Chapter 46 Bruises
Magnus
I did not go to the Emperor.
That, in itself, was a statement.
Instead of ascending the white steps of the Imperial Palace and kneeling beneath vaulted ceilings painted with the victories of long-dead conquerors, I chose to appear in the one place even the Emperor hesitated to enter without invitation.
My office at the Academy in Ember.
I materialized with a soft pop of displaced air, the familiar scent of aged leather and polished oak restoring my composure at once. The room stood exactly as I had left it—immaculate. Parchments stacked with mathematical precision upon my desk. Ink bottles aligned. Curtains drawn halfway to tame the harshness of midday light into something civilized.
Order. Control. Mine.
I had no desire to face the Emperor yet. His questions would come soon enough—probing, persistent as fingers pressing into a bruise to test how deep the damage ran.
No. The Academy was the wiser choice.
Here, among scholars who mistook theory for power and students who believed themselves untouchable beneath ancient stone arches, I could disappear without truly vanishing.
For a few hours, at least.
For a moment, I simply stood there, letting the silence settle around me. No rebels. No drunken shield-maidens. No crude wooden huts that smelled of sweat and ale.
I rolled my shoulders once, working out the lingering tension, then lowered myself into the high-backed chair behind my desk. The wood creaked softly under my weight. My body still carried the aftermath of the morning. The memory had not faded.
Helga Kraven. Daughter of General Halwyn “The Hammer” Kraven.
I had not expected that.
A faint smile touched my mouth before I could stop it. Very little surprised me anymore.
She had handled me as though I were a challenge to conquer—her strength obvious, her grip unyielding. She had tried to overpower me, to force me into submission.
And I had enjoyed it. I liked being man-handled.
The admission did not shame me. Power was not diminished by knowing the edges of one’s appetite. I helped rule an Empire. I bent men to my will. If, on occasion, I desired to be shoved to my knees by a woman strong enough to try, that was my indulgence.
I remembered the sting of her palm. The weight of her body. The attempt to dominate. It had stirred something sharp and electric beneath my skin. No one had ever dared treat me that way. Not without fear. Not without hesitation.
I was Magnus Ironside—Imperial Advisor, celebrated healer, future ruler. I did not break. I had survived worse than a shield-maiden’s hands.
But the thrill of being used?
That, I could appreciate.
I would summon her again when it pleased me. When I wanted that reminder of strength meeting strength.
Or perhaps when I wanted to be spanked like a naughty boy.
A quiet laugh escaped me.
Then I shook my head sharply, forcing the thought aside. Lust had its place, but this was not the time.
The girl from Dust returned to the forefront of my mind—the Dustborn whose aura had flared violet before shifting back to red. The girl who had awakened the dragon.
To draw her to me, I needed her brother as leverage. Conveniently, he was nowhere to be found.
There was only one man who had been close enough to Helena to risk everything for her children. Only one bold—or reckless—enough to hide the boy and keep him safe. Only one who would do it for her, not for gold, favor, or fear.
Andreas Thorne. I was certain of it.
I pressed my thumb against the sigil at my chest. The cool metal warmed instantly beneath my touch as I summoned him. Magic pulsed outward—precise, controlled, unmistakable.
I waited.
No knock.
No shimmer of arrival.
Only silence.
My jaw tightened.
Andreas Thorne was meticulous, intelligent, occasionally irritating—but not foolish. He had tested that boundary once, years ago, and paid the price.
I pressed again. Still nothing.
If he would not come to me, I would go to him—into the basement archives he guarded so closely. But first, I required clarity.
I rose and crossed to the tall windows overlooking the Academy grounds. Beyond the stone paths and trimmed lawns, the Cursed Forest stretched toward the horizon. Dark clouds gathered above it. Lightning flashed in brief bursts. Thunder followed, low and deep.
The storm matched my mood—restless, tense, and impatient.
Ryven was out there now, chasing the girl at my command. If he failed—if sentiment clouded his judgment—there would be consequences.
Helga’s warning echoed in memory, her voice coarse with conviction: she would make peace with her father long enough to slit my throat if Ryven died.
An amusing threat. But she would not get the chance.
I turned from the window and returned to my desk, lowering myself into the chair with ease. Reports awaited review, though my thoughts remained on the girl.
I had barely reached for the top parchment when a knock sounded at the door, firm and authoritative.
“Enter,” I called, assuming it was Philippa, my secretary, with some mundane academic grievance.
The door swung open, and in stepped not Philippa, but Ember Magistrate Elowen Pyra. She wore the classic white robe of her office, embroidered in fine gold thread along the hems. Pinned over her heart was the sigil of her office: a Tree of Knowledge, made of white-gold with deep green leaves of emerald. Silver roots curled into a perfect circle, and faint runes etched along the trunk glimmered with her every movement. The sigil seemed almost alive, reflecting tiny sparks of green and gold, a quiet reminder of her authority and her connection to the Academy.
Her white hair cascaded down her back in waves. For an older woman, Elowen was truly beautiful, her features sharp and regal, like a statue come to life. But her expression was anything but welcoming—lips pressed thin, eyes narrowed with barely concealed displeasure.
I stood smoothly, inclining my head in greeting. "Magistrate Pyra, what do I owe the honor?"
Her deep blue eyes regarded me without warmth.
“Magnus,” she said, skipping the formalities. “One of our professors is missing. A young man by the name of Reginald Moore."
Reginald Moore. The young Examiner I had disposed of to make a point—that obedience was not optional.
I had not expected Elowen to come searching so quickly.
I kept my expression calm, betraying nothing.
“I heard,” she continued, “that you summoned the Ranking Examiners the other night. Reginald was among them. Where is he? And why did you call them?”
I folded my hands loosely behind my back.
“Magistrate, I have no idea where this Reginald is,” I said evenly. A lie, delivered without hesitation. “As for the summons—I had been informed of an anomaly in Dust. The Great Ranking Orb reportedly displayed violet for a Dustborn. I merely offered my assistance.”
Her brows lifted, genuine startlement flashing across her face. "The Great Ranking Orb had shown violet? For who?"
"A young girl, I heard," I replied, keeping my tone casual.
"A young girl? This young girl is a Celestial?" Elowen pressed, her voice laced with intrigue.
I shook my head, a faint smile playing at my lips. "Of course not, Magistrate. The light flickered back to red almost immediately. It was simply a mistake."
Her gaze sharpened.
Thunder rolled outside, punctuating the silence between us.
Then she shrugged lightly, as if dismissing her own suspicion.
“I see. Regardless—if you hear anything regarding Professor Moore, you will inform me. His wife and mother came by earlier. He has been missing for days.”
Days. Has it been that long?
Time blurred when one disposed of a body properly.
“I will inform you at once,” I assured her.
She inclined her head, a gesture of reluctant courtesy, and with a graceful twirl of her robes, exited my office. The door clicked shut behind her, and I let out a long sigh of relief. Elowen was sharp, but she lacked the ruthlessness to pursue this further without evidence. The other Examiners? They wouldn't dare cross me—not after witnessing what I did to Reginald. Their fear was my leash.
Still, loose ends needed tying. Reginald’s disappearance required only a narrative.
A letter forged. A rumor planted.
A professor running away with some forbidden lover—a student—to Lunara. Yes. That would suffice. Scandal discouraged further inquiry.
I sat back down and steepled my fingers.
One problem at a time.
I waited until after the midday meal, the Academy’s bells tolling the hour, before heading down to the lower levels.
The basement reeked of damp stone, mold and old ink.
Andreas's domain was a labyrinth of knowledge, some of it forbidden, guarded by his ever-present secretary, a mousy woman whose name escaped me.
I found her hunched over a desk, quill scratching furiously on parchment. She didn't look up as I approached. I coughed pointedly to announce myself.
"He's not here," she said flatly, without lifting her eyes.
My impatience flared. "So where is Andreas Thorne then?"
That got her attention. She jerked her head up, eyes widening as she scrambled to her feet, attempting a clumsy bow. "Imperial Advisor Ironside. I didn't know it was you," she stammered, breathless.
"Where is he?" I repeated, my voice edged with steel.
"Like I said to Warden Voss, Professor Thorne is on sick leave," she replied, regaining a sliver of composure.
My brow creased. Elara—here? "I'm sorry. Did you say Warden Elara Voss was here?"
"Yes, my Lord," she nodded vigorously. "She wanted to see Professor Thorne. But she did not tell me why, although it sounded urgent."
My eyes narrowed.
It was no secret Helena and Andreas had once been close. But eleven years ago, Elara Voss had been a scholarship student—brilliant, yes, but not part of our circles.
She was investigating. And someone had directed her toward Andreas.
Interesting.
I reached into my coat and withdrew a coin purse, heavy with gold. The metal clinked sharply as I placed it on her desk, a sound that cut through the quiet air. “You will inform me as soon as Andreas arrives. Yes?” My voice carried the weight of command, leaving no room for hesitation.
Her eyes flicked to the coin purse, and she snatched it eagerly, tucking it away like a secret she would guard with her life. “Yes, my Lord. You will be the first to know.”
“See that I am.”
Satisfied, I turned on my heel. The echo of my boots on the polished stone floors followed me as I left the room. Elara Voss was trailing threads that led to Andreas. That could be dangerous. She was getting closer. Too close.
I needed to redirect her. Distract her. Lead her on a wild goose chase before she uncovered anything truly critical.
But first… Reginald’s family needed closure. They needed a story that would let them sleep at night. Closure, I had learned long ago, was rarely honesty. More often, it was deception dressed in civility.
By nightfall, rumors would spread like wildfire: a sighting in Lunara. A mysterious woman with dark hair. Whispered scandal at the Academy. Enough to satisfy curiosity and stop further questions.
And then… later tonight, I would return to Dust.
The storm had grown in intensity while I moved through the Academy halls. By the time I reentered my office, the sky above the Cursed Forest was alive with motion. Lightning slashed across the blackened clouds, briefly illuminating the jagged treetops before everything was swallowed again by shadow. Thunder rumbled low, deep enough to shake the stone foundations underfoot.
I stood before the window, watching the storm rage beyond. I lifted a hand to the glass and paused, noticing the faint marks along my wrists. Helga’s hands had left bruises.
I traced one absentmindedly, fingertips lingering over the tender skin.
When I have the girl, it will be her wrists, not mine, marked.
A slow, sharp smile curved my lips at the thought.
The dragon. The throne. Both will be mine.