in one smooth motion. A rush of energy filled his chest, and he inhaled deeply, his lungs expanding with an almost unnatural capacity. Aligning himself with the torches, he released a powerful gust of wind.
The flurry rippled through the hall, extinguishing all three flames in a single, fluid motion. Darkness swallowed the corridor instantly, the oppressive blackness broken only by faint outlines of the architecture.
He straightened, pleased with the execution, and reached for the shadowmeld elixir. The three of them drank in unison, the elixir cool and sharp on Symond’s tongue. Almost immediately, a tingling sensation spread across his skin, like pins and needles racing under the surface.
He glanced at his hands as they began to blur and fade, the defined lines of his fingers softening. The sensation spread, his form dissolving into the surrounding shadows until he seemed to melt seamlessly into the darkness.
The effect was disorienting, but there was no time to marvel at the potion’s potency.
“Move,” Violette whispered.
They moved into the hallway, their footsteps soundless as they pressed against the cool walls. The muffled voices of guards drifted closer, accompanied by the steadyclackof boots against wood floors. If Symond remembered correctly, there should be two patrolling this wing.
The guards’ footsteps echoed, heavy and hurried. The sudden extinguishing of the torches hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Two figures emerged from the stairwell, their lantern casting erratic beams of light that danced across the walls. Symond froze, holding his breath as he pressed deeper into the shadows. Violette’s presence beside him was calm and steady, her breathing measured. He tried to match her.
“What happened to the lights?” one guard barked, his eyes darting into the darkness. He drew his sword, the blade glinting faintly as the lantern swung in his other hand.
“Stay sharp,” the first guard ordered. “Check every corner.”
The guards split up, one moving toward the nearest door while the other advanced cautiously down the hallway, his lantern held high, casting more light into the darkness.
The second guard was coming too close, his sword raised slightly, the tip trembling as if sensing an unseen threat.
The guard paused, frowning. His head tilted slightly, as though he could hear their shallow breaths.
Symond inched back, careful to avoid making a sound—but his heel brushed against Rell’s foot. The mercenary staggered slightly, his hip hitting the edge of a small side table.
A vase perched atop the table wobbled once. Twice.
Then it toppled, shattering with a deafening crash that tore through the quiet.Fucking hell, Rell.
The guard’s head snapped toward the sound, his eyes narrowing as his grip on his sword tightened. “Who’s there?” he barked. He lunged, thrusting his blade blindly into the shadows.
Symond felt the air shift before he heard the soft grunt.
The blanket of shadows peeled back, exposing Violette’s position. Her arm glistened faintly, the light catching the blood seeping from a wound on her bicep. Symond caught the tang of metal in the air, sharp and unmistakable.
The guard’s eyes widened, his mouth opening in a shout. “Intru—”
The word never finished.
Rell moved, closing the distance in a single, fluid motion. A small vial appeared in his hand, and with a sharp twist of his wrist, he released a fine cloud of Dust of Drowsiness into the guard’s face.
The man’s eyes fluttered, his body swaying as the sword slipped from his grasp. Rell caught him smoothly, lowering him to the ground in silence.
