Ashes Of The Throne | Part I

Chapter 161 | He Who Survived

Teshia flinched at the sound of her own name, her words hanging in the sterile air like fragile glass threatening to shatter. Her hollow gaze remained locked on Matthew, searching for something she couldn't name. She watched his face as her statement landed, her breath hitching slightly as though bracing for his reaction.

Matthew's expression stayed stoic, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed her words. "Vause sent you?" he repeated, his tone low, measured. The name alone sent a jolt through him, tightening the unease already coiling in his chest.

She nodded faintly, her trembling hands clutching the edge of the bed as though the movement itself grounded her. "He said... I'd be safe here," she rasped, her voice barely more than a broken whisper. "That you'd... help me." Her gaze faltered, dropping to her hands, her knuckles white from how tightly she gripped the blanket.

Matthew exhaled, the weight of her admission settling heavily on his shoulders. Vause. The mage. The man who owed him a debt he never thought would surface like this. And now, Teshia—Ezra's daughter—had been thrust into his orbit, carrying a storm of unknowns he couldn't afford to ignore. The implications felt like a noose tightening around him.

"Vause knows I can keep you safe," he said, his voice even but laced with quiet intensity. He stepped closer, the quiet authority in his movements palpable, and sat down in the chair beside her bed. His presence loomed, steady and unyielding, as he leaned slightly forward. "But that only works if I know what's happening. Why are you here? What does this mean?"

Her lips parted, but she hesitated, her thin frame trembling under the weight of his gaze. He studied her carefully, his mind racing to reconcile the stories with the woman before him. Teshia was a shadow of herself, skeletal and weathered, her cheekbones cutting sharply beneath hollow eyes that seemed to hold an eternity of sleepless nights. Her skin was marked by scars, each one a silent testament to battles fought, some external, some within.

Her eyes met his again, and he saw it—desperation, raw and unfiltered, tinged with a faint spark of defiance. But there was something else, too. Apprehension. The kind that came from someone who'd been betrayed too many times to trust easily.

Matthew had heard the stories. The human who loved a mage. The one who crossed lines and betrayed expectations. A name whispered in the same breath as rebellion and ruin. Every detail about her had been a cautionary tale, yet here she was, a living contradiction to the myths. Was this a trap? His instincts urged him to question everything, but the depth of her anguish—the way her pain bled into the room—made it harder to ignore.

"Teshia," he said, his tone sharp but not cruel, cutting through her silence. "I don't have the patience for half-truths or hesitation. If there's something I need to know, something that needs doing, you need to tell me. Now."

"I didn't... have a choice. Vause said—I had to come here."

"I understand that part. Why?"

"Because they hunted us," Teshia said, her voice shaking. "The mages... they were slaughtered in an ambush. Vause told me to find you. He said you'd know what to do next."

Matthew leaned forward, his tone sharp but controlled. "Who ambushed you? Who's after Vause?" Dread coiled in his chest, an uneasy weight pressing down as he considered the implications. If someone had been strong enough to take down Vause—a mage as formidable as he was—it meant something far worse was at play.

Teshia's hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the bed, her breaths shallow and uneven. The memories clawed at her, fresh wounds beneath the surface. "The Sorceress," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her hollow gaze fixed on Matthew, but her eyes seemed to see far beyond the room. "And the Sorcerer. They came for us."