Chapter 6
Elora
Elora folded her arms across her chest, and stood by the wall as her eyes tracked Rell’s every move.
“I don’t know how you think this is going to work,” she said flatly.
“I don’t have a lab, and I’m running low on supplies.
I can’t just whip up a stockpile of potions with scraps and hope for the best.”
Rell scratched the back of his neck, his gaze flicking briefly to the floor. His hand dropped to his side, and he sighed, muttering under his breath, “Vye’s not going to be happy about this.”
“Vye?” Elora asked, her brows knitting together. “Who’s that?”
Rell glanced up, realizing he’d spoken aloud, and gave her a crooked grin.
“Someone who’s going to be very annoyed with me, but that’s not your problem.
” He straightened, his confidence slipping back into place as he crossed the room, stopping a few feet in front of her.
“I’ve got a lab at the Ravenpoint lodging.
It’s not meant for nonmembers, but... I’ll make an exception. ”
Elora’s frown deepened, her suspicion flaring. “What kind of organization are you part of?”
Rell waved her question off with a casual flick of his hand. “The kind that doesn’t like outsiders poking around. Lucky for you, I don’t care much for rules.” Why doesn’t that surprise me? “Just don’t blow the place up, and the boss won’t even know.”
“Fine,” she said reluctantly, crossing her arms tighter. “But while we’re on the subject... is there a spare bed there?” She gestured to her rumpled appearance, her voice carrying a note of wry humor despite her discomfort. “Or am I supposed to sleep on the floor of the lab?”
Rell chuckled, his laugh breaking the tension. “Yes, there’s a bed. Don’t worry, princess, you won’t have to curl up in the corner like a stray.”
Her lips twitched, the slightest suggestion of a smile threatening to break through before she caught herself and schooled her expression. “Good.”
Rell stepped to the door, jerking his head toward it. “Come on. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can get to work.”
The alley was eerily silent as Rell and Elora stepped cautiously into its shadows.
The air was thicker here, the muffled hum of the city swallowed by the narrow walls pressing in on either side.
Every flicker of movement in her peripheral vision made Elora’s pulse quicken.
Rell’s grip on her arm was firm but not rough, though the contact unsettled her all the same.
“Is this really necessary?” She glared at his hand.
Rell didn’t stop walking, his eyes scanning the shadows ahead. “You don’t know Fane like I do,” he said quietly, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “He could grab you and disappear before you even had time to scream. Trust me, you’ll want me close.”
When the alley finally opened into one of Ravenpoint’s busier streets, the shift in atmosphere was immediate.
The silence morphed into a cacophony of noise: merchants hawking their wares, cart wheels creaking over cobblestones, and the steady murmur of conversations.
People in soot-stained clothes hurried to the mines, their faces weary but determined, while others browsed the open-air stalls crowded with goods.
Rell steered her into the flow of people and she wrapped her cloak more snugly around herself, her gaze darting nervously over the crowd.
Every sound felt sharper, every glance in her direction heavier.
Her paranoia coiled tighter with each step.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.
Rell kept his pace brisk, weaving through the bustling crowd with ease until they stopped in front of a small, unassuming shop wedged between two larger buildings. Its faded wooden sign hung crookedly above the door, the lettering too worn to read.
But it wasn’t the sign that caught Elora’s attention, it was the image of a bee, its intricate design burned into the wooden doorframe. The carved wings and detailed lines gave the insect an almost lifelike quality.
“What’s with the bee?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Rell tugged her toward the door.
She frowned but followed him inside.
The air in the shop was thick with the combined aromas of herbs, smoke, and something metallic.
The faint lighting cast long shadows over the shelves lining the walls, each one crammed with jars of powders, dried plants, and vials of strange, glimmering liquids.
An old brass scale sat on the counter, its weights scattered haphazardly around it.
Behind the counter stood a man with sharp eyes and a wiry frame. His gaze flicked up from the inventory he was counting, his face breaking into a grin when he saw the mercenary.
“Rell,” the man said, his tone warm. “Didn’t think I’d see you back so soon.”
“Change of plans,” Rell replied, his smirk returning as he sauntered toward the counter. “Found someone better.”
The man’s grin faded slightly as his gaze shifted to Elora. He examined her with his penetrating eyes, his expression blank.
Elora fought the urge to shrink back, instead forcing herself to hold his gaze. Her shoulders tensed beneath her cloak, her instincts screaming at her to stay on guard.
“You sure?” the man asked, his tone quieter now, tinged with curiosity and suspicion.
“Oh, yeah.” Rell said smoothly, resting nonchalantly on the counter. “She might not look it but she’ll be far better than Marvin. Malvin? Whatever.”
The man’s brow arched, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he gave a short nod, turning his attention back to Rell.
“She’d better not bring trouble,” the man muttered.
Rell chuckled. “You know me, Orin. Trouble’s never far behind.”
The unnerving thing was… trouble very well could not be far behind. Fane was no doubt scouring the city looking for her, if he didn’t already know exactly where she was.
Elora followed Rell to a door near the back wall, almost invisible in the shadows. The worn wood blended into the stone, its edges barely discernible under the dim shop light. Rell produced a key from his belt and slipped it into the lock.
“After you,” he said, pushing the door open and gesturing for her to step inside.
She hesitated, her gaze flicking from him to the dark staircase beyond the threshold.
The air grew heavier with each step, the faint scent of earth and dampness creeping into her senses.
She trailed her hand along the chilled rock facade to keep her balance, but it did little to steady the growing unease churning in her stomach.
Every instinct screamed that she was walking into a trap.
“Where exactly are you taking me?”
Rell didn’t answer.
The silence pressed on her and the light of a single lantern mounted on the wall cast flickering shadows ahead of them. The further they descended, the more memories surfaced in Elora’s mind.
The cold stone of the Institute’s dungeons. The sting of restraints biting into her wrists. Thorn’s voice echoing in the hollow space as he loomed over her, stealing her blood.
The attempt to breathe froze in her chest, bordering on panic. She pressed her thumb against her hand, the familiar pressure grounding her as she forced her heartbeat to steady.
“Rell,” she uttered, her voice lower now, almost a whisper. “If this is some kind of…”
He moved past her as they got to the bottom of the stairs and turned to face her. His raised eyebrow was equal parts amused and exasperated.
“Dungeon? Torture chamber?” he asked, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “You’ve got quite the imagination, Elora.”
Her scowl deepened, and she opened her mouth to respond, but Rell had already turned back to the door at the bottom of the stairs. The heavy wood looked ancient, the iron hinges rusted but sturdy. He pulled another key from his belt and unlocked it.
The door swung inward and Elora couldn’t stop herself from gasping. The room beyond was nothing like she expected.
Warm light spilled out, casting a golden glow over the space.
Lanterns hung from the walls, their soft flicker dancing with the steady warmth of a fire crackling in the stone hearth.
Cozy, mismatched furniture was scattered throughout: a worn armchair near the fire, a long wooden table buried under papers and books, and shelves crammed with trinkets and supplies.
The air was tinged with the familiar scent of wood smoke and herbs, but it wasn’t oppressive, it was almost... inviting.
Elora stood frozen in the doorway, her gaze sweeping over the room.
For a moment, she was transported back to the wards’ common room at the Institute, where the firelight had once seemed comforting instead of foreboding.
The ache of that memory caught her off guard.
It made her think of Amara, the friend she had left behind, and a pang of guilt twisted in her chest.
“Well?” Rell’s voice broke through her thoughts. He glanced back at her. “Not quite a dungeon, is it?”
Elora tore her gaze from the room and grimaced at him, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped hesitantly inside, her boots muffled against a navy carpet.
The warmth of the fire brushed against her face, but it did little to thaw the suspicion knotting her shoulders. She swept her gaze over the room again, taking in every detail, every shadow. It was too inviting, too carefully arranged. She didn’t trust it.
"Rell? That you?" A woman’s voice called from the hallway beyond the room.
“Yeah, Violette,” he called back. “Come out here!” Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he added quickly, “Without the rook!”
Elora frowned. “Rook?”
“Slang,” Rell said with a shrug, his expression giving nothing away. He didn’t elaborate, instead turning toward the hallway just as a woman stepped into view.
Tall and slender, Violette moved with an air of sharp, practiced grace, her posture upright and confident.
Her blonde hair, streaked faintly with silver, was pulled back into a loose braid that fell over her shoulder.
The braid framed her angular features, her high cheekbones and strong jawline accentuated by the warm, flickering light of the room.
She wore a fitted bodice of worn leather over a cream blouse with rolled sleeves, the fabric smudged faintly with what looked like ash or dust. She had on dark gray pants that hugged her figure and a utility belt with empty loops for weapons or potions.
Her sharp, sage-colored eyes flickered between Rell and Elora with a cool intensity. The lines of her face hardened as her gaze settled on Elora, her suspicion etched plainly into her expression.
“Who’s this?” Violette asked, her voice low and controlled, though there was no mistaking the edge in her tone.
Rell leaned against the arm of a worn lounger, his casual demeanor clashing with the tension in the room. He gave Violette an easy grin, his gray eyes glinting. “Relax, Vye. I found us an alchemist.”
“An alchemist?” she repeated flatly, her tone dripping with skepticism. “Right. Let me guess, she’s another one of those ‘prodigies’ who knows how to mix a few herbs and thinks it makes her special? How lucky for us.”
Elora bristled, her nerves sparking at the insult.
Rell snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t be so rude, Vye. She’s better than most of the amateurs we’ve had to deal with. Will definitely be better than Malcom. Mason? Fuck.” He smirked as he added, “Though I’m betting on a nice, dramatic fizzle before anything remotely useful happens.”
Elora’s glare snapped at him, her anger flaring. “Oh, I assure you, the only thing that will combust will be my patience,” she said coldly.
Rell shot her a smug shrug while Violette’s mouth almost turned up into a smile.
“You didn’t answer my question, Rell. What’s she doing here?”
“Like I said, she’s an alchemist,” Rell replied, his grin fading as his tone grew more serious. “And we need one.”
Violette’s lips thinned as her gaze flicked to Elora’s satchel, then back to her face. Her skepticism was evident, but her silence stretched, prompting her to finally speak. “What’s your story?” she asked.
She didn’t trust these people but the weight of the room pressed on her. The mismatched furniture, the warmth of the firelight, it reminded her of Amara and the wards’ common room. It felt disarming in a way she hadn’t anticipated.
“I’m just trying to get to Kilfaire,” she said finally, her voice quieter than she intended. “Rell made me a deal. My alchemy for his protection.”
Violette didn’t look convinced, but her gaze shifted back to Rell. “You’re sure about this? Marron wouldn’t have been such a heavy bargain.”
“Look,” Rell said, stepping closer to her.
“I know it’s not ideal, but we need her.
Someone who actually knows what they are doing.
We can't take out..." He paused for a fraction of a second before glancing toward Elora and then back to Violette. “We can’t complete our mission without a skilled alchemist. You know that.”
Violette frowned, her expression still hard, but after a long pause, she sighed. Her posture remained stiff, but her shoulders dropped just enough to show her reluctant acceptance. “Fine,” she said curtly. “But if she screws this up, it’s on you.”
“Deal,” Rell said smoothly, leaning lazily against the back of a chair.
Before anyone could say more, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Violette straightened, her sharp voice cutting through the room. “Rook! Get in here!”
The faint murmur of a male voice answered from somewhere beyond the hallway.
Rell smirked at Elora, his tone almost teasing. “Don’t worry. The rook’s harmless.”
No one was harmless, certainly not to a runaway ward with a bounty on her head. The unease that had been gnawing at her earlier suddenly flared as the footsteps grew louder.
And then he stepped into view.
Symond.