Chapter 11
Symond
Symond strode down the corridor, feeling the tightness in his body slowly ebbing away.
He felt the lingering warmth of his anger, the adrenaline buzzing in his veins.
She deserved it, he convinced himself. Every slap, every cruel word, every moment of fear, she’d earned it.
It was justice. It had to be. He’d taken her punishments for years, suffered in her place while she remained protected, sheltered by Tehvan’s favoritism.
If anything, his reaction was of her own making.
Footsteps sounded close behind him. Symond didn’t need to look back to know who it was. Gerard, of course. The man had a way of lingering like the stench of something rotting. He detected a grin in Gerard’s voice even before the man began to speak.
“Well, that was entertaining,” Gerard said, falling into step beside him.
He slapped Symond on the back with the ease of an old companion, the contact heavy and strangely intimate.
He knew this touch too well. It took everything in him not to jerk away.
“Shame you’re leaving us, Symond. I might have taken you under my wing, you know.
You had so much potential. But I suppose she took that from you too. ”
Symond experienced a tumult in his stomach, a surge of bile clawing its way up his throat at the mere thought. His greatest tormentor—a man whose cruelty made Thorn seem merciful by comparison—extending the hand of mentorship. A wolf offering shepherding lessons to the lamb it had mauled.
Symond kept his face impassive. He didn’t want to provoke Gerard, not when he was so close to being free of this place.
The smile he conjured was a broken thing, held together by the thin threads of survival.
He tilted his head toward Gerard, as if weighing the absurdity of the offer.
“Well, perhaps you could go back and wrap up what I started,” he suggested lightly, a casual shrug escaping him as if what he was suggesting was insignificant.
“I’m sure you’d find a thrill in that.” The playfulness in his tone did nothing to disguise the venom flowing beneath it.
Gerard scoffed. “If I did that then I wouldn’t have the energy to spend your last night here with you.”
Don’t hit him. Don’t give him an excuse. Symond pinched the bridge of his nose. “And what did I do to earn this punishment?”
Gerard huffed, his hand splayed across his chest like he’d just been offended. “And here I thought you enjoyed my company. I know part of you certainly does.” His gaze traveled down Symond’s frame.
One more night. Just one. Then I’m free. “So, what is it? What I do wrong?”
“Well, now that the cat’s out of the bag. Nothing. Elora failed the trials.”
Symond froze mid-step.
She failed.
The blood in his veins turned to acid.
And I’m the one being punished.
The urge to turn around, to storm back to her room and finish what he started properly—no time limits, no interruptions—was so sharp it left him dizzy. Fifteen minutes hadn’t even scratched the surface.
"I'm going to kill her."
And he meant it. Thorn be damned. The Empire be damned.
Even now, when he’d finally clawed his way out, she was dragging him back into the fire.
He pivoted, a red haze blooming behind his eyes. But Gerard’s arm was already there, looping around his shoulders like a collar, turning him toward the hallway.
"Easy now," Gerard crooned. “She’s a ward now. Her protected status disappearing has already stirred hungry appetites among my men.”
Symond didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
He wasn’t just angry. He was burning from the inside out.
That wasn’t enough. What about his appetite? His need to make her suffer. Not them. This wasn’t about desire. It was about debt.
He was owed something. And he wasn’t about to let it be collected by someone else.
But he knew the truth. She’d be a ward. And so would he.
She wasn’t worth his freedom.
Symond pushed through the double doors leading out of the girls’ dormitory wing, with Gerard close behind him, humming an obnoxious tune.
As they stepped into the open space, Symond’s footsteps faltered, his eyes widening at the sight of Tehvan standing in the middle of the hallway. The professor looked uncharacteristically disheveled, his graying hair tousled, eyes wide with panic, as if he’d sprinted here.
Symond’s mouth parted in shock. How does he always know?
It was uncanny, the way Tehvan seemed to appear whenever Elora was in trouble, as if he sensed her distress from miles away.
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost missed the shift in Tehvan’s expression.
The fear melted away, replaced by a mask of controlled anger and accusation as his gaze landed squarely on Symond.
“What were you doing in the girls’ wing, Symond?” Tehvan demanded. “You know you’re not supposed to be here.”
Before Symond could respond, Gerard stepped in, flashing a smirk that made Symond’s skin crawl. “And what about you, Professor?” Gerard countered, his tone mocking. “You’re not exactly where you should be, either.”
Tehvan’s eyes flicked to Gerard, and for a brief moment, Symond saw an intensity he hadn’t noticed before, a look of pure, unfiltered malice.
It was rare to see Tehvan so openly hostile, and it caught Symond off guard.
He knew Gerard was disliked, at least by the teachers, but he hadn’t realized just how deep Tehvan’s hatred for the man ran.
“Leave us,” Tehvan snapped, waving a hand as if he were dismissing a bothersome fly. “You’ve done enough.”
Gerard didn’t budge, leaning casually against the wall with a smug grin. “I’m here on Thorn’s orders,” he said, his voice drenched with false politeness. “Just escorting our dear Symond.”
Tehvan’s eyes narrowed, his gaze darting between Symond and Gerard, searching for answers. “Escorting him from where?”
A wave of irritation washed over Symond; the constant back-and-forth grated on his patience like a persistent itch. He could no longer tolerate the secrets and half-truths that had loomed over him for years, swirling like a storm of unanswered questions.
“Did you know?” he demanded. “Did you know I was taking all of Elora’s punishments this whole time?”
Tehvan’s face went still, his eyes widening for the briefest moment before he schooled his expression into a mask of calm and collected confidence that could have fooled even the keenest observer.
“That’s a lie,” he said quickly.
Symond’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “It’s not a lie,” he spat. “Thorn told me himself. As awful as he is, he’s never lied to me before.”
Tehvan stepped closer, his shoulders drooping slightly as the fire of anger in his eyes flickered and gave way to something deeper.
There was an urgency in his gaze, an unspoken desperation that made it seem as if he were pleading for Symond to believe him.
“Listen to me,” he uttered. “I’ve known Thorn longer than you’ve been alive.
He is lying to you. This is a game for him.
He’s playing you, using your pain against you. ”
He’d trusted Thorn’s words, believed them because they made sense, because they aligned with everything he’d felt, the resentment, the unfairness.
But looking into Tehvan’s eyes now, he felt that certainty start to waver.
Perhaps he’d been a pawn in Thorn’s twisted game all along, a weapon turned against the wrong target.
He shook his head, trying to dispel the skepticism. He wasn’t able to doubt himself now, not after everything he’d done, everything he’d endured. “No,” he muttered, more to himself than to Tehvan. “No, Thorn wouldn’t lie about this.”
But Tehvan, with a sharp gaze capable of piercing the thickest of doubts, saw cracks in Symond’s resolve. He squared up to him, stepping even closer. “What did you do, Symond?” he demanded, the calm veneer gone, replaced with raw urgency. “What did you do to Elora?”
Symond’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing.
He drank in Tehvan's fear, that rare and intoxicating elixir that emanated from the man, twisting his cultivated composure into something recognizably human.
There was a dark pleasure in witnessing this paragon of restraint finally splinter.
Symond leaned forward, mirroring Tehvan's intensity with a smile cold as winter iron, forged in the same fires where he had hammered countless blades.
“Finally, she got what was coming to her,” Symond said.
Tehvan’s face drained of color. This was Symond’s triumph.
To witness a man who had wrapped himself in invulnerability now standing exposed, his spirit visibly contorting with pain.
The authentic anguish carved into Tehvan's features represented a vengeance Symond had fantasized about inflicting for far too long.
It was almost more fulfilling than the act of hurting Elora herself.
“I made sure she felt every agonizing second of it. She was so easy to break, it barely took anything at all.” He leaned in, relishing the sight of Tehvan’s hands curling into fists, a desperate attempt to hide his fury.
“And you know what? I expected more of a fight. But she folded like she was made to be broken.”
Tehvan’s hand shot out, grabbing Symond by the collar and yanking him off his feet.
Symond’s back thudded against the wall hard enough to rattle the stones, the chill of the rough surface biting through the fabric of his thin tunic.
Tehvan's face consumed his vision. No longer the calculated mask of authority but a revelation of primal fury.
The rage emanating from him charged the very air, a palpable force that crackled in the narrow space between them.
“You’d better be bluffing. If I find out you touched her…
” Tehvan’s voice was a razor’s edge, the kind that could slice through lies.
“I will dismantle you, Symond. I have connections—powerful ones—within the Empire. They can ensure you lose your precious apprenticeship, and you’ll find yourself back here, discarded like a broken tool, left to fester as nothing more than a ward. ”
Symond’s bravado crumbled in a heartbeat, replaced by a chill that coiled into his marrow.
He had braced himself for anger, perhaps a hollow threat, but this, this was different.
Tehvan was holding power, raw and damning, the kind that could obliterate everything he’d clawed his way through to survive.
Everything. “I… I didn’t do anything,” he stammered. “I just scared her, that’s all.”
With a final shove, Tehvan flung him away, sending Symond reeling to the side. Tehvan turned on his heel, heading straight for the door to the girls’ wing. But before he reached it, Gerard stepped in his path, blocking his way with a lazy smile.
“Now, now, Professor,” Gerard drawled, holding up a hand. “Thorn gave me strict orders. No one’s allowed to see her, especially you.”
Tehvan’s eyes burned with a fury that would melt iron. He took a step closer to Gerard, his teeth bared, hands ready to shove the man out of the way. “Move aside.”
Gerard’s grin only grew more mischievous, clearly relishing this moment far too much. “Oh, come on, Tehvan,” he chimed, his voice lilting like a playful tune. “Orders are orders. Thorn was quite adamant about this. You wouldn’t want to cross him, would you?”
Symond noticed Tehvan’s hands twitching at his side, as if he were seconds away from striking Gerard. “This isn’t over,” he spat, his eyes locking onto Symond with a smoldering intensity, a silent vow of vengeance glimmering within their depths, before spinning on his heel and storming away.
Gerard watched him walk away, a soft chuckle leaving his mouth. He turned toward Symond, delivering a robust clap on the back, as if they had just emerged victorious from a fierce battle. “Two shows in one night, what a stroke of luck for me,” he quipped, a sly grin playing on his lips.
Symond forced a smile, though his hands were shaking.
He shrugged off Gerard’s touch, turning away before his fear could show.
The image of Tehvan’s eyes, the raw, unfiltered fury in them, stayed with him.
He’d wanted revenge, wanted to see Elora and Tehvan suffer.
And he had. But as he walked away, a sick, hollow sensation settled in his gut.
What if I’ve just thrown my freedom away for fifteen minutes of revenge?