Chapter 9
Symond
Symond sat in one of the common rooms, slouched in a battered armchair near the edge of a group of enchanting students.
The room buzzed with the leftover tension from the day, their voices a muddled hum that grated against his nerves.
Most of the students had already left for the night, but a handful of them lingered, riding the high of surviving the ceremony.
Renna, Jax, and Mari were seated around him, leaning in close, their tones laced with the unmistakable thrill of gossip.
It was all anyone could talk about, Elora’s rejection, the black flames swallowing her future whole.
Symond pretended to listen, his expression carefully neutral, though his mind kept replaying the moment Thorn had slashed her hand and the flame had turned dark.
He still saw the shock reflected in her pupils, the disbelief that had quickly morphed into fear.
“You should’ve seen Thorn’s face when the fire turned black,” Renna said, leaning forward, her eyes wide with glee. “He looked so pleased. I swear he’s been waiting for this day.”
“Of course he has,” Jax replied, a smirk tugging at his lips. He kicked his feet up onto the table, crossing his arms behind his head. “Everyone knew Elora was Tehvan’s favorite. She’s been skating by on his good graces for years. It’s about time she got what was coming to her.”
Symond’s fingers drummed against the arm of his chair, each tap growing sharper, more agitated. He forced a tight smile, not trusting himself to speak yet.
Elora was now at Thorn’s mercy, as she should have always been.
He knew exactly what Thorn would do, too.
He’d been on the receiving end of Thorn’s “lessons” too many times to forget how Thorn could turn pain into something cold and calculated, like a knife slid under fingernails.
He remembered the sting of the cane biting into his back, the days he spent locked in the dark, unsure if he’d gone mad or if he was even alive.
That wasn’t even the worst of it. And now, finally, it would be her turn to feel it.
Mari, sitting across from him, raised an eyebrow, catching his expression. “You’re quiet, Symond,” she noted. “Aren’t you happy to see her knocked down a peg? I thought you, of all people, would be celebrating.”
He shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. “I am.” Very happy. He leaned forward in the chair, making an effort to be engaged in their conversation. “It was inevitable.”
Renna’s smile widened, leaning in close as if she were sharing a secret. “Can you imagine her scrubbing floors and slaving away in the kitchen?”
Jax laughed, tipping his chair back even further. “It would be poetic justice, wouldn’t it? She’s had everything handed to her. It’s time she learns what it’s like to be at the bottom.”
Symond imagined her as a ward, finally brought so low.
He sensed something dark and ugly boiling up inside him, an emotion he was unable to name, unable to control.
It wasn’t just satisfaction at her failure.
It was a raw, burning need, a desire to make sure she suffered.
Not just as a ward, but truly suffered, the way he had.
He remembered that time, years ago, when they’d both been caught sneaking into one of the alchemy labs and how Tehvan had arrived just in time to pull her away, to speak a few soft words that somehow set her free.
Meanwhile, Symond had been dragged into Thorn’s office, left to endure hours of fury and pain, his pleas— “I’m sorry.
” “Please, stop.” “It won’t happen again. ”—all going ignored.
He’d hated her for that, hated her smug little smiles, her confidence, the way she always seemed so sure that nothing bad could ever happen to her. And now, she was finally facing the truth, facing Thorn without her precious Tehvan to save her.
Mari sensed the change in him, her smile dimming as she searched his face. “Symond? Are you okay?”
He leaned back, arms crossed. “I’m just disappointed I won’t be around to witness it.”
Renna and Jax nodded in agreement, but Mari, perched on the edge of her seat, raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re disappointed you won’t see it? I thought you’d be counting the minutes to get away from here, not wishing you could stay to watch Thorn tear someone else apart.”
Symond’s jaw clenched, the instinct to snap back at her rising, but something held him back. Isn’t she right? Shouldn’t he be eager to leave this place behind, to forget Thorn, to forget her? Yet something gnawed at him, an uncomfortable desire in his gut that he couldn’t shake.
She’s not worth it, he told himself. Forget her. But another part, darker, sharper, hungrier, whispered back. No, watch. See it happen. See her fall.
He shook his head, trying to shake free of it, but the thoughts kept coming, battling in his mind like two voices warring for control.
He shot up from his chair, the movement sudden and abrupt. The legs scraped loudly against the floor, cutting through the chatter of the room. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t sit here and listen to their idle gossip, their hollow satisfaction. It wasn’t enough. None of it was enough.
“I need some air,” he muttered. He turned on his heel and strode toward the exit.
“Symond, wait,” Renna called after him, but he didn’t stop. He pushed open the door, the noise of the common room fading as it swung shut behind him.
The hallway was dark and empty, the cool air brushed against his flushed face, but it did little to soothe the fire burning inside him.
He pressed a hand to his chest; his heart pounded rapidly beneath his palm.
It was too much, this feeling, this need that clawed at his insides.
He’d thought seeing her rejected would be enough, but it wasn’t.
He wanted more. He needed to make sure she knew what it was like to truly suffer, the way he had all these years.
His steps quickened as he neared the girl’s dormitory wing.
He knew where she would be, Thorn wouldn’t have given her much freedom after today.
She’d be confined, probably cowering, waiting for whatever came next.
Symond slowed as he reached the corner, his eyes flicking up and down the hallway.
It was quiet, just a faint echo of distant voices further down.
He shouldn’t be here. He should be celebrating with the others. He was finally going to be free of this hell, his nightmare nearly over. But he was unable to walk away.
He crept down the wing until he made it to her door. All he heard was silence. His fingers dug into the wood of the doorframe. What is she doing in there?
He craved the sound of her weeping, gasping for breath as despair took hold.
It would be satisfying. It would justify everything Thorn had done to him, everything he had endured.
If Elora, with her protected life, could finally suffer as he had, it would mean…
what? That her light might be snuffed out, just like his had?
Symond pressed his forehead against the door, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The silence in the room ate at him, the absence of her fear taunting him.
He took a deep breath, then another, trying to calm the seething aggravation that threatened to spill over. He could leave; he could walk away and be done with it. But something kept him rooted to the spot, his ear pressed to the door, waiting for a sound that wouldn’t come.
No begging. No sobbing. No desperate gasps for air. Just silence. Like it didn’t matter. Like she hadn’t lost everything. Like she was better than him.
The frustration burned hotter, turning into a low simmering anger. He wanted her to feel it, to feel the emptiness, the despair, the helplessness that had been instilled in him. He wanted her to understand the pain that gnawed at him for years.
But another part of him, the part that wasn’t quite dead yet—felt a twinge of something else. Something too close to pity.
If he broke her, would he just be staring into his own reflection?
Symond leaned back from the door, swallowing hard, his throat dry. His pulse raced in his ears, his thoughts tangled in a web of anger, frustration, and something far more complicated. Why am I even hesitating? Why isn’t this satisfying?
He hated the flicker of doubt that was worming its way through him. Would I be any different from Thorn if I did this?
His resolve faltered, unraveling thread by thread. The door, once a line he’d been ready to cross, now loomed before him, larger and more daunting than it had been moments ago. He stepped back, the decision that seemed so solid now felt brittle, fragile, and harder to hold onto.
Maybe he didn’t want to push her after all.
I don’t want to be him, he thought, the realization sinking in like a knife to the gut. I don’t want to be Thorn. But if he wasn’t Thorn, if he wasn’t the thing the Institute had shaped him into, then who was he?
A floorboard creaked behind him. Symond froze, torn between the door to Elora’s room and the nagging instinct that someone was watching him. He squared his shoulders, trying to shake off the anxiety, but when he turned, his heart sank.
Thorn stood at the end of the corridor, his gaze already locked on Symond. Cold. Calculating. It was the same expression Symond had seen countless times before, a look as still and unreadable as a statue carved from ice.
“Symond,” Thorn said, his voice slicing through the stillness like a blade hidden in velvet. It was calm, too calm, yet it made Symond’s skin prickle with unease. “I was wondering when I’d find you here.”
“I was just… leaving,” he stammered. The words came too quickly, too defensively.
Thorn’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. “So soon?” He glanced at Elora’s door, then back at Symond. “But I have a gift for you.”
Symond blinked. “A… gift?”
“Yes, a parting gift. Consider it my acknowledgment of your… loyalty.” He gestured toward the door. “Fifteen minutes. Do whatever you like. Finally get the revenge you crave. That you deserve.”
Deserve? The word caught him off guard, burrowing into his thoughts like a thorn itself.
Revenge, yes. He craved it, burned with the need to make Elora suffer as he had.
But deserve? Was he owed revenge? For what?
For being Thorn’s favorite target? For every time he was knocked down, beaten raw, left to crawl back on his own while she walked through it all untouched?
His previous thought of just leaving was already paper-thin, but now, with this opportunity before him, it threatened to crumble his resolve entirely. He clamped his eyes shut, trying desperately to shut Thorn out. I don’t have to do this. I can’t let him use me anymore. Just leave.
As if Thorn could see his hesitation, he continued, “You’ve always been a smart boy, Symond. Ever wonder why she always walked away unscathed? Why you were punished more than anyone else?” Thorn whispered, with a hint of conspiracy laced throughout. “Come now. Surely, you’ve thought about it.”
Symond’s eyes shot open, narrowing with a blend of confusion and simmering anger. “Of course.”
“Every punishment she earned, every lash, every moment of pain was inflicted on you instead.”
Symond’s mind reeled, struggling to process what he’d just heard.
“What?” he breathed. He sensed the ground tilting beneath him, his entire body growing cold as the realization sank in.
All those times… all the pain… He’d endured it thinking it was all his own failure, his own weakness. But it had been hers.
“Why?” Symond demanded, forgetting the authority of the man in front of him. “Why would you do that?”
Thorn shrugged, the gesture casual, almost bored. “Politics. The only thing that matters now is whether you want your fifteen minutes, Symond. Or will you walk away, knowing your pain should have been hers all along?”
Symond’s hands shook, the urge to turn and leave replaced by a white-hot anger that burned through his veins.
He’d wanted to let go, to move on, but now the thought of leaving without making her pay felt unbearable, like swallowing glass.
Fifteen minutes wasn’t nearly enough time.
Hell, the rest of eternity wouldn’t be enough.
But he knew this was all Thorn would offer.
The words came out before he could stop it; before he could second-guess. “I want it,” he hissed through clenched teeth.
Thorn’s smile grew, a dark satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he reached for the door. The lock clicked open, and he stepped aside, motioning for Symond to enter.
“Then enjoy it, Symond,” He didn’t wait for a reply, turning on his heel and striding away down the hall, leaving Symond standing at the threshold.
All he saw was red. The years of seemingly unwarranted punishments finally made sense.
Whatever sick politics were at play had landed him at the receiving end of Thorn and his captain’s cruelty.
All because of her. He was owed revenge, and tonight, she would get a glimpse of the pain he’d endured for so long.