Chapter 59 #2
Elora’s wings unfurled—massive shadow-feathered limbs stretching to their full, terrifying span. One powerful downstroke sent a hurricane through the hall, scattering documents and forcing the front row of spectators to stumble backward as she launched herself skyward.
The crowd’s fearful murmurs swelled as they cowered from the downdraft, some shielding their faces, others pressing back against the walls, and some lady in the front row actually shrieked. Good. Scared shitless is exactly what these assholes should be.
Thorn’s face shone with a sick pride as he gazed up at her. “The perfect weapon,” he announced to the hall. “Capable of infiltration, reconnaissance, and—” his eyes gleamed “lethal force when necessary.”
Thorn’s face went cold. With a savage twist of his ring, he sent a command through the collar.
Blue-white lightning erupted around Elora’s throat. Her magnificent wings convulsed mid-stroke, then collapsed inward as her beast form surrendered to human flesh. One moment hovering; the next, just a girl suspended in air.
She plummeted.
Rell’s body betrayed him, lurching forward before discipline yanked him back into formation. Each heartbeat felt like thunder in his chest as Elora struck the platform with a sickening thud, limbs splayed across the cold stone. Motionless.
Get up. Please get up.
The crowd’s collective gasp echoed through the hall.
Elora stirred, rolling onto her side with a grimace.
Rell’s knees nearly buckled with relief before his fists clenched again, watching her grab her ankle, face twisting up.
That bastard. That absolute fucking bastard was going to pay for hurting her.
Thorn didn’t even spare her a glance. The psycho simply turned away, walking back to where Florence stood beside the podium. Florence’s face might have been carved from marble, but Rell didn’t miss how her fingers curled into her palms when Elora’s body hit the platform.
“Before I officially declare Flora my heir,” Thorn announced to the assembled crowd, his authority hushing them immediately. “I have one final demonstration.”
What the hell is he playing at now?
“The headmaster of this Institute must make difficult decisions,” Thorn continued, pacing the stage.
“They must recognize friends from enemies, loyalty from betrayal. And when betrayal is discovered...” His thin lips curled into something too cruel to be called a smile. “They must enact proper punishment.”
Even Florence looked taken aback, her composure slipping for just a moment before she recovered. Is this part of the plan? Rell couldn’t tell anymore. The lines between performance and reality had blurred dangerously.
Thorn lifted his hand high, signaling to someone.
Strong hands suddenly clamped around Rell’s forearms. He jerked in surprise as the two guards flanking him yanked him forward. “What the—”
One guard wrenched his primary blade from its sheath while the other tore away the dagger strapped to his thigh. His weapons clattered to the ground, the sound echoing through the suddenly silent hall.
“Move,” growled the guard on his left, shoving him forward.
Rell’s boots scraped against the floor as he fought the iron grip hauling him toward the platform’s center. What the hell was happening? Every scenario he’d prepared for crumbled as the guards marched him forward. This ambush existed nowhere in their carefully constructed scheme.
Elora’s gaze caught his as the guards dragged him past her huddled form. Her fingers were white-knuckled around her swollen ankle, but it was the naked panic in her eyes that froze his blood. Her head swiveled between him and Florence like a trapped animal seeking escape.
Across the platform, Florence’s practiced composure faltered—her lips parting, shoulders stiffening, the first genuine reaction he’d seen from her all day.
“You see,” Thorn pivoted toward the audience, his voice rising to fill the hall while his mouth formed something that only technically qualified as a smile, “my niece hired this man to track down our runaway ward. A practical decision. Yet something didn’t quite fit.”
Whatever Thorn thought he knew, Rell could talk his way out of it. Or at least Florence could pull some strings. Rell held back an insult and kept his face confused as he would be if this situation held any truth to it.
“My brother’s memories revealed something fascinating.
” Thorn’s voice dropped to a theatrical whisper that still carried throughout the hall.
“He witnessed this supposed bounty hunter pulling Elora to safety at the Arena in Kilfaire. Not the behavior of a man intent on her capture, wouldn’t you agree? ”
The hall filled with hissing whispers. Cold dread pooled in Rell’s stomach.
“My intention was to deliver her to you,” he said, forcing each word through a throat that threatened to close. “For the promised reward.”
Thorn’s gaze dissected him, cold and precise as a surgeon deciding where to cut.
“Before I could properly restrain her,” Rell pressed on, “the Al’terans intervened and took her.”
Thorn’s head tilted slightly, considering.
He turned toward Elora, who was still sitting on the platform, clutching her ankle.
The careful mask she’d worn for weeks—the one hiding her own suffering—fractured as her eyes locked on him.
Her lips parted, trembling, and her face drained of all color at the prospect of his pain.
Rell’s chest tightened at the terror in her eyes.
Part of him wanted to tell her it would be alright—the practiced lie of a professional who’d escaped worse.
But another part, the part he rarely acknowledged, wondered if he’d finally miscalculated.
If his arrogance in thinking he could protect her while infiltrating this snake pit had doomed them both.
“Curious,” Thorn’s voice slithered between them. “If what you claim is true, why does my ward tremble not for herself, but for you? What prisoner grieves for their jailer’s fate?”
Rell couldn’t help but look at her. Wide eyes. Frantic breathing. She was the one that fought to keep the act together. Why was she breaking now?
“I told you. The techniques I learned in the circus—”
“Don’t affect the human mind,” Thorn cut him off. “Even if they did, they would be useless to me.” He stepped closer. “I prefer a more... abrasive approach to submission.”
He had nothing to counter with. No explanation that made sense.
Fuck the act. There was no salvaging this now.
Rell straightened, no longer bothering to mask his contempt.
“Of course you do. People only matter to you depending on how you can use them. Control collars. Shock rings. Punishment. Fear.” He spat the words like venom.
“You’re nothing but a fucking coward hiding behind pain because no one would follow you willingly.
” His voice rose, echoing off the vaulted ceiling.
The crowd’s murmurs swelled to a wave. The guards’ fingers broke skin now, but Rell’s fury burned hotter than the pain.
“This grand academy you’ve built?” He jerked his head toward the stained glass, the pompous masters, Elora’s chained, broken form.
“It’s already rotting from the inside. Your so-called legacy is built on fear and lies, and when you die—and you will die, old man—they’ll tear down your statues and spit on your grave. ”
The hall froze in horrified silence. Thorn’s mask slipped—just for a heartbeat—revealing something ancient and murderous beneath. But he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, it was Elora that drew his attention, her ghostly white face, jagged breaths, panic pooling in those golden eyes.
A smile crept across Thorn’s lips, a grotesque twist of satisfaction that sent bile rising in Rell’s throat.
“Look at her,” he murmured. “You see how she trembles? How her heart races at the thought of your fate?” He leaned in closer, the scent of iron and decay clinging to him.
“You are nothing more than a tool in my arsenal, Rell. A pawn serving my purpose beautifully.”