h4Chapter 192: Liora(caught)/h4

    In another, quieter part of the vast castle—far removed from the banquet halls and bustling corridorsy the healers’ wing. Here, the air was heavy with the scent of crushed herbs, faint antiseptic smoke, and the faint metallic tang of old blood that clung to the walls like a ghost.

    In the dimness of a corner, a young woman stood still, almost invisible beneath the folds of her dark cloak. Her hood was drawn low, shadowing most of her face. The flicker of a wall torch brushed her pale chin in faint orange.

    Liora waited. Patiently. Quietly. Every beat of her heart was deliberate as she kept her gaze fixed on the far end of the corridor.

    Any moment now.

    She knew the guards’ routine here—had studied it in silence for weeks. At the right moment, the current pair would abandon their posts to change shifts, giving her the smallest, most precious window of freedom. A window she would have to seize without hesitation.

    Her heart jolted as she finally saw it—the subtle movement at the far end of the corridor. The two armored figures gave each other curt nods, muttered something inaudible, and walked off into the shadowed hall beyond.

    Now.

    She didn’t give herself time to think. Time, after all, was her enemy. She moved from her corner like a whisper sliding along the floor. Her boots made no sound on the cold stone tiles despite the quickness of her steps. She moved with a fluid desperation, every stride long but careful.

    Her eyes darted to the brass namete on the door ahead.

    Savira.

    The healer’s office.

    Liora’s breath caught in her throat as she reached for the handle. She sent up a silent prayer—half plea, half bargain—to whatever god might listen: Please don’t be locked. Please, please, please...

    She turned it.

    It gave.

    Relief and urgency collided in her chest. She slipped inside, gently pressing the door shut behind her before hurrying forward. The office was lined with shelves, its air thick with the smell of old leather and dried nts. A tall staircase wound up toward a smaller upper loft where Savira kept her personal study.

    Liora didn’t hesitate. She took the stairs two at a time, her pulse a pounding drumbeat in her ears. Every step sounded louder to her than it should have, each creak magnified by the tightness in her chest.

    When she reached the loft and stepped into the room, she froze for a second—just a second—to take it in. The soft glow of an oilmp lit stacks of tomes, scrolls, and loose papers. A desk dominated the center, its surface littered with open books and bundles of parchment.

    Fear still lived on her face. But alongside it—burning deeper—was something else. Something harder. Determination, raw and unyielding.

    She wasn’t leaving without what she came for.

    And what she came for... was everything.

    She set to work at once, fingers brushing over the spines of the books spread across the desk. Her gaze darted, scanning, dismissing, searching again. She was looking for anything—anything—that could tell her how to do the ritual.

    The one she dared not ask Savira to perform again.

    ’If I don’t find it... how will I do the ritual on myself?’ Her mind was a tight coil of panic. She knew she had only one chance.

    She flipped through a heavy tome. Not it. Another. Still nothing. The harder she searched, the faster she moved.

    And the faster she moved, the more her panic wed at her throat.

    Each moment without sess was a weight pressing her deeper into despair. Was she chasing a shadow? Had she imagined the existence of this ritual at all?

    ’What if I’m just looking for a dream?’ she thought bitterly, freezing in ce for a moment.

    Her eyes swept the room, trying to see beyond what she’d already searched. Then they snagged on something—something she’d already checked before but hadn’t truly looked at.

    The drawers.

    Only this time, she noticed it.

    A small bulge at the underside of one.

    Before another thought could even form, she dove for it. Her hand slid under the wood, fingers brushing against something slender and smooth.

    Her heart leapt.

    She pulled out a small, narrow book bound in worn brown leather.

    She had just begun to raise it when pain sliced across her thumb. She winced, frowning, and looked down to see a thin line of crimson welling up, trickling toward her palm.

    "What the—?" she muttered under her breath.

    Liora instinctively brought the thumb to her mouth, sucking the sting away as her other hand eagerly flipped open the book. The sight that met her was a wave of relief so strong it nearly made her knees buckle.

    There it was. The ritual. Every ingredient, every symbol.

    She could have wept.

    But she didn’t.

    She grabbed a pen and a scrap of parchment from the desk and began copying it all down with urgent precision. Her fingers trembled slightly as she wrote, but her strokes were fast and sure.

    She couldn’t risk taking the book itself. That would be too obvious. Too dangerous.

    It took longer than she wanted—far longer. Her ears strained constantly for any hint of footsteps in the hall. But when she finally scrawled thest word, she let out a shaky breath.

    Quickly, she knelt to put the book back exactly where she’d found it. This time, she slid her fingers in carefully to avoid the sharp edge—though she still couldn’t see what had cut her. Only the faint outline of the tape that had held the book to the drawer’s underside.

    Still licking her thumb, she pressed the book back in ce and eased away.

    No time to waste.

    She moved to the door, her steps silent but hurried. Her body was already tense with the knowledge that she was still far from safe.

    When she slipped out, she froze almost immediately.

    Down the stairs—just beyond the edge of her vision—she could see them.

    The guards.

    Already back.

    Her chest tightened painfully. There would be no slipping past them now. She couldn’t risk walking straight into their line of sight.

    That left...

    The other way.

    Her eyes flicked to the side entrance—the one she had been careful to avoid all this time. The one that led toward the dungeons.

    A ce she swore she would never set foot in.

    But right now... she had no choice.

    ’Who knows what kind of monsters Zyren keeps there?’ The thought made her shiver, but she forced herself to move anyway.

    She dashed toward the entrance, pushed through the door, and stepped into the descending gloom. The air here was colder—damp, too. The scent of mildew curled through the stones, and her footsteps echoed faintly in the oppressive quiet.

    She kept moving, the small candle in her hand casting a flickering pool of light around her.

    Just a few turns. She’d memorized the maps. She knew the route.

    But as she turned into the next passage, her eyes caught on the dark line of cells. Empty, she thought. Or at least, they looked empty. The bars gleamed faintly in the candlelight, their shadows stretching across the floor like skeletal fingers.

    She was just about to look away—just about to keep moving—when it came.

    The voice.

    Hoarse, croaky, and sharp with malice.

    "Human!!" it hissed. "It’s been a while since I smelt a human!"

    The sound mmed into her senses like a blow. Her stomach dropped, and her breath faltered. Every hair on her body stood on end.

    Liora didn’t wait to see the speaker. She didn’t want to. Every instinct inside of her screamed run. The fear she felt was all consuming as she seemed to feel death itself creep up from behind her for a quick greeting.

    She spun on her heel—

    And froze.

    Not out of fear. Not out of choice. Not because she suddenly felt like admiring the environment around her.

    Her body... would not move. No matter what she did or tried to do it was like her body had been snatched from her control even as her mind was fully aware of every single thing that was happening

    Panic surged through her chest like wildfire. She couldn’t lift a hand. Couldn’t turn her head. Couldn’t even take a step.

    Cold sweat poured down her brow, sliding into her eyes, soaking the neckline of her gown. Her heart hammered so violently it hurt.

    From the shadows, something shifted.

    A figure—thin, hunched, and strange—scrambled forward, pressing itself toward the bars. The flicker of her candlelight caught its face, and she wished it hadn’t.

    Its eyes glowed red. Clearly it was a vampire all-be-it a wretched looking one.

    And its grin was wide. Too wide.

    "Do you know," it rasped, "how long I’ve been amassing the power I just used on you?"

    Liora couldn’t speak. Couldn’t answer. Her terror swallowed her whole.

    And the dungeon—once merely a ce of whispered rumors—had just be her nightmare.