Chapter 13
Symond
The narrow passages of the city twisted like a maze, each turn pulling them deeper into Ravenpoint’s labyrinth of dark alleys and hidden routes.
Symond kept pace behind Violette, his boots scuffing lightly against the uneven cobblestones.
She moved with quiet precision, her silhouette barely distinguishable against the darkness of the night.
Symond glanced back briefly, catching the faint outline of Rell behind him. His presence was as unwelcome as ever, but tonight, Symond wasn’t about to let that distract him.
This was his mission. His chance.
The weight of it sat heavy on his shoulders, but he straightened under the pressure, forcing himself to focus. Each step forward was another toward proving himself—not just to Violette, not just to The Hive, but to himself. He needed this. Needed to succeed.
The city around him felt oppressive, its dense, looming structures blotting out what little light might have filtered through the clouded sky. There was no moon tonight, providing them the perfect cover.
Symond’s sense of direction faltered as they wove through the twisting alleys. He’d lost track of how many turns they’d taken, but Violette moved with purpose, her confidence in their route unshakable. He wasn’t about to ask for clarification.
They emerged from the claustrophobic passages into an open space, and Symond’s gaze immediately locked onto their target.
The manor stood out starkly against the surrounding buildings, its three-story height and imposing structure an unmistakable declaration of wealth and power.
A sturdy metal fence encircled the property, its sharp iron tips catching faint glimmers of light from the lanterns carried by patrolling guards.
Symond’s pulse quickened, adrenaline kicking in as he surveyed the scene. They had scouted the place yesterday. Violette had let him decide the best entry point and the approach for taking out the guards. She believed in him.
Rell didn’t.
But fuck him. This wasn’t about Rell’s approval. This was Symond’s mission, his chance to show that he was more than just an enchanter or a screw-up with a chip on his shoulder. He wasn’t about to let anyone take that from him.
“We’re here,” Violette said softly, her voice pulling him back into the moment.
He nodded, stepping forward and crouching slightly as they approached the edge of the alley. From here, he could see the guards clearly, their flickering lanterns marking their positions as they made slow, predictable circuits around the property.
Just like I planned, he thought, a swell of pride bolstering his confidence.
“You know what to do,” Violette murmured, glancing at him with a faint smile.
Symond’s chest tightened. Her trust wasn’t a gift—it was a challenge, and he was determined to meet it.
He reached into his pouch and pulled out a small compact case. Inside was a Silent Step Balm, a glistening balm that, when applied to the soles of their shoes, would render their footsteps nearly silent. He applied it then handed it off to Violette and Rell.
“I’ve got it,” he replied, his voice steady as he pulled a vial from his belt. It glimmered faintly in the low light, the liquid inside a deep, swirling green. A sleeping draught.
He moved quickly, crouching low as he approached the first guard.
His pulse thundered in his ears, but he kept his breathing even, his movements deliberate.
The guard didn’t notice him until it was too late.
Symond slipped behind him, uncorking the vial and spilling its contents onto the cloth in his hand before clamping it over the man’s mouth.
The guard struggled briefly, but the draught worked quickly, and soon he slumped forward. Symond lowered him to the ground, a faint grin tugging at his lips.
One down.
He gestured to Violette and Rell, signaling the next move. They’d take the remaining guards in a similar fashion, avoiding unnecessary noise.
But as Symond approached the second guard, his confidence faltered for the briefest moment.
The man shifted suddenly, turning to adjust his lantern, and the movement caught Symond off guard.
His grip on the vial wavered, and it slipped from his fingers, shattering against the cobblestones with a sharp, echoing crack.
The sound cut through the quiet like a scream.
The guard whipped around, his hand reaching for the weapon at his side as his lantern swung wildly. “Who’s there?” he barked.
Symond froze, his heart pounding in his chest as his mind raced.
Panic surged through him, but he forced himself to act. He lunged forward, grabbing the guard’s wrist before he could draw his blade. The man struggled, his movements strong and frantic, and Symond realized too late that he’d underestimated him.
A blur of motion to his right.
Rell’s blade sliced cleanly across the guard’s exposed arm, forcing him to drop the lantern.
It hit the ground with a dull thud, the flame snuffing out instantly.
The man staggered back, clutching his wound, before Rell moved in with an accuracy Symond could only envy, rendering the guard unconscious with a quick strike.
Symond stood there, breathing hard as the adrenaline coursed through him.
“Great job, Rook,” Rell muttered sarcastically as he wiped his blade on the guard’s coat. “Remind me to thank you for making this harder.”
“Rell,” Violette said sharply, stepping forward. She fixed Symond with a look—not of anger, but disappointment. It stung more than he expected.
They crept along the side of the manor. The target was on the second floor. At last, they reached the window Symond had designated as their entry point during the scouting mission. Violette glanced back at them and nodded, signaling for them to stay put.
She unlatched a vial from her harness and carefully pried the window open, sliding it just enough to slip inside and disappear into the shadows.
He dared a glance through the opening. The faintly lit kitchen flickered with the soft glow of a lantern swinging from a hook. A lone cook stood at the counter, his back turned, methodically scraping a pot clean.
In the corner of the room, Violette appeared like a shadow given life. A small vial rested in her hand, she tipped it, letting a fine dust pour into her palm. Dust of Drowsiness.
She inched closer, every movement smooth, deliberate, predatory. The cook paused, his head tilting slightly, sensing something.
Violette didn’t falter. With a swift motion, she blew the shimmering dust into the air. It caught the lantern light for the briefest moment before settling over the cook’s face.
For a tense heartbeat, nothing happened. Symond’s chest tightened. Did Elora’s potion fail?
Then the cook swayed, the pot slipping from his hands and clattering loudly to the floor. Symond winced at the noise, but the man didn’t react. His body went slack, and he crumpled to the ground, soft snores filling the air.
Symond and Rell hoisted themselves through the window, landing silently on the kitchen floor.
“Once we’re in the hallway, you need to snuff out the torches,” Rell murmured, his voice barely audible. “Then we use the shadowmeld potion to blend into the darkness.”
I know, Symond thought, biting back the urge to snap. It was my plan, after all. But Rell always had to remind him, like he couldn’t be trusted to execute his own ideas. Symond rolled his eyes but said nothing.
He approached the door, easing it open just a sliver. The long corridor beyond matched the layout they had memorized during the scout—a narrow hallway leading to a staircase at the far end, its length illuminated by three flickering torches mounted on the left-hand wall.
Symond uncorked the wind potion hanging from his belt and brought it to his lips, swallowing it in one smooth motion.
A rush of energy filled his chest, and he inhaled deeply, his lungs expanding with an almost unnatural capacity.
Aligning himself with the torches, he released a powerful gust of wind.
The flurry rippled through the hall, extinguishing all three flames in a single, fluid motion. Darkness swallowed the corridor instantly, the oppressive blackness broken only by faint outlines of the architecture.
He straightened, pleased with the execution, and reached for the shadowmeld elixir. The three of them drank in unison, the elixir cool and sharp on Symond’s tongue. Almost immediately, a tingling sensation spread across his skin, like pins and needles racing under the surface.
He glanced at his hands as they began to blur and fade, the defined lines of his fingers softening. The sensation spread, his form dissolving into the surrounding shadows until he seemed to melt seamlessly into the darkness.
The effect was disorienting, but there was no time to marvel at the potion’s potency.
“Move,” Violette whispered.
They moved into the hallway, their footsteps soundless as they pressed against the cool walls. The muffled voices of guards drifted closer, accompanied by the steady clack of boots against wood floors. If Symond remembered correctly, there should be two patrolling this wing.
The guards’ footsteps echoed, heavy and hurried. The sudden extinguishing of the torches hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Two figures emerged from the stairwell, their lantern casting erratic beams of light that danced across the walls. Symond froze, holding his breath as he pressed deeper into the shadows. Violette’s presence beside him was calm and steady, her breathing measured. He tried to match her.
“What happened to the lights?” one guard barked, his eyes darting into the darkness. He drew his sword, the blade glinting faintly as the lantern swung in his other hand.
“Stay sharp,” the first guard ordered. “Check every corner.”
The guards split up, one moving toward the nearest door while the other advanced cautiously down the hallway, his lantern held high, casting more light into the darkness.