Chapter 47
Thorn
Tehvan's body lay crumpled where the beast had left it, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, eyes still open and staring at nothing.
Blood had pooled beneath him, dark and viscous in the arena's harsh light.
Thorn stood motionless in the center of the bloodstained sand, his shadow elemental dissipating into wisps of darkness that curled around his boots before vanishing entirely.
He felt no grief looking at the corpse—only a simmering fury that threatened to boil over at any moment.
She had escaped. Again. Made a fool of him in front of half the city, left him standing here among the wreckage of his carefully laid plans while she slipped through his fingers. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
Thorn's fingers found the ring on his hand, spinning it slowly as he felt the faint pulse within the enchanted metal.
The heartbeat was shallow now, barely perceptible—grief, most likely.
He had started to recognize the subtle variations in its rhythm over the past week.
The frantic racing when Elora panicked in the arena.
The way it had nearly stopped entirely when his shadow beast crushed Tehvan beneath its claws.
It wasn't Flora's heartbeat. It never had been.
As soon as they landed in Kilfaire, Tehvan attended the scholar summit—which made little sense to Thorn, it was meant to only be an excuse.
While he was gone, Thorn found someone versed in such enchantments, and the truth had become clear.
The magic was no more than a decade old—the ring itself showed none of the erosion that fourteen years of a strong enchantment would have caused.
Thorn had extracted his own memories from before Elora's arrival at the Institute, viewing them with crystalline clarity.
Tehvan wore no ring in those recollections.
The enchanted band had appeared only after Elora came into their lives.
The calculated risk of accusing his brother of treason had paid off.
Tehvan hadn't confessed, but he hadn't needed to.
The evidence spoke loudly enough. Besides, Tehvan helping Flora run away—as he claimed that he did—had stolen Thorn's future.
His prodigy. His life's work. That alone was treason of the highest order. But also lying about it. Whether her death was the lie or her survival, Thorn did not know, but it was clear Tehvan had only been playing him to secure Elora’s freedom.
A guard approached hesitantly from the arena's edge. "Master Thorn? Our men are pursuing, but—"
Thorn turned slowly, brushing dust from his coat with deliberate care. "Double the search parties. Triple them. I want every street, every alley, every rat hole in the city turned inside out."
"Yes, sir. And... and Master Tehvan?"
Thorn's gaze flicked back to his brother's body. "Collect the corpse. Keep it intact. I don't want so much as a finger damaged. Have it preserved and transported back to The Institute immediately."
The guard blinked in surprise. "Sir?"
"You heard me. There's research to be conducted. Even in death, my brother will serve a purpose." Thorn's lips curved into something that might have been a smile if it had contained any warmth.
The guard nodded hastily and moved away to carry out the orders. Thorn remained standing over Tehvan's cooling body, his mind already racing ahead to the experiments he could conduct. Death magic was a delicate art, but with the right preparations, even a corpse could yield valuable information.
He spun the ring again, feeling Elora's heartbeat flutter against his finger like a trapped bird.
The enchantment was his now—Tehvan's final, unwitting gift.
Somehow, he would use it to track her down.
The magic that bound her life force to the ring would be the very chain that dragged her back to his laboratory.
It was almost poetic.
The shadow elemental had taken more out of him than he cared to admit—that level of dark magic always demanded a price.
His hands trembled slightly as he reached into his coat for a restorative vial, downing its contents in a single swallow.
The bitter liquid burned his throat, but it steadied his nerves.
By the time he made it back to the royal lodging, disappointment had joined his fury. Tehvan would never witness Elora's inevitable fall, never see her spirit finally broken and her defiance crushed. That seemed almost wasteful.
But his revenge extended beyond his dead brother now.
It encompassed Elora, the humiliation she had heaped upon him, and the damage she had done to the Thorn family name.
If the Empire would even allow him to right this wrong—if they didn't strip him of his position for this very public failure—he would prove that his control was absolute.
That no one, not even his most prized specimen, could escape him forever.
The ring pulsed against his finger, and Thorn smiled. The hunt was just beginning, and now he held the perfect compass to guide him to his prey.