The red thorn

Chapter six

The reflection in the pool shattered as Morwen swept her arm across the dark water, scattering the image of Dracula’s court into thousands of black ripples.

"He knows you live," Morwen said, her voice heavy with cold finality. "And now, he knows you are beyond his immediate reach."

Elora took a staggering step back from the edge, wiping cold sweat from her forehead. The image of those blood-red eyes felt burned into the back of her retinas. "If he’s mobilizing his entire inner court, then my town... the people in Oakhaven..."

"Are already dead or enslaved," Vanya interjected, stepping up beside her. "You cannot save what is already lost, Elora. Your focus must turn inward."

Morwen motioned to two younger witches standing at the perimeter of the amphitheater. "Take her to the subterranean chambers. Strip her of those peasant rags and cleanse the blood-scent from her skin. Dawn brings her first trial."

"Trial?" Elora’s hands clenched into tight fists. "I never agreed to be your weapon."

"You don't have the luxury of agreement," Morwen replied, turning her back to face the assembly of witches. "You are the single thread holding this world back from Dracula's absolute reign. You will learn to control the corruption in your veins, or we will carve it out of you ourselves."

The two witches stepped forward, their faces unreadable beneath dark hoods. One of them, a girl no older than Elora with stark silver markings painted across her throat, extended a hand.

"Come quietly," the girl murmured softly—not with malice, but with a strange, pitying solemnity. "Morwen does not offer second chances."

Elora looked between the looming cliffs, the ring of armed, stoic witches, and the dark tunnel leading deeper into the mountain. She had no home to return to, no family left to protect her, and an army of immortal hunters scouring the valley for her head.

With a tight breath, she stepped into the shadows of the subterranean corridor.

The stone walls were cold, weeping moisture that smelled of sulfur and crushed nightshade. The silver-marked witch walked a step ahead, carrying a flickering bronze lantern, while the second witch trailed closely behind.

"What is your name?" Elora asked, her voice echoing in the narrow passageway.

The lead witch paused for a brief second before continuing forward. "Kaelen."

"Do you really believe what Morwen says?" Elora pressed. "That I'm some kind of subvert weapon built to break a curse?"

Kaelen turned slightly, the orange glow of the lantern catching the sharp angle of her cheekbone. "I believe that three nights ago, the moon bled red over our altar. I believe that an entire vampire house mobilized in broad daylight. And I believe that if you fail your binding tomorrow morning, none of us will live to see the next winter."

She stopped before a heavy iron door set into the rock, pulling a key from her belt.

"Rest while you can, Elora Vance," Kaelen said softly, unlocking the door and pushing it open to reveal a small, candlelit stone cell. "Tomorrow, we find out if the thorn pierces the king... or snaps in two."