Chapter 43
Elora
They reached the city outskirts, the forest thinning into patchwork fields and muddy lanes lined with squat fencing.
Kilfaire’s walls rose up in the distance, sun-bleached and crawling with late-morning traffic.
The horse—by now as tired of the woods as its riders—snorted and tossed its mane as they approached the low fence of a thatch-roofed livery.
Rell swung down and looped the reins over a post. “We walk from here,” he said, patting the horse’s flank as if apologizing. “I’ll come back for you, old girl. Promise.” He slipped the stable-hand a coin, then helped Elora down with unnecessary care, his grip warm and lingering on her waist.
As they neared the city, Elora noticed the first signs of civilization.
Or what passed for it here. The outskirts of Kilfaire were nothing like she had imagined.
The houses, if they could even be called that, were little more than fragile shells of rotting wood, held together by rusted nails and a prayer.
The air hung heavy with the stench of decay and unwashed bodies, assaulting her senses and making her stomach churn.
She had expected the city to feel more welcoming, but this was different. This place reeked of desperation.
Elora tried to keep her gaze forward, but it was impossible to ignore the eyes that followed them as they walked.
She saw shadows move in the darkened doorways, the shapes of people hidden beneath tattered hoods and grimy cloaks.
She could feel them sizing her up, and her hand instinctively tightened around her satchel, clutching it closer to her side.
The outskirts felt like a haven for the desperate and the criminal—people with nothing to lose and everything to gain by making a quick deal.
It was like being in a place where secrets thrived, where any wrong move or look could spark trouble.
She could almost feel the tension crackling in the air, a place where danger was as common as breathing.
The bounty on her head would be a tempting offer for anyone who caught a glimpse of her face. She pulled her cloak tighter around her head and shoulders, trying to shield herself from their eyes, from their intentions, from everything.
Rell gently positioned her closely next to him.
People of all kinds jostled around them: merchants with their carts, beggars with hollow eyes, and travelers cloaked in ragged garments.
The guards at the gate, distracted by the sheer mass of bodies moving through, barely gave more than a cursory glance at those entering the city.
Their focus seemed to be on maintaining a semblance of order rather than truly examining each face.
Rell walked beside her with a confidence that contrasted sharply with her own nervousness.
He seemed to glide through the crowd effortlessly, his steps light and his movements purposeful.
The dark colors of his coat blended seamlessly with the drab surroundings, allowing him to merge with the flow of people.
They made it through the gate, the guards none the wiser, and Rell steered them toward the heart of Kilfaire.
The alleys twisted like veins through a diseased body, narrow and winding, and they were soon lost in a maze of crooked buildings and treacherous streets.
Little kids with dirt-streaked faces darted past, playing some kind of tag that looked suspiciously like training for a pickpocket ring.
Rell kept her moving at a brisk pace, navigating with a speed that made her question if he was happy to be getting rid of her. “Scholastic District’s ahead,” he said. “Stay close. This stretch can get rough.”
It gets worse? she thought, ducking under a sagging clothesline as they rounded a corner. The din of street vendors hawking their wares filled the air, mixing with the shouts of dockworkers and the occasional clamor of what sounded like a brawl in progress.
“Hey! Hey you!” A voice rasped from behind them and Elora flinched. She didn’t look back, even as the calling turned to coughing. Rell’s hand was already on her arm, steering her through the press of bodies.
“They’re just trying to scare you,” he said over his shoulder.
Her heart hammered in her chest, each beat echoing with Thorn’s voice, with all the promises he made about what he would do to her right before she escaped. She gripped Rell’s sleeve tighter.
Just ahead, the streets opened up into a busy square ringed with squat stone buildings.
Signs advertised cheap ale and cheaper beds, painted letters fading like old bruises against cracked plaster.
Here, the crowd thinned out—not much, but enough for Elora to breathe easier.
She tugged at her cloak again, making sure it covered her hair.
Rell angled them toward a narrow alley on the far side of the square.
The shadows were deeper there, the noise from the square muted by a tangle of walls that towered above.
It was an unsettling place, but it felt less exposed.
Less like they were running through a gauntlet of eyes and bad intentions.
“The district is right over there.” He gestured toward a grand archway nestled between two opulent buildings, their facades gleaming with polished stone and intricate carvings.
These structures stood in stark contrast to the rest of the city, which was characterized by its bleak, worn-out appearance and drab, monotonous architecture.
Elora’s eyes lingered on the archway, her gut twisting at the sight of the manicured edges and the clean lines. It looked like another world—one she didn’t belong in, even if it was where she needed to go. She turned to face him, already knowing what was coming.
He leaned against the grimy brick wall, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his worn jacket. He was trying to maintain that nonchalant facade he always wore, but she saw right through it. The usual easygoing smirk that accompanied his act was absent, replaced by a tight-lipped expression.
She took a step closer, not sure what she wanted from this moment. Only knowing it wasn’t to say goodbye. She wanted to ask him to stay. Wanted to ask if maybe he could come with her. But she didn’t. Because they had made a deal. And this was where it ended.
Her hand moved to her satchel before she could think better of it, fingers closing around the folded parchment she'd taken from Thorn's workshop.
The decision hit her like a sudden gust of wind—impulsive, unplanned, but somehow right.
She didn't want to carry anything of his with her into whatever came next.
"Here." She pulled out the recipe and thrust it toward Rell, the parchment crinkling between her fingers. "Take this."
He straightened, confused. "What is it?"
"Alchemy research." The words came out rushed, like she might change her mind if she spoke too slowly. "I... took it from Thorn. Give it to your alchemist at the Hive. It might help if your sap storage ever runs low."
Rell reached out slowly, his fingers brushing hers as he took the parchment. His brow furrowed. "Elora, why would you—"
"I don't need it." The admission escaped, sharper than she intended. She crossed her arms, suddenly feeling exposed.
He gave her a long, searching look. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that made her heart squeeze painfully. Understanding, maybe. Or recognition of what she wasn't saying—that she didn't want to carry pieces of her past into whatever waited beyond the archway.
Then he shook his head with a wry grin pulling at the corner of his mouth and tucked the parchment into his coat. "You'll be fine. Just find your um… cat people."
Elora snorted. “You mean the nightgliders that want to kill me?”
He took a step forward, close enough that the scent of smoke and pine clung to her skin. “Exactly. I’m serious, though. If you ever come back, there’ll be a place for you. In the Hive. I’ll make sure of it.”
She nodded, swallowing the tightness in her throat. She fought back everything that clawed to the surface and tried to find her voice. “Thanks, Rell. For… everything.”
He stayed silent, but his eyes spoke volumes, capturing her in a way that made the world narrow down to just the two of them.
He looked at her longer than seemed possible for a simple goodbye—really looked at her, like he was trying to memorize each detail of her face, every curve and line, every vulnerability she laid bare.
He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and bent down, gently pressing his lips against her forehead. The warmth of his kiss lingered, not just on her skin, but settling deep inside where the cold emptiness had started to creep in.
It was a single moment carved out of all the chaos and noise, everything else fading until there was nothing but that simple, intimate gesture between them.
Elora closed her eyes, letting it wash over her. This was freedom. This was choice. And yet she was letting it go because she was loyal. Or maybe just stupid.
“I’ll see you around, Sunshine,” he murmured, his lips brushing close enough to send shivers through her.
She wanted to say something back, anything to match the weight of the farewell he gave her. But her throat felt raw, and the words didn’t come. So instead, she just nodded again, silent and painful in its simplicity, hoping he understood more than she could say.
And then, with one last look—a flicker of something unspoken in his gaze—he turned and disappeared down the alley, leaving her staring at the archway.
∞∞∞
The Scholastic District didn’t look like it belonged to the same city.
The air here was strangely fresh, devoid of the usual stench of a bustling city.
The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers mingled with the slight hint of magic in the glowing lanterns.
Controlled. Elora pulled her cloak tighter, her boots scuffing against cobblestones too smooth for a city that had seen war and rot.
She didn’t belong here.
Everyone knew it, even if they didn’t say it.
She caught glances—curious, disdainful, indifferent.
Scholars walked past in layered robes stitched with enchanted gold threading, their hair tamed into elegant knots and braids.
No dirt under their nails. No callouses on their hands. No blood in their pasts.
Elora kept her head down, ears alert, senses prickling with every step. She couldn’t afford attention.
She paused at the edge of a fountain, her eyes narrowing at a cluster of scholars who seemed locked into some intense—or maybe just painfully boring—discussion by a stone bench.
But then she noticed something that caught her attention.
One of them—a younger woman, maybe not much older than Elora—stood a little apart from the others, clutching a stack of parchment.
She looked like she'd rather swallow nails than be part of the discussion, her eyes darting around like a trapped animal planning a daring escape.
A calculated risk, Elora thought. There was a chance the woman would help her or at least not immediately scream for security. She hesitated, wrestling with the decision, but the gamble felt right. Elora approached slowly, keeping her tone low.
“Excuse me,” she said, trying to sound soft, nonthreatening. “Do you know where the summit’s being held?”
The woman blinked at her, surprised but not alarmed. She glanced down the street and pointed. “That building there,” she said, gesturing to a large stone structure, all white pillars and grand arches. “They should be breaking for lunch soon.”
“Thank you,” Elora murmured, offering a faint smile before turning away.
The alley beside the clock tower offered just enough cover to keep her from prying eyes, but not so much that she’d lose sight of the summit building. She tucked herself against the cool stone wall, arms crossed, heart pounding louder than the steady tick of the gears overhead.
She was close now. Tehvan would be there. He had to be.
The tower bell chimed, a heavy note that vibrated through Elora’s bones and sent a jolt of urgency up her spine.
As if sensing her desperation, the summit doors finally swung open.
Scholars spilled out in clusters, their voices a low hum of academic self-importance.
Elora scanned the crowd, searching for that familiar figure.
“Where are you?” she whispered under her breath.
And then: movement that caught her eye. A man with quiet efficiency weaving through the crowd without drawing a single glance. He had Tehvan's stride, his warm and safe presence. Hope flared in Elora’s chest—wild, reckless hope that pushed her into the open.
She dodged past clusters of robed scholars, her heart in her throat. The man disappeared for a moment behind a group and then reappeared, just ahead of her. She was gaining on him. She called out, but the name caught in her throat, coming out as a desperate, breathless gasp.
The man turned around at the sound, and Elora's heart plummeted. Her feet stumbled to a stop. Not Tehvan. A stranger with dark hair and tired eyes, fixing her with a puzzled look before vanishing into the crowd.
Elora’s shoulders sagged, the world closing in with its damn elegant robes and pristine streets, choking off every ounce of hope she’d let herself feel.
She needed air, needed space to think and regroup.
She backed away from the building, nearly colliding with a woman who shot her an annoyed look before brushing past.
A young boy, ragged and out of place, stood out like a stain on a white tablecloth. He sprinted through the district, thrusting crumpled papers into the hands of passersby. They barely paused to acknowledge him, flicking the papers away in irritation as he dashed to his next target.
The boy shoved past Elora, nearly knocking her over as he thrust a paper at her. She almost let it flutter to the ground. Almost kept walking, her mind on Tehvan and the damn city that conspired to swallow him whole. But curiosity tugged at her like an annoying little sibling, and she glanced down.