Chapter 8
Elora
The sight of Symond sent her spiraling into a familiar darkness, one she had fought fang and claw to pull her way out of.
Her thoughts kept looping back to the same impossible question: How is he here?
The last time she’d seen him, he was on the boat with the others headed for the Capital.
Yet, here he was, standing in this cramped hideout, staring at her with all the bitter malice that he had always shown her.
His hatred for her seeped from his very pores like sweat, it clung to him, was a part of him.
She had tried to push back against the fire in his eyes, though deep down, she knew she had no right. The only reason Thorn ever had a leash around his neck was because of her, and the deal Tehvan made to protect her.
And then he’d mentioned Gerard. The implication had cut her open, laying bare all the shame and helplessness she’d fought to bury. He hadn’t even said much, yet it was enough to unravel her.
She hugged her arms around her stomach, willing herself not to throw up and add another stain on the navy blue carpet.
The room, the warmth, the inviting atmosphere, it was a facade.
This place was dangerous. The idea of staying here, sharing this space with him…
Somehow, the thought of taking her chance with Fane seemed less terrifying.
A weight on her shoulder pulled her abruptly from her thoughts. She flinched, her head snapping up to see Rell standing beside her, his hand gently resting on her. She hadn’t even seen him move.
“I’ve been saying your name. You okay?” He looked at her like she was a frightened animal a second away from bolting.
She shrugged her shoulder away from his touch and took a step back. “I…yeah.” She knew that didn’t sound convincing. She braced herself, waiting for the questions about her and Symond’s history.
But he didn’t ask them. Instead, he exhaled and gestured toward the door leading to the hallway Violette and Symond had come from. “Come on. Let’s head to the lab and start on those shards.”
Elora instinctively cupped her hands together and pressed her thumb into her palm.
She wanted to say no, to retreat back up those stairs and into the crowded streets of Ravenpoint.
But Tehvan was counting on her getting to Kilfaire.
He risked everything for her. She couldn’t run into Fane’s waiting arms.
She nodded slowly, forcing her legs to move as she followed him toward the door. At least in the lab, she could focus on something concrete: measurements, formulas, alchemy. Something that didn’t require her to confront the mess of emotions swirling inside her.
“Here we are,” Rell said, pushing the door open with a theatrical flourish and stepping aside. “After you.”
Elora paused, her fingers tightening around the strap of her satchel as she stared into the room beyond. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t this.
The space was large, far larger than she’d imagined, with walls lined floor-to-ceiling with shelves brimming with jars, vials, and containers of every imaginable size and shape.
The soft glow of enchanted lights bathed the room in a warm, golden hue, casting gentle shadows that danced across the shelves.
Tools and alchemical equipment sat neatly arranged on the counters, their polished surfaces gleaming as if they’d been meticulously cared for.
In the center of the room stood a grand workbench, its surface pristine and inviting, surrounded by stools that bore the marks of heavy use. Above it, pots filled with vibrant plants dangled from the ceiling, their leaves basking in the warm light.
The hum of the enchanted lights was subtle but constant, blending with the faint rustle of the plants.
And then there were the smells: a mix of earthy herbs, tangy acids, and the sweet, delicate aroma of flowers.
The scents were intoxicating, washing over her with happy memories spent with Tehvan and Arria, filling her chest with a long-forgotten sense of calm.
“Well?” Rell asked from the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with his arms crossed. “Will this do?”
She glanced at him, her lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “It’s... perfect.”
Rell grinned, looking pleased with himself. “Here’s the list of everything we need.” He held out a folded paper.
Taking it, she moved to the workbench with a sense of purpose she hadn’t felt since leaving The Institute.
She pulled her journal and recipe book from her satchel, placing them carefully on the polished surface.
Her fingers brushed over the worn leather covers, the texture steadying her in a way nothing else could.
She glanced around the room, her gaze flicking over the shelves and counters, assessing what she had to work with.
It was impressive, not as stocked as the labs at The Institute but for an underground illegal lab, it would do.
She began gathering the essentials: a mortar and pestle, a small cauldron, a candle, and a set of scales.
Her hands moved with practiced motions, arranging the tools on the workbench in a layout that felt familiar and efficient.
The flame of the candle flickered to life as she lit it, the warm glow adding another layer of comfort to the room.
She set her satchel on a stool and began organizing the ingredients, her mind slipping into the familiar rhythm of her craft.
The methodical process was soothing, each step grounding her further in the present and quieting the storm of thoughts that had tormented moments before.
Rell watched her from across the room, his smirk still firmly in place as he leaned against a shelf. “Not even a ‘thank you, Rell, for providing me this amazing lab’?” he teased, tilting his head.
She glanced up at him briefly, one eyebrow raised. “Thank you, Rell,” she said flatly before returning to her task.
Rell chuckled, clearly satisfied with her reluctant gratitude. “You’re welcome.”
As she worked, Elora felt something she hadn’t felt in a month. A flicker of peace. Here, surrounded by the tools of her craft, she could almost forget the danger pressing in from every side.
Almost.
∞∞∞
The stockpile of shards was growing fast but so was the emptiness of Elora's stomach. She had been hunched over the workbench for hours. A knot in her back told her to take a break but her mind refused to let go of the numbing sense of peace she had found.
Rell had helped her a bit, gathering ingredients for her when he could no longer stand watching her return to the same shelves every few minutes because she forgot something.
Now he sat across from her, a leather-bound journal open before him.
The soft scratching of charcoal against paper provided a gentle rhythm beneath the bubbling of her cauldron.
At first, Elora barely noticed his presence—too absorbed in the precise measurements and delicate timing her work required.
But as the hours passed, she became increasingly aware of the way his eyes would lift from his journal to study her face.
The first few times, she dismissed it as casual observation.
But the frequency was becoming... deliberate.
Tehvan had mentioned weird quirks she would do when she was brewing. Turning her head as she poured, whispering under her breath, clicking her tongue with every ingredient she crushed. Was that it? Was Rell picking up on her odd little rituals?
She caught him mid-glance as she reached for a vial of dried onyx petals, and this time he didn't look away immediately.
His gaze traced the line of her jaw, the way the lights caught the auburn in her hair.
When she arched an eyebrow, his lips quirked into that familiar smirk before he returned to his sketching.
The curiosity gnawing at her concentration would have to wait. A thick amber liquid bubbled in her cauldron. Abyss's Embrace. The poison was notorious for its complexity. After several attempts to get the liquid to the right consistency she let out a frustrated sigh.
"Come on, Elora," she muttered to herself.
Rell looked up with an amused crinkle in his eye. "You talking to yourself now?"
She shot him a glance. “It helps.” She massaged the back of her neck, twisting it, hoping it would crack. “I’m not as familiar with making poison. It’s not what I focused on at The Institute.”
“I can see that.”
She pointed her stirring rod at him. “Not all of us aspire to be killers.”
His smirk faltered. “I wasn’t born with these aspirations either.” He shrugged. “But we do what we need to survive.”
Elora looked away, worried she had insulted him. “Sorry,” she muttered.
Rell opened his mouth to speak when they suddenly heard talking coming from the other room. “Sounds like Violette and Symond are back.” He rose from the workbench, closing his journal, and shoving it into a pocket inside the lining of his coat. “Come on, we should eat.”
Elora’s stirring faltered for a second before she continued like she hadn’t heard him. “I’m fine.” She glanced up, catching his no-nonsense expression. “Just one more, then I’ll come out. Promise.”
Rell raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned against the edge of the table. “You’ve said that before, haven’t you? One more, and then one more after that.”
She felt safe here. She couldn’t handle seeing Symond again, not right now. Probably not ever.
Rell stepped forward, gently prying the tool from her hands and setting it firmly on the table. Elora blinked up at him, startled, but he didn’t give her time to argue. Laying his arm loosely over her shoulders, he steered her towards the door.
“Fine,” she said, not attempting to hide her disdain for him in that moment.
“Atta girl.”
The warmth of the common room greeted Elora and Rell as they entered.
The fire in the hearth had been stoked, casting a flickering golden light across the mismatched furniture.
Violette and Symond sat at the long wooden table, each nursing a roll of bread and a mug of something steaming, the faint scent of spiced cider hanging in the air.
Elora lingered near the door, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, trying to remain inconspicuous. The soft crackle of the fire and the low murmur of conversation felt almost inviting, but the tension curling in her gut anchored her in place.
Rell, oblivious to her hesitation—or ignoring it entirely—strode confidently to the table. He grabbed two rolls from a basket and lightly tossed one to her. She caught it awkwardly, the crusty bread slipping in her grip before she fumbled it back into her hands.
Symond’s gaze flicked up to her, his hazel eyes narrowing as a sneer tugged at the corner of his lips. “Oh, you’re still here, huh? I thought you might have run back to Tehvan.” His voice dripped with mockery, each word a sharp jab. “How is the dear old professor, anyway?”
Of course his words hit their mark. But before the emotion could surface, she shoved it down, locking it away where it couldn’t be used against her.
Rell’s hand stilled on the roll he’d been tearing apart, his mouth already opening to retort, but Elora cut him off.
“You think I fear you?” she said, her voice steady, though her nails dug into the bread in her hands. “No. Pity, maybe. Disgust, definitely. But fear? Not a chance. You’re not terrifying. You’re predictable.”
Her chin lifted as she locked eyes with him, her cold gaze concealing the storm swirling within her. The truth couldn’t have been further from her words. Symond was more terrifying to her than Fane. But she wasn’t about to let him see that.
Symond’s smugness faltered for a split second, his scowl deepening as his fingers drummed irritably on the table.
“Good one.” Rell leered, clearly pleased with her response.
Elora forced herself to take a few steps closer to the table, her feet insisting otherwise with every inch of distance closed. She wanted nothing more than to retreat to the safety of the lab, but she refused to give Symond the satisfaction of seeing her falter.
She tightened her grip on the roll, her voice quieter but no less firm. “How are you even here?”
Symond scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an air of indifference. “You don’t get to ask me questions,” he spat.
Violette, who had been observing the exchange with growing irritation, sighed loudly.
“His ship was raided by pirates,” she said bluntly, cutting through the tension with her matter-of-fact tone.
“They took a few of the apprentices onboard. Symond got lucky. Managed to get away.” She gave him a pointed look. “And then I found him.”
Elora’s heart sank into her gut. She froze, her grip tightening on the roll until the crust cracked beneath her fingers.
Pirates. Apprentices.
Her friends.
“Who?” she demanded, her gaze piercing into Symond. “Who did they take?”
A slow, cruel grin spread across Symond’s face, his eyes glinting with malice as he watched her unravel. “What’s the matter, Elora?” he asked sarcastically. “Worried about your little friends?”
He laughed then, low and bitter, the sound reverberating through her bones and splintering her nerves.
Before Elora could respond, Violette’s foot shot out under the table, connecting with Symond’s shin. He hissed, glaring at her as he clutched his leg.
“Enough,” Violette said sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument.
She turned back to Elora. “The boss is working on it. She’s on a mission to track down the remaining apprentices.
Having Empire-trained alchemists and enchanters in our ranks is a huge advantage, one we can’t afford to miss out on. ”
Elora’s breath came out shakily, the weight on her chest easing slightly at the news. She loosened her grip on the bread, though her mind still raced with thoughts of the others.
“They’ll be, okay?” she asked cautiously. Her fragile emotions couldn’t handle anything else besides a ‘yes’.
“If anyone can find them, it’s the boss,” Violette replied with a shrug.
Elora nodded slowly, though her thoughts remained scattered. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, but its warmth didn’t reach the chill spreading through her veins.