Chapter 5
Elora
The faint light of dawn barely touched the horizon when Elora stirred, the restless churn of her thoughts pulling her from sleep.
She sat up, her body aching from the uneven mattress, and glanced toward the window.
The city was still cloaked in darkness, the streets likely empty save for the occasional drunkard or baker starting their day.
It wasn’t much of an advantage, but it was all she had.
She had to keep moving.
Staying here any longer was too dangerous. If anyone from the tavern last night had recognized her—or worse, tipped off the imperial guards—they could already be on their way.
She shoved her few belongings into her satchel, her fingers working quickly, but the soft clang of metal stopped her cold. Her heart sank. Slowly, she reached into the bag and pulled out the enchanted ring.
Sparks of faint electricity danced across its surface, flickering briefly before disappearing behind the shimmering gold veneer that flowed like a river on the surface.
She remembered Thorn using it, the feeling of the shocks deep in her body as he shocked her, forcing her to transform.
But she hadn’t dared to use it on herself.
Not yet anyway. It was the only way she knew how to shift, but she couldn’t bear the thought of deliberately doing what Thorn had done to her.
Mistake. Abomination.
Viliam’s words came back to her. She knew he didn’t mean it as an insult.
His sorrow-filled eyes told her he felt sorry for her.
She didn’t want to believe him, but he would know best. She was an abomination now.
She wasn’t fully human anymore and whatever Thorn had turned her into; she couldn’t help but fear it.
The sparks from the ring stung her palm, a sharp reminder of what it could do. She should wear it, she knew. If she ran into trouble, it could save her life. It could make her faster, stronger, more capable. But she couldn’t bring herself to slide it onto her finger.
She dropped it into her pocket instead. It would stay there, close enough to grab if she needed it but far enough that it wouldn’t touch her skin. She told herself she wouldn’t need it. She prayed she wouldn’t need it.
Elora slung her satchel over her shoulder, casting one last glance around the small room before slipping out the door.
The inn was silent, the common room below still dark.
The moment she stepped into the shadowed alleyways Ravenpoint was known for, the chill morning air hit her, mingling with the damp mist that clung to the streets.
She kept her hood low, her eyes darting to every shadow, every creak of wood or faint shuffle in the distance.
The city still slumbered, but her nerves refused to let her relax.
She kept to the narrow paths, the places where light couldn’t quite reach. Her instincts whispered that this could be a mistake, that the silence left her exposed in ways a bustling crowd wouldn’t. But her need to keep moving outweighed the risk. She couldn’t afford to stay in one place.
But then, a voice from behind her cut through the quiet.
“Where are you off to this early, Elora?”
She froze mid-step, her blood running cold. Slowly, she turned.
The man from the tavern, Rell, stood a few paces behind her, his silhouette framed by the faint light spilling in from the alley entrance. His gray eyes gleamed in the half-light, a smirk playing on his lips as if he’d caught her in the middle of something amusing.
She opened her mouth, ready to offer some excuse, when the realization hit.
She had never told him her real name.
A pit formed in her stomach, the weight of it threatening to keep her locked in place.
“How do you know my name?” Her hand hovered over the pocket with the ring buried inside.
Rell chuckled, the sound low as he closed the distance between them. “Stumbled upon this on my way home from the Duckling.”
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, holding it up between two fingers. He unfolded it with agonizing slowness and turned it toward her.
A wanted poster.
Her face was unmistakable in the center of the page, drawn with unnerving accuracy. Beneath it, in bold numbers too large to ignore, was the reward for her capture.
“Fifty gold.” Rell tilted his head, studying her reaction as he folded the paper back up and tucked it into his pocket. “That’s a lot of coin for people around here.”
She took a cautious step back, her mind racing. How far had Thorn’s reach spread already? Or is this the empire’s doing? Had every tavern, every market been plastered with my face?
Rell’s eyes tracked her movement, his amusement never wavering.
Daggers glinted at his hip and strapped along his thigh, their hilts well-worn but she was sure the blades were sharp.
A belt carried small vials filled with liquids in varying hues, alchemy.
He was armed, prepared, and far too calm for this to be a coincidence.
Rell took another step closer, and she matched it by stepping back. He didn’t draw a weapon—yet—but the sparkle in his eye sent her pulse skittering.
“So?” His eyes traced over her face and body. “It’s got my curiosity piqued. What did a seemingly innocent-looking woman like you do to earn a bounty that big?”
“I’m not worth your time,” Elora said quickly, her voice trembling. “Just let me go.”
Rell opened his mouth to respond, but his smirk faltered, his body going still. His gaze shifted past her. His demeanor, so casual moments ago, hardened in an instant.
“Not worth my time, huh?” he muttered, his voice low and taut. “Try telling him that.”
Elora turned, and the air in her lungs stuttered, caught between shock and fear as she took in the man filling the alleyway.
He was massive, towering well over six feet with broad shoulders and a presence that seemed to press the walls inward.
His skin was sun-bronzed and his face seemed like it had been carved from granite.
A faint scar ran along his left cheekbone, drawing attention to his slitted, almond-shaped eyes, an unmistaken marker of someone from Estana, the southern kingdom under the Empire’s control.
A coiled whip hung at his hip, its golden sheen hinting at enchantment.
Flasks dangled from his wide leather belt, their metal casings purposeful for the contents inside.
Explosives. Each one was a promise of destruction, meticulously placed within easy reach.
Surely, he wouldn’t use them in this small alley though. She had to hope anyway.
Every inch of him radiated a skill for calculated deadliness, a man who didn’t need brute force to win, though he clearly had that in abundance. His stance was relaxed, but there was nothing casual about the way his eyes narrowed, assessing the situation with sharp precision.
“Small bounty for someone like you, Fane,” Rell said, his fingers flexing near his dagger, though he didn’t draw it. “Fifty gold? What are you doing chasing petty coin?”
Fane snorted, the sound deep and guttural. “Not petty. Personal.” His dark eyes flicked to Elora, and her stomach twisted under the weight of his gaze. “I’ve been hired by someone who wants her bad. Paying two hundred.”
The air felt like it had been sucked from the alleyway, taking the breath in her lungs with it.
Two hundred gold. Thorn. Of course, he wouldn’t leave this to chance.
Fifty gold was enough to tempt mercenaries, but two hundred?
That was personal, alright. He wanted her dragged back, no matter the cost.
Rell’s eyebrows lifted slightly, his smirk creeping back as he looked at her with newfound interest. “Two hundred? For her?” His gray eyes narrowed, appraising her like she was something worth dissecting. “Now I’m really curious. What makes her so special?”
Fane didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at Rell, his focus fixed squarely on Elora as he took a step forward, the cobblestone crunching beneath his heavy boots.
“This doesn’t concern you,” Fane growled, his voice rumbling like distant thunder.
“Really?” Rell said, his lips curling into a scathing smile. “Because it looks like it concerns me now.”
Before Elora could react, Rell moved. His arm looped around her shoulders and chest in one smooth, practiced motion, pulling her back against him. The cold press of a dagger kissed the skin at her throat, chilling her to her core.
“What are you doing?” Elora gasped, her body stiffening in panic. She struggled against him, but his grip was firm.
“Relax,” Rell muttered in her ear, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “I’m helping you. Trust me.”
Her mind raced. Trust you!? He had a blade at her throat, and yet his tone lacked the malice she’d expect from someone about to sell her out.
But his hold was too calculated, too confident, and she couldn’t decide if she was his hostage or his ally in whatever game he was playing.
Elora’s heart raced, and she hoped Tehvan wouldn’t worry about her but at the same time she’d give anything for him to come save the day right now.
Fane’s eyes narrowed at the display, his massive hands curling into fists at his sides. “You think using her as a shield will stop me?” he barked.
Rell chuckled softly, the sound maddeningly calm. “Not a shield, Fane. A bargaining chip.” His tone was cool, almost bored, but the sharp edge of his dagger didn’t waver.
"You want her alive, don’t you?” The blade pressing against her neck dug in just enough to make her flinch. “How about we split that two hundred? Or I slit her throat right here, and you get nothing.”
Fane’s expression darkened, his slitted eyes narrowing as a low snarl rumbled from his chest. “Dead works just fine for me.”
“Shit.” Rell’s arm tightened around Elora as he began backing up, dragging her with him step by step. “You’re making this very difficult,” he said, though a teasing edge still laced his tone. “But I think I’ve got something you don’t.”