Thorne sat in the garden, his back against the rough bark of an old oak tree, leafing through a thick tome on the noble families of Caledris. The book was one Arletta had given him to study, its pages filled with the intricacies of lineage, alliances, and petty rivalries. Normally, this would have been a task he’d tackle with his usual focus, but today, he found it hard to concentrate. His eyes skimmed over the text without really absorbing any of it.

  A maid approached quietly, setting down a tray of fresh fruits drizzled with honey beside him. He glanced at it, the vibrant colors and sweet scent doing nothing to lift his sour mood. He’d been bedridden for more than a week, a prisoner in his own body. The first few days, he had barely been able to get out of bed, his limbs heavy, his mind foggy. He’d slept constantly, slipping in and out of a dreamless haze, the hours blurring together.

  They’d even brought a healer to check on him, fearing some kind of poison might be lingering in his system, preventing him from recuperating properly. But the man had found nothing. Just as Thorne had expected. The healer had still given him some tonics, a mixture of herbs and bitter liquids meant to strengthen his constitution, but Thorne knew it was pointless. Aether fatigue only passed with time, and he knew it would be a while before he returned to his previous state.

  Even now, he felt the lingering weakness, the side effects of overusing aether clinging to him like a heavy fog. His body ached, his muscles stiff and uncooperative, as if they were still rebelling against the punishment he had put them through. It was frustrating, infuriating, to be trapped in this state of half-recovery, unable to do anything more than rest and wait.

  He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the soft footsteps approaching until they were right behind him. He glanced up and saw Arletta standing there, her expression as stoic as ever. “Young master,” she said, her voice even, “it would be a good idea if you took a walk around the city. Perhaps visit some of the shops in the noble quarter.”

  Thorne narrowed his eyes, his irritation flaring. “I’m in no mood to spy or talk to nobles.”

  Arletta didn’t flinch under his icy glare, her face calm and composed. “I only meant for you to get out of the house. It may help improve your mood. You’ve had half of my maids crying in the kitchen.”

  Thorne bit his lip, feeling a pang of guilt. He had been difficult to be around, snapping at the servants for the smallest mistakes, his frustration and sense of helplessness boiling over more than once. He’d taken it out on those around him, and now he regretted it. He sighed, leaning his head back against the tree.

  “Maybe you’re right,” he muttered, his voice tired. “Maybe it would do me some good to be around people.”

  Arletta nodded, a faint glimmer of relief passing through her eyes, though her expression remained composed. “Any news?” Thorne asked, his voice sharper, more focused. The past few days had been a whirlwind of activity in the mansion. The Lost Ones coming and going, keeping Uncle informed about the investigation into the elusive assassins.

  Arletta shook her head. “If you’re referring to the assassins, there is still no development I am aware of. Except for that one straggler they found the first night, there have been no sightings.”

  Thorne gritted his teeth in frustration. That night, some of the Lost Ones had managed to capture one of the assassins who had escaped the initial slaughter. The woman had been a fresh recruit, barely a couple of months with the enemy guild. She said she had trained and worked in Blackridge, a small, inconsequential town to the north, more than two weeks’ travel on foot from Alvar. The information had raised more questions than answers.

  Uncle had been stumped, having no knowledge of an enemy guild operating out of Blackridge. It was a backwater, even smaller and less important than Alvar. What in the seven hells was a guild of assassins doing there?

  A light cough brought him out of his thoughts, and Arletta continued. “In other news, Lord Thornfield has decided to take matters into his own hands and ignore Master’s orders.”

  Thorne growled, his fingers tightening around the book in his lap. “What did that idiot do?”

  Arletta nodded, as if agreeing with his characterization. “He had his men enter the Ravencourt lands and torch a large swath of their fields. The Ravencourts are responsible for a significant portion of Alvar’s food supply. As you can imagine, that move will have severe consequences for the common people.”

  Thorne shook his head in resignation. “That idiot will only make matters worse. The Ravencourts will retaliate.”

  Arletta nodded again, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Master is furious. I would advise you to avoid him for the time being.”

  Thorne’s eyes widened slightly. Uncle rarely let his temper get the better of him lately. But when it did, it was safer not to be around him. “Sound advice,” he muttered, a grim smile tugging at his lips. “And a great incentive to go out.”

  Arletta allowed herself a small smile, the expression almost teasing. “That did cross my mind. It was my last argument in case you refused my advice.”

  Thorne rolled his eyes, pushing himself up from the ground, biting back a groan as his muscles protested. “You hide your deviousness well, Arletta,” he said with a smirk.

  “I try my best,” she responded with a fake curtsy, her lips twitching with amusement.

  Thorne stretched, feeling the stiffness in his limbs, the lingering fatigue that clung to him like a second skin. “Fine,” he said, his voice resigned. “I’ll take a walk. But no more than that.”

  Arletta nodded, her eyes softening. “That’s all I ask, young master.”

  Thorne glanced at the tray of fruits beside him, the honey glistening in the sunlight. He picked up a slice of pear, the sweetness exploding on his tongue as he bit into it. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now, the gnawing emptiness in his stomach a reminder of how little he had been eating.

  He finished the pear and turned back to Arletta, his gaze serious. “Any other news?”

  Arletta hesitated, her eyes flicking away for a moment before she spoke. “There have been some murmurs in the city. People are nervous, uncertain. The attack on the Thornfiels has shaken them. And with Lord Thornfieldd’s actions, tensions are high. The Ravencourts have been strangely quiet.”

  Thorne frowned, his mind racing. “Quiet how?”

  “They haven’t responded to the attack. No retaliation, no public statement. It’s as if they’re waiting for something.”

  “Or planning something,” Thorne muttered, his jaw tightening. This silence was more unsettling than any open threat. The Ravencourts were not known for their restraint. For them to hold back meant they had something up their sleeves.

  “What’s Uncle’s plan?” he asked, his voice low.

  “Master is still gathering information. He has agents watching the Ravencourts, but so far, nothing unusual has been reported.”

  Thorne nodded, his thoughts swirling with possibilities. He would have to be careful. The Ravencourts were dangerous, and he couldn’t afford to be caught off guard. Not now, when everything was hanging in the balance.

  “I’ll be back soon,” he said finally, his voice steady.

  Arletta inclined her head. “Take your time. And, young master,” she added, her voice softer, “be careful.”

  Thorne gave her a faint smile, his heart warming at the concern in her voice. “I always am.”

  *

  Thorne stood outside Jonah’s shop, hesitating for a moment before pushing the door open. A small bell chimed overhead as he stepped inside, the familiar scent of herbs and potions mixed with the slightly musty smell of old wood and fabric. The shop was small, crammed with shelves filled with various items, from Ben’s potions to trinkets and oddities that Jonah had managed to acquire. It wasn’t much, but it was Jonah’s dream made real.

  “Welcome to... oh, it’s just you,” Jonah said, his initial bright merchant’s smile faltering as he looked up and saw Thorne.

  “Thorne! Where in the seven hells have you been hiding?” Jonah asked, leaning against the counter. “You vanish for days, and I start thinking maybe you found some fancy noble lady and decided to leave us poor folk behind.”

  Thorne hesitated, his mind flashing back to the exhaustion, the battles, and the week of agonizing recovery. But he didn’t feel like sharing any of that. “Oh, you know,” he said, shrugging casually, “just dealing with some things. Nothing interesting.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Jonah raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced but not pressing the issue. “Uh-huh, ‘dealing with things.’ That sounds suspiciously like code for ‘I was up to no good,’ but I won’t pry. You look like you could use a distraction.”

  Thorne smirked. “What, and come to your shop for that? Pretty desperate, aren’t I? Just thought I’d stop by and see how you’re ruining your business today.”

  Jonah put a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. “Ruin? I’ll have you know, business is booming!” He gestured grandly around the empty shop, then sighed dramatically. “Well, it will be. Eventually. Once people realize they need more obscure herbs and random bits of junk in their lives.”

  Thorne chuckled, stepping closer and glancing at a dusty jar filled with what looked like shriveled eyeballs. “Yes, I’m sure this is exactly what every noble lady needs in her parlor.”

  “Ah, but you see, those are genuine swamp frog eyes!” Jonah exclaimed, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Perfect for warding off bad luck. Or attracting it, I can’t remember which.”

  Thorne laughed, the sound easing some of the tension that had been clinging to him for days. It felt good to be here, surrounded by the comforting chaos of Jonah’s shop. “And what about the potions? How’s Ben doing?”

  “Right here.” Jonah said just as Ben appeared, carrying a tray filled with vials of various sizes and colors. He placed it on the counter, his expression calm and serene as always. He gave Thorne a small smile, his eyes warm with welcome.

  Thorne nodded at him, his smile widening. “Ben, good to see you. How’s the potion business?”

  Ben shrugged, lifting a vial and handing it to Jonah, who took it with a grin. “Busy as ever,” Jonah said, eyeing the vial with a practiced gaze. “People can’t get enough of Ben’s ‘miracle cures.’” He held the vial up, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Care to try one, Thorne? It might make your hair fall out, but it’ll probably cure whatever ails you!”

  Thorne snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think I’ll pass. I need to keep my hair, thank you very much.”

  Jonah sighed, putting the vial back down. “Your loss. This one’s supposed to make you irresistible to women.” He paused, then added thoughtfully, “Though it did turn that one guy green for a week.”

  Ben elbowed Jonah lightly, his expression exasperated but amused. He picked up a different vial and held it out to Thorne, raising an eyebrow in silent offer. This one was filled with a soft, glowing blue liquid, its surface shimmering like moonlight.

  Thorne took it, peering at the liquid curiously. “What’s this one do?”

  Ben pointed to his throat and made a gesture with his hand, mimicking a singing motion.

  Thorne raised an eyebrow. “It helps with your voice?”

  Ben nodded, then pointed to the vial and mimicked drinking it.

  Jonah leaned in, grinning. “It’s supposed to make your voice sound angelic. Like, you could make a living as a singer. Or, you know, charm all the noble ladies with your dulcet tones.”

  Thorne laughed, shaking his head. “I think I’ll pass on that, too. Last thing I need is to start singing in the middle of a fight.”

  Jonah shrugged, slipping the vial back into its place. “Suit yourself. You’re missing out on some serious marketability.” He glanced around the shop, then leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Between you and me, I’ve been trying to convince Ben to bottle his ‘sleeping draught.’ The one that knocked out that guy from the tavern for three days?”

  Thorne’s eyes widened. “Three days?”

  Ben looked a little sheepish, his cheeks turning pink as he nodded.

  Jonah grinned. “Imagine the profits! ‘Need a break from your nagging mother-in-law? One sip, and she’ll be out for days!’” He mimed holding a sign, his grin widening.

  Thorne shook his head, laughter bubbling up despite himself. “You’d probably end up getting sued. Or arrested.”

  “Eh, details,” Jonah said, waving a hand dismissively. “But enough about my brilliant business ideas. What about you, Thorne? How’s the high life treating you? I heard there was an interesting party the other day.”

  Thorne grimaced, leaning against the counter. “Never mind that,” he said in a dismissive tone. “I have been dying from boredom. If I have to stay in bed for one more day, I’m going to lose my mind.”

  “Well, then you’ve come to the right place!” Jonah said, clapping his hands together. “Because today, we’re going to do something fun!”

  Thorne raised an eyebrow, eyeing Jonah warily. “What kind of fun?”

  Jonah’s grin turned wicked. “A little friendly competition. Ben’s got a new potion he’s been working on—an endurance tonic. Supposed to boost your stamina, make you run faster, jump higher, all that good stuff.”

  Thorne crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. “And what, we’re going to test it out?”

  “Exactly!” Jonah said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “We take a sip and see who can run to the tavern where Darius is probably slacking off, I mean... on duty. Winner gets...” He paused, thinking. “Uh, what do they get, Ben?”

  Ben pointed at himself, then made a gesture with his hand, mimicking pouring a drink into a cup.

  “A bottle of Ben’s best brew,” Jonah translated with a grin. “No side effects guaranteed.”

  Thorne hesitated, a flicker of fatigue passing through him. His body was still weak from the aether fatigue, and though he felt better than he had a few days ago, he wasn’t exactly at his peak. “I don’t know, Jonah. I’m not exactly feeling my best...”

  “Come on!” Jonah interrupted, grinning widely. “What, are you scared I’ll leave you in the dust? Besides, Ben’s potion really works. At least I hope so...” Before Thorne could protest, Jonah uncorked a vial and downed the potion in one go. He smacked his lips together, clearly feeling no adverse effects. “See? Instant energy. Just imagine how much faster you’ll be with this stuff.”

  Ben nodded eagerly, holding out another vial to Thorne. Thorne looked at the glowing liquid, a strange part of him tired of always being careful. He was sick of the weakness, the constant feeling of exhaustion. He wanted to feel normal again.

  “Fine,” he muttered, taking the vial from Ben’s hand and downing it. Immediately, a surge of energy coursed through him, his muscles tingling with newfound strength. The constant weakness that had plagued him for days seemed to melt away, replaced by a powerful, almost euphoric feeling.

  “Now we’re talking!” Jonah whooped, grabbing his keys and locking up the shop. “To the tavern!”

  Jonah was already at the door, practically bouncing with excitement. “To the tavern. No shortcuts, no cheating. And no using your fancy skills, Thorne.”

  Thorne rolled his eyes but nodded. “You’re on.”

  “Ready, set, go!” Jonah hollered.

  Thorne raced through the streets of the merchant district, Jonah’s laughter echoing ahead of him as they weaved between the bustling market stalls. The wind whipped through his hair, and the rush of energy from Ben’s potion surged through his veins, momentarily pushing aside the constant fatigue that had plagued him for days. The potion had actually worked! And with no side effects! That was a first!

  They dashed past vendors shouting their wares, the scent of fresh bread and spices filling the air. People yelled in protest as the three of them darted through the crowds, but the thrill of the race drowned out everything else. Jonah was a few paces ahead, his laugh turning into a victorious whoop as he dodged around a cart, and Ben was just behind Thorne, his silent smile still evident in his eyes.

  As they darted through the narrow alleys of the merchant district, they finally reached the larger market square. Thorne was about to catch up to Jonah when something made him stop in his tracks.

  There, across the busy marketplace, stood Selene Ravencourt.

  She was flanked by a contingent of guards, her pale gown contrasting sharply with the dark uniforms of the men surrounding her. She was giving instructions to one of her guards, her voice calm but firm. She hadn’t noticed him, but the sight of her pulled him in. Her presence in the marketplace was unexpected, out of place even. Though she was surrounded by protection, she carried herself with the same quiet confidence that had caught his attention during their earlier encounters.

  Thorne felt his pulse quicken, not from the run but from the sight of her. His chest tightened, and memories of their previous encounters flooded back, unbidden.

  His mind flashed back to their meeting at the Lockridge party. They had spoken briefly in the garden, away from prying eyes, and there was something about her, something that made him feel... drawn in. He hadn’t quite figured out what it was. Maybe it was her innocence or her curiosity about the world outside Alvar, or the way she seemed so different from the other nobles he’d encountered. Whatever it was, seeing her now stirred something inside him, something he wasn’t sure he liked.

  “Thorne!” Jonah called from up ahead, noticing that his friend had stopped. He jogged back, frowning. “What’s the holdup? Did Ben’s potion run out already?”

  Thorne shook himself out of his thoughts and forced a grin, hoping Jonah wouldn’t notice how distracted he was. “No, just... got distracted for a second.”

  Jonah raised an eyebrow, looking past Thorne and spotting the contingent of guards. He didn’t recognize Selene, of course, he just saw another noblewoman, surrounded by men in armor. “Huh. Fancy company. What’s got your attention there?”

  Thorne shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Oh, it’s nothing, it’s just that I know her.”

  Jonah expression shifted from mild curiosity to one of sudden interest. “Oh really?” he asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “And where do you know a lady like that from?”

  Thorne hesitated for just a moment, then forced a grin. “You know, here and there,” he replied vaguely, trying to brush it off. “I’ll meet you guys back at the tavern.”

  Jonah crossed his arms, clearly not satisfied with the deflection. “Wait, where are you going?”

  Thorne felt a strange flutter in his chest as he glanced over at Selene again. “Just... to say hi,” he said, surprised at how fast his heart began racing. Why was he so nervous all of a sudden? His palms felt clammy, and he caught himself straightening his clothes and running a hand through his hair. Why did he care how he looked?

  When he turned back, Jonah and Ben were both watching him, identical expressions of barely contained amusement on their faces. Jonah’s grin was downright devilish, and Ben had a small, knowing smile.

  “What?” Thorne snapped, glaring at them. “What’s your problem?”

  Jonah raised his hands in surrender, still smirking. “Nothing, nothing. Just... you know... don’t forget to say hi.” He winked, his grin widening as if he were about to burst out laughing

  Thorne scowled but ignored them, turning on his heel and pushing his way through the bustling crowd toward Selene. He knew the wise move was to leave, to not engage, to keep his distance. Uncle had plans for her father, deadly plans, and making friends with Selene could only complicate things. He should have just walked away.

  But for reasons he couldn’t explain, he found himself moving toward her anyway. His heart thudded in his chest, and with each step closer, he felt more like a fool. Still, he kept walking.

  He reached the edge of the crowd, standing just a few feet from her. Selene was still talking to one of her guards, her voice clear and commanding, but when Thorne stepped forward with a tentative smile, she turned and locked eyes with him.

  “Selene,” Thorne said, his voice steady, though his nerves were far from it.

  Her expression shifted from surprise to delight, and a warm smile spread across her lips as she stepped toward him. “My lord,” she exclaimed, her tone genuinely pleased. “What a pleasant surprise!”

  Thorne’s smile widened in response. But then, just as he was about to reply, something felt... wrong.

  He blinked, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over him. His body, which had felt fine just moments ago, suddenly felt heavy, like all the strength was being sucked out of him. His limbs grew weak, his vision blurred.

  Selene’s smile faltered, worry flashing in her eyes. “Lord Silverbane? You don’t look well,” she said, stepping closer, her voice tinged with concern.

  Thorne opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. His vision swam, and he felt his knees buckle beneath him. His last coherent thought, just before the darkness closed in, was a promise to himself.

  I’m going to kill Jonah. No, I’ll kill Ben. No, I’ll kill them both!

  The last thing he heard before his world went black was Selene’s panicked voice calling his name. “Thorne!”

  And then, everything faded.

  Patreon!