Chapter 58
Elora
A week was a long time when chained in a stone cell with nothing to do but count the cracks in the bricks.
She was fine being alone at first. Though every time the cell door opened her heart would race.
Fear that Thorn was starting the experiments again early.
Anger that Rell wasn’t staying away. A flutter of hope that Florence was bringing good news.
It was never any of them. Always a guard. Food. Washing. Then hours of silence.
By the fourth day her heart still raced but now when it wasn’t Rell, her stomach would drop.
He actually listened. She knew it was necessary, but that didn’t stop her mind from conjuring up fantasies of him sneaking in.
Holding her—the human her—as she fell asleep.
Telling her she was safe, and for a few impossible moments, believing it.
On the sixth day she heard voices outside her cell.
Her ears caught the sounds beyond her door, the crisp consonants of “extraordinary potential” and “significant investment,” the practiced pauses between phrases, the way r’s rolled slightly at the ends of words.
Nothing like the guards’ barked commands and crude jokes about the wards.
These voices belonged to people who expected others to lean forward when they spoke, who had never needed to shout to be obeyed.
They were somewhere among Thorn’s many laboratories, their voices growing clearer.
“—truly remarkable progress,” a woman said, her voice carrying the cultured accent of the capital. “The consistency of the Vitalis Essence is unlike anything we’ve seen.”
Imperial officials—here, now—seeing firsthand what Thorn had been creating in his laboratories.
Was Florence able to convince him? She thought, begging that it was true.
“—stabilization period is significantly shorter,” another voice added. “The Empire’s military applications alone would—”
Elora partially shifted, using her enhanced hearing to follow them while she hid under the thin blanket provided to her.
“—must admit, Master Thorn, I was skeptical when you first described the properties.” The voice was raspy with age, unmistakable—Alchemy Master Egorim.
“But seeing the Vitalis Essence stabilize in real-time... extraordinary.” Egorim’s admiration dripped from every syllable.
“The Empire’s healing corps will be revolutionized. ”
“The applications extend far beyond mere healing.” Thorn’s voice now, smooth with satisfaction.
The sound of approaching footfalls grew hesitant before ceasing altogether just beyond her prison.
Florence’s voice slithered into the conversation. “Your work transcends mere alchemy, Uncle. Where others only dreamed, you’ve manifested reality.” A pause, then softer, honeyed words that made Elora’s stomach clench. “I’ve missed your guidance.”
“Thank you, Flora,” Thorn replied, his voice warming with what might actually be genuine affection.
“Unlike your brother’s influence,” Egorim cut in. “Tehvan was no visionary. He was a knife trying to tear the legacy apart, a foolish man blinded by sentimentality.”
The silence that followed felt weighted. Dangerous. Elora’s claws extended involuntarily, digging into the cot as she fought to control the surge of rage that flooded through her at the mention of Tehvan’s name.
Florence’s voice sliced through the silence. “Tehvan’s betrayal cut deeper than most realize. He secreted away his own flesh and blood, then installed a doppelg?nger in my place—all to wound you where it would hurt most, Uncle. He couldn’t create a legacy, so he stole yours.”
“Is this where you’re keeping the runaway ward?” a woman asked.
Elora’s ears pricked at the question. She recognized the voice now—Master Fern, the one who deemed Elora a failure during the trials.
“Yes,” Thorn replied, his voice clipped. “I have her back under my control.”
There was a moment of silence, then the sound of someone approaching her cell door. Elora held her breath.
“I’d like to see her,” Master Fern said. “The ward who managed to evade capture for as long as she did would be... interesting to observe.”
“Not now,” Thorn said firmly. “You’ll all see her soon enough.”
“Another experiment?” Master Fern’s voice carried a note of excitement.
“Perhaps my best,” Thorn replied, satisfaction evident in his tone. “One I intend to showcase during the ceremony.”
The ceremony. Thorn’s public declaration of his successor. Florence had done it. She’d be named heir and a few days later after the paperwork had been processed, Elora would get to break out of this cage and end Thorn’s precious legacy. Only a few more days.
“Your achievements are truly remarkable, Master Thorn,” another voice chimed in—male, elderly, with the distinctive accent of the southern provinces. “The breeding program you’ve developed should effectively counter the resistance from the villages.”
“And your substitute for MahōKi sap will be vital to maintaining supply for our larger operations,” another man added. “The Empire is most pleased.”
“Your complete control over The Institute and the wards especially is impressive,” Master Fern added. “The Empire was concerned when one managed to escape.”
“We see now it was Tehvan’s treason that allowed it to happen,” a female voice said. “A temporary setback, nothing more.”
“Indeed,” Thorn agreed. “The girl’s escape ultimately proved beneficial. She returned to us with enhancements that will significantly advance our research.”
“We cannot wait to see what else you’ve been working on,” Master Fern said, her voice rich with anticipation.
The group began moving again, their footsteps fading down the corridor.
Elora stood and paced the cell as the voices faded.
So, she would be part of this ceremony. Of course, Thorn would want to display her, not just as the runaway ward, but as the creation he’d made, the weapon she could become, or rather, the mother of his offspring.
A few shocks to make her shift, maybe she’d charge at him just for show.
She’d certainly be chained. Another shock to demonstrate his dominance. Then it would be all over.
She paced the cell a bit longer before sitting on the thin mattress.
Waiting had never been her strong suit, especially not with freedom dangling just beyond her reach.
Her legs twitched with pent-up energy, her shoulders tensed and released unconsciously.
After being confined in this stone box, the nightglider part of her nature scratched and clawed beneath the surface of her skin, desperate for open air and the sensation of wind through fur.
The sound of approaching steps in the hallway made her stiffen. Multiple sets—three, maybe four people approaching. The lock clicked, and the heavy door swung open.
Rell strode through the doorway, filling the frame with his imposing silhouette
Her heart fluttered. He was still here and uninjured. She nearly smiled but swallowed it instead, remembering her role.
“On your feet,” he commanded, voice like gravel. “Ceremony’s starting. Don’t make this difficult.” Elora suppressed a grimace, unsettled by how convincingly he inhabited the persona of her jailer.
Did I push him too far away?
Elora tilted her chin upwards. “And if I refuse?”
A hint of a smile flickered across Rell’s face before disappearing behind his practiced scowl. “Then there will be consequences,” he replied, voice devoid of emotion.
No. He’s still himself.
He advanced and seized her wrists, hauling her from the thin mattress with theatrical roughness that looked brutal but barely touched her. Elora hissed through her teeth and spat out a curse that drew appreciative laughter from one of the corridor guards.
Rell spun her around, secured her wrists behind her back with a metallic click of manacles. His breath was hot on her ear as he leaned close. She wanted to lean back into him. She didn’t.
“You’ll be chained with a collar around your neck,” he whispered.
Behind them, the guards waited in the hall, their attention already drifting to a conversation about who owed whom money from last night’s card game.
“Normal iron, not aloyt.” His fingers lingered against her skin, a momentary comfort as he leaned closer. “Florence convinced Thorn you’re still weak from the... procedure. Said you wouldn’t be able to fly well if you had to lift the enchanted steel.”
A cold smile spread across Elora’s face, but it wasn’t for the chain.
It was for Thorn.
He thought this ceremony was a display—another opportunity to parade his control, to remind the Empire of what he’d built. Let him have it. Let him stand there and believe everything had returned to order.
The next few days would be simple. Play her part. Stay contained. Let Florence secure her position. Let Thorn settle back into routine.
Then she would end it.