Chapter 13 #2
The second guard was coming too close, his sword raised slightly, the tip trembling as if sensing an unseen threat.
The guard paused, frowning. His head tilted slightly, as though he could hear their shallow breaths.
Symond inched back, careful to avoid making a sound—but his heel brushed against Rell’s foot. The mercenary staggered slightly, his hip hitting the edge of a small side table.
A vase perched atop the table wobbled once. Twice.
Then it toppled, shattering with a deafening crash that tore through the quiet. Fucking hell, Rell.
The guard’s head snapped toward the sound, his eyes narrowing as his grip on his sword tightened. “Who’s there?” he barked. He lunged, thrusting his blade blindly into the shadows.
Symond felt the air shift before he heard the soft grunt.
The blanket of shadows peeled back, exposing Violette’s position. Her arm glistened faintly, the light catching the blood seeping from a wound on her bicep. Symond caught the tang of metal in the air, sharp and unmistakable.
The guard’s eyes widened, his mouth opening in a shout. “Intru—”
The word never finished.
Rell moved, closing the distance in a single, fluid motion. A small vial appeared in his hand, and with a sharp twist of his wrist, he released a fine cloud of Dust of Drowsiness into the guard’s face.
The man’s eyes fluttered, his body swaying as the sword slipped from his grasp. Rell caught him smoothly, lowering him to the ground in silence.
“Hey, you alright out there?” came the second guard’s voice from the adjacent room.
Symond was already moving. He reached the door in a whisper of motion. The door creaked open and a sliver of light spilled into the hallway, illuminating the second guard as he stepped into view.
The man’s gaze darted to his fallen companion. Symond lunged forward, his dagger flashing in the faint light as he struck the guard at the base of his skull with the hilt.
The man’s body slackened instantly, collapsing to the floor with a soft thud. His sword clattered against the stone, the sound muffled but sharp enough to make Symond wince.
He straightened, his chest heaving as he looked down at the unconscious guard. His hand tightened around the hilt of his dagger, the weight of his actions settling over him.
As soon as the second guard was handled, Rell turned his attention to Symond. The anger in his eyes was unmistakable, his jaw tight as though he were holding back a string of curses. Symond braced himself for the inevitable berating, but Rell surprised him.
He didn’t say a word.
Instead, Rell’s gaze shifted to Violette, who was leaning against the wall, already rubbing a balm over the cut on her arm. The sharp edge of Rell’s anger melted into concern as he moved toward her, crouching slightly to examine the wound.
Symond watched the interaction, a flicker of curiosity sparking in his chest. Rell didn’t say anything, but it was clear there was a silent conversation happening between them. A look. A gesture. Something unspoken being said.
Symond had wondered about their relationship since he’d first met them. It was clear they cared deeply for each other, but to what extent? He wasn’t sure.
Violette kept her expression calm, her movements steady as she applied the balm to her arm. But Symond saw the faint wobble of her hand as she worked. The slice was deeper than she wanted to admit, but she wouldn’t complain. She never did.
There was a quiet strength about her, one Symond found himself admiring. She wasn’t invincible—none of them were—but she carried herself like she was, her resolve unshakable even in moments like this.
Rell tore a strip of fabric from one of the guard’s shirts and began wrapping it around Violette’s arm with a care Symond didn’t expect. His movements were quick but delicate, his eyes flicking up to hers occasionally, checking her reaction. She didn’t wince, didn’t flinch.
When he was satisfied with the makeshift bandage, Rell stood and turned to Symond. “Let’s move.”
Symond fell into step behind him, his grip tightening on the hilt of his dagger as they ascended. Rell’s unspoken criticism pressed against him, heavier than any words could have been.
At the top of the stairs, Rell paused, holding up two fingers before pointing deliberately to the vial of Venomous Vapor at Symond’s hip. He flicked his thumb forward—a silent command that sent a spike of irritation through Symond.
I’m leading this, remember?
Still, he followed the signal. Detaching the cylindrical vial from his belt, he removed the cap and crouched low, rolling the vial down the hallway. The faint clink of glass against the stone floor echoed softly, and the mist began to spread immediately.
Symond watched with satisfaction as the two guards stationed outside a heavy wooden door stiffened, then crumpled to the ground, their armor clinking faintly as their bodies went limp.
Rell gave him a quick thumbs-up before stepping over the unconscious guards. He moved ahead, stopping at the door. He applied a dab of Silent Step balm to the hinges, the faint shimmer of the potion disappearing as he worked.
Symond’s frustration boiled over. This was his mission. He was supposed to be the one leading, making the decisions—not Rell swooping in with his silent, efficient moves.
He shuffled forward, pressing past Rell and grabbing the handle of the door before the man could open it. Rell shot him a sharp, frustrated look but quickly masked it, folding his arms over his chest. With an almost theatrical gesture, he motioned for Symond to go ahead.
Symond pushed the door open, suppressing the urge to glare at Rell.
The room beyond was dimly lit, the heavy scent of aged wood and faint perfume hanging in the air. Tall windows were framed by heavy drapes that swayed gently in the breeze from the open balcony doors.
A large four-poster bed dominated the space, the man within undisturbed, blankets pulled up to his chest as he breathed deeply, lost in sleep.
Symond’s gaze shifted to the balcony. A lone guard stood there, his back to the room, silhouetted against the faint glow of the city beyond.
This was it. The moment to prove himself.
He crept forward, each step measured as he prepared the dust in his palm. The cool grains shifted against his skin, their potency a quiet promise. He was nearly there, the guard only an arm’s length away, when the man suddenly stiffened.
The guard’s head began to turn, his body tense with the awareness of something—someone—behind him.
Symond’s heart raced. His fingers twitched, and without thinking, he blew the dust toward the guard’s face, praying it would reach him before he could raise the alarm.
But the breeze betrayed him.
The gentle wind from the open doors caught the shimmering cloud and sent it spiraling back toward Symond.
He barely had time to react as the dust enveloped him, its faint shimmer catching the light before his vision blurred.
The room tilted, the edges of his sight darkening as the guard’s figure wavered, distorted by the haze overtaking him. His knees buckled, his breath shallow as the world around him twisted.
“No…” The word barely escaped his lips as darkness closed in. His grip on reality faltered, the sound of the room fading to a faint hum before everything went black.