Chapter 25 #2
One of Florence’s eyebrows lifted a fraction—almost imperceptible—as she leaned forward slightly, head tilted.
“From what I remember of Thorn, deconstructing The Institute while he remains in charge will dismantle him more thoroughly than any blade could.” A cold calculation entered her voice.
“He will be blamed. The Empire will attribute The Institute’s downfall as his failure. ”
Elora said nothing as understanding clicked into place. Florence didn’t want Thorn dead. She wanted him alive to witness his own destruction, to feel each pillar of his power crack and fall, to stand helpless as his life’s work dissolved into nothing but bitter memory.
Suddenly, Rell’s words made perfect sense.
Making him suffer. This wasn’t quick revenge, this was slow, methodical destruction.
The beast inside her bristled at the delay, but another part—the part that remembered every humiliation, every moment of powerlessness—found satisfaction in the image.
His legacy. His reasoning for all of his crimes. Made meaningless.
“And what was he like with you?” Florence asked suddenly, her gaze sharpening. “From what the other apprentices have told me, Thorn barely acknowledged your existence before you became a ward.”
The question froze Elora mid-breath. Behind her eyes, memories flickered: gleaming instruments laid out in precise rows, the smell of antiseptic barely masking something coppery, the way Thorn would hum tunelessly while working.
Her skin prickled with phantom pain where the markings had once traced their burning paths across her body.
She swallowed hard, forcing her face to remain neutral despite the storm raging inside her. Her fingers curled against her thigh, nails digging into her palm just enough to ground her.
“I was treated like any other ward,” she said, voice steady, almost bored.
Florence’s eyes narrowed slightly. “No ward escapes Thorn. Not without help. Not without...” She tilted her head, studying Elora with uncomfortable intensity. “The only way out would be to outsmart him. To manipulate him into making a mistake.”
Elora met her gaze, letting the silence stretch between them. She nodded slowly. “I used his love for you. His grief.” The admission tasted bitter on her tongue. “I reminded him of you. It made him careless.”
Florence stilled. The change was subtle—a slight tension in her shoulders, a barely perceptible shift in her breathing. Her expression remained perfectly composed, but Elora caught the flicker anyway.
A raw, jagged feeling clawed its way up Elora’s throat. Her control slipped, just for a moment.
“He hurt me,” she said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them, “because he believed Tehvan had replaced you with me. That I was some kind of... substitute.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Did you know?”
Florence didn’t answer immediately. She looked away, out the window where the children continued playing, oblivious to the weight crushing down on Elora’s chest.
“We’ll discuss Tehvan at a later point,” Florence said finally, her voice carefully measured. “Right now, I’d prefer to focus on the future.”
She rose smoothly from the window seat. “Come. I want to show you what we’re building here.” She extended her hand, not quite touching Elora but inviting her to follow.
The dismissal stung worse than a slap. Elora’s blood roared in her ears, fury and pain tangling together until she couldn’t separate them. The beast clawed at her insides, demanding release, demanding answers. But not here. Not now. Not when she felt so close to shattering.
She dropped the questions for now and followed Florence down another corridor, one that smelled faintly of fresh wood and plaster dust. Newer. Recently altered.
It was just a hallway.
Clean lines. Doors evenly spaced on either side. Wide windows letting in light. Nothing overtly wrong about it at all.
And yet—
Her body recognized it before her mind did.
Classrooms. Labs. Spaces built for instruction and observation. For shaping. The difference was in the sound. Children’s laughter echoed down the hall, bright and unrestrained, carrying none of the brittle edge she associated with The Institute. Younger voices. Untrained ones.
Apprentices stood with them, kneeling, crouching, gesturing animatedly as they explained something Elora couldn’t quite hear. They looked… anxious when Florence appeared. Not afraid of her, exactly, but tense in that familiar way people with a history of authority learned to be.
Florence noticed.
She greeted them by name.
Asked how the lessons were going. Complimented one on her patience, another on his clever explanation.
When a boy hesitated, Florence knelt to his level and waited until he spoke on his own.
When a girl mentioned nightmares, Florence didn’t dismiss it, she listened.
Encouraged her to talk. Told her she wasn’t weak for being afraid.
It was… different.
Unsettling in a quieter way.
“This is only the beginning,” Florence said as they walked. “We don’t have a finalized curriculum yet. No rigid routines. I don’t want to build another cage by accident.”
Elora studied her carefully.
“I want to empty The Institute,” Florence continued, voice steady, almost reverent.
“Starve the Empire of what it values most. Children. Potential. Obedience.” She glanced at Elora then.
“And give the outer villages something they’ve never had.
A real choice,” Florence said. “So, they don’t have to give their children up just to survive.
They aren’t compelled to sell them. Or surrender them to men like Thorn. ”
On the surface, it was… noble. Hard to argue with. The kind of plan that made sense when you stripped the blood from it.