The Blood Wolves | Vol.3, The Eldenarian Artifacts ✓

23.

Makaela was not looking forward to speaking with Thorian.

It was safe to say their mission at the duel had been nothing short of a failure. After Sebastian interrupted the fight, all hell broke loose. While the other Shades chased Sebastian, Chieftain Naidini, and the others through the forest, Makaela and her crew found themselves battling the soldiers in the city square.

Their fight was short and manic, ending in a retreat back to Ingozi—where they were no anticipating Thorian's reaction to their inadequacy.

The man hated losing. And they had lost their chance to get rid of Naidini.

Makaela cringed at the prospect of being yelled at. Her skin crawled as she wrung her hands outside the main hall in the old cathedral the Order of the Black Lotus was using as their base.

The wooden, double doors swung open, startling Makaela. Beside her, Amora simply rolled her eyes.

"Get a grip," the girl hissed.

Makaela pursed her lips in reply.

An unmasked Shade emerged through the opened doorway. Apprehension coated their reddened face. They lowered their eyes to the ground and cleared their throat. "You may come in now."

Without another word, they scurried away like a frightened rat.

Makaela and Amora exchanged a look. The latter didn't look so calm now. Sybil, on the other hand, was still oblivious as to what was about to happen.

Torches burned on the walls, illuminating the cavernous room. An expansive mural of the forest decorated the walls. Its once vibrant and bold colors were faded with age and neglect. Paint peeled off the wood panels, exposing the decades-old rot setting into the building. Vines crawled up the bricks lining the upper section of the walls. The afternoon light pierced through the frosted glass panes reaching toward the curved ceilings.

A makeshift throne stood on the other end of the atrium. Beside it stood Emile. He wore a stoic expression as he held his hands clasped behind his back. A small vein pulsed against his temple, almost as if he was struggling to maintain his composure.

Thorian sat beside him, his features alight with fury. His one, black eye looked darker than the pits of Nordor. The man's thin lips were twisted into an enraged snarl that sent pinpricks deep into Makaela's spine.

She immediately averted her gaze to the cracked ground as she shuffled forward.

No one else was in the room except them. Makaela couldn't tell if that was a good thing.

Thorian held up his palm, stopping the three girls in their tracks. They stood in a row before him, tentatively awaiting his words.

He didn't speak. He cast them a glare full of disdain and disappointment. With a rueful shake of his head, he rose from his black seat.

"You had one job," he told them, his voice barely above a whisper. "One job."

Amora took a brave step forward. "Father, it wasn't our fault. Sybil nearly caused Naidini's defeat, but your son interrupted before Nuri could—"

"That boy is not my son!" Thorian roared. Spittle flew from his mouth. His eyes were widened with anger. Breathing heavily, he rubbed his creased forehead.

Makaela had never seen him in this kind of state. She had experienced his wrath many times, usually during her private training sessions back at the castle, but it was never like this.

It was almost as if he was nervous. Unsettled.

"I do not tolerate excuses, Amora," Thorian continued. "You of all people should know that."