The knocking at the door was polite. Yet at the same time, very Insistent and Relentless.
"Lady Elora? The Marquess requests your presence at breakfast."
Elora groaned, pressing her face into the pillow. Her head throbbed like a drumline had taken up residence behind her eyes, and her mouth tasted like something had died in it.
"Lady Elora?" The butler’s voice came muffled but firm. "Shall I send for a maid to assist you?"
She cracked one eye open. But the room spun when she tried to pull her head up.
Then she felt the warmth behind her.
Eon’s arm was slung over her waist, his breath steady against the back of her neck. His dark hair was a mess, his face half-buried in the pillow, one cheek smudged with the faintest trace of her lipstick.
"Lady Elora?"
"I’m awake!" she snapped, then immediately regretted it as pain lanced through her skull. She lowered her voice. "Just…give me a moment!"
Eon stiffened behind her. His eyes flew open, her was alert in an instant. Of course he was. The man could probably wake from a coma at the sound of a pin dropping. After all, he slept very lightly.
"Who’s that?" he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
"Edmund," she whispered back. "The butler. And if he sees you here…"
Eon didn’t need her to finish. He was already moving, rolling out of bed. Elora watched as he snatched his pants from the floor, yanking them towards him. His shirt followed, though he didn’t bother with the laces.
"Window?" he hurriedly asked her.
She nodded toward the balcony doors. "But it is the third floor!"
Eon didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room in three strides, sliding the window open just enough to slip through. The morning air rushed in; it was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of dew and distant woodsmoke.
"Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me."
Eon leaned over the balcony railing, staring down at the cobblestone courtyard three stories below.
"Well," he muttered to himself, "this is new."
He could jump. He’d survived worse. But the drop was enough to break an ankle or two, and he wasn’t exactly in peak condition after last night’s… activities. His body was still recovering, and his muscles were aching in ways that had nothing to do with combat.
"Maybe it is time to test my new spell, Air ‘Thrust,’ I guess," he mused, testing the word on his tongue.
"Well, there's only one way to find out."
He gripped the railing, then jumped over it.
The ground rushed up to meet him. His stomach lurched.
But as he was about to fall flat on the hard ground, he cast the spell, "THRUST!"
A violent gust of wind erupted beneath his boots, slamming into the ground with enough force to send gravel skittering. Eon was shot upward like a reverse cannonball by the spell’s force, his hair whipping around his face as he soared ten feet into the air before gravity started to do its thing.
"Shit…THRUST!"
Another burst, this one was weaker. He stabilized midair, hovering for a precious second before beginning to descend again.
"One more…THRUST!"
The final gust had low mana input; it was just enough to slow his fall. He landed in a crouch, knees bending to absorb the impact. The cobblestones were cold beneath his bare feet.
He stayed like that for a moment, breathing hard, then burst out laughing.
"Oh, yeahh. It fucking worked!"
A pair of servants passing by with an armful of linens gave him odd looks. Eon ignored them, brushing off his hands as he stood. The spell had drained more mana than he’d expected, but the principle was sound. With refinement, he could maybe fly. Just thinking about the possibility of flying on his own made him excited to the brim.
"Eon?"
He turned.
Elora stood in the doorway of a side entrance, wrapped in a robe, her dark hair still tousled from sleep. She looked him up and down, then burst out laughing.
"You’re barefoot," she wheezed.
He glanced down. "Oh, I am."
"And your shirt’s inside out too."
"Huh." He plucked at the fabric. "So, that's why those servants were giving me looks."
She shook her head, still grinning, and tossed him his boots from where she’d hidden them under her robe. "You’re a dummy."
"But I'm alive, ain’t I!" he pointed out, pulling them on.
"Yeah, just barely." She sobered slightly. "We should….."
"Eon!"
Both of them froze.
Alaric’s voice cut through the morning air like a blade, alerting them instantly. Eon’s head snapped toward the sound. The Marquess was striding across the courtyard; his expression was thunderous, a pair of guards trailing behind him.
"Shit," Eon muttered.
Elora hid herself before Alaric could see her. She whispered slowly, "Go. Now. Before he…."
"Eon?!" Alaric barked again. "Is that you, Eon?!"
Eon didn’t answer him, nor did he wait for him to find out something. He bolted for the nearest alley, while Elora’s laughter rang in his ears.
***
Eon stood in the doorway of the guest chamber where they’d left the dark elf last night. The room was in ruins. It smelled like blood and burnt cloth. The bed was overturned, the mattress slashed open, stuffing spilling across the floor like snow. The heavy manacles they’d used to restrain her were bent, not broken, but twisted, as if she’d tried to wring them apart with her bare hands.
Elsa stood by the fireplace, her hands at her hips, looking at the scene with fury. Verra was crouched near the window, her dagger in hand, her knuckles white.
"She’s gone," Elsa said flatly.
Eon stepped inside, his boots crunching on shattered pottery. "What, Gone where?"
"Does it look like she left a fucking note?" Elsa snapped.
Verra didn’t look up. She just spoke in a low voice, "She woke up screaming at midnight. We sedated her as you said. But when the potion wore off…" She gestured to the room. "She did this before we could stop her."
Eon crouched, running his fingers over the scratches in the wooden floor. "And the guards?"
"Didn’t see a thing," Elsa growled. "She must have moved like a ghost for them not to see a thing. Plus I was here all night. I just left to check the others' condition; one second she was here, the next…."
"She’s still in the mansion then, I think," Eon said suddenly.
Elsa’s head snapped up. "What?"
"She didn’t leave." He stood, his gaze sweeping the room. "She must be hiding. Waiting."
"Waiting for what?" Verra asked, her voice worried.
“That only she can answer. Let’s get to finding her.”