Thorn's grip on the ring tightened, and for a moment Tehvan thought he might refuse. Then his shoulders sagged slightly. "I’ll compromise. The contract will specify that she must be taken alive. Any group that kills her forfeits the bounty and answers to me personally."
Tehvan's stomach turn, but he nodded anyway. "Then we understand each other."
"We leave for Kilfaire tomorrow," Thorn said, slipping the ring onto his own finger, and closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath as Elora’s heartbeat pulsed in time with his. "And Tehvan? If this is some elaborate deception, if you're planning to double-cross me..." He opened his eyes, the cold stone gray of a man who meant every threat stared at Tehvan. "I'll make you watch as I take Elora apart piece by piece."
Tehvan forced himself to nod calmly, even as every instinct screamed at him to run. He had seven days to reach Kilfaire, find Elora, and somehow get them both safely away from the Empire—all while keeping Thorn from discovering the truth.
Chapter 28
Elora
The morning came too quickly.
Elora stirred with a groan, the dull throb behind her eyes reminding her that even healing elixirs couldn’t erase everything. She lay curled on a bed of rough straw inside the north barn, her satchel used as a lumpy makeshift pillow, and her cloak draped over her like a ratty blanket. Yet, she felt comfortable. The familiar fabrics and scents making her feel closer to home. Wherever that was now.
Rell had helped her inside last night. He hadn’t spoken much—just pressed the cool glass of an elixir into her hand and watched until she drank. The potion dulled the worst of it, but it hadn’t erased the image of claws at her throat, or the sound of Viliam’s voice when he told her he would return.
She sat up slowly, rubbing at her temples. Around her, the others were already moving—packing supplies, checking weapons. Their things had been brought as promised, everything accounted for. The sight of it was strangely reassuring. After everything, the small normalities still held.
Violette stood near the barn doors, her expression unreadable as she strapped the last of her gear into place. Symond stood nearby, clearly ready to go but… different. He wasn’t sneering or tossing out barbed words like usual. In fact, he wasn’t looking at her at all.
Interesting.
Elora caught his eye briefly. He looked away almost immediately, awkward in a way that might’ve been funny if her head wasn’t pounding. She supposed getting your arm nearly bitten off might change the way you look at someone.
Good,she thought.Maybe he’ll think twice next time.
Rell was still seated near her, methodically tying a fresh bandage around his forearm. He hadn’t left her side long—just long enough to grab breakfast and bring her a waterskin. One brow arched when he noticed her watching Symond.
“I think I bruised his ego,” she snickered under her breath.
Rell huffed a laugh. “Oh, I think it was something else that got bruised. Or… stirred.”
Elora blinked, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He just grinned and stood up. “Nothing. Just saying, he might be nursing more than one kind of wound.”
Her frown deepened, but he was already walking away, smug as ever.
Elora rose, brushing hay from her clothes and checked the contents of her satchel, relieved to find everything accounted for. The familiar weight of it grounded her. Whatever came next, she would be ready.
Her ears caught the hushed murmur of voices near the barn’s entrance—Rell and Violette, their words muffled but urgent. She didn’t need to hear the details to know they were talking about last night. About Viliam. About the other nightglider. About her.
Elora forced herself to look away.
Instead, her eyes landed on Symond. He stood alone near the corner of the barn, re-wrapping the hilt of one of his daggers like it had personally offended him. His jaw was tight, shoulders rigid, still bruised from their fight. His eyes darted to her and then quickly away. Awkward. Guarded.
A smug flicker lit behind her ribs. She didn’t know why she wanted to prod him again. Maybe it was the leftover adrenaline. Maybe it was the memory of his blood in her mouth. Maybe it was just the satisfaction of finally, finally, wiping the condescension off his face.
She crossed the barn, boots silent against the hay-strewn floor. “Morning,” she said, voice syrupy sweet. “Sleep well?”
Symond froze mid-wrap. His eye twitched before he glanced at her. “What do you want?”
She tilted her head, all innocent curiosity. “Nothing. You just looked like you needed the rest after last night.”
He shoved the blade into its sheath. “You get one good hit in and now you think you’re tough?” He snickered, almost turning away. “Trust me, sweetheart. You wouldn’t have gotten any hits if I hadn’t spent an hour fighting a bounty hunter foryou,while you did nothing.”
“Only one?” Her eyes trailed over the bruises poking out of the collar of his shirt to the deep bite mark on his wrist. “Right. By all means, continue to underestimate me.”
