RHYS TORLIN IS ON THE MOVE. With only his wits and ideals, he infiltrates Synketros in hopes of unlocking the secret to its soldiers' loyalty. When a plan goes awry and found friends putting themselves into trouble to save him, Rhys must choose betw...
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Dinner time sported the greatest solace in the room. He had brought spare potions with him the day before so he had no reason to go out every meal time. Plus, he wasn't the type to go hungry every half an hour. That's his sister.
Lights must have gone down in the main corridor because the footsteps turned frantic. Most would be in a hurry to go back to the comfort of their rooms and cots as the bells and the rods trained them to do so. Rhys, during this time in this place, had gotten used to sleeping on the rock-hard woven cot. It was given to him by a craft master who couldn't care less to whom his products were given. From the look on his face, he didn't appear he wanted to be here either.
Well, same branch, mister. Same branch, indeed.
Rhys leaned down and checked the bubbling liquids he staked over a glowing lamp. It might have been the same model he used in the brewing room. Instead, he weaved a regulator when he got out yesterday and used the small gadget to brighten or dim the flame. The glass vials he pilfered from the apothecary from town, and most of the ingredients now processing at various stages were from the merchants.
Beside him, a rack made from twisted wires he unraveled from the unused cot lying around sat, waiting to be filled with cooling vials filled with his latest attempt at a counter-potion. He preferred it to be a powder of some sort—which he could put into bags and toss into people's faces as fumes—but with lack of materials and the knowledge of the apothecaries, he'd have to make do with extracts and concoctions.
When the last of the vials made it into the rack, Rhys started packing up the makeshift equipment. He also had to hide the regulator or someone would think he's bringing in unregistered magic and gadgets from the outside world. Synketrians weren't privy to many things outside the tavern. They'd be sure to talk about it until news reached the Sovereign's ears, if it hasn't already.
In practiced seconds, the rest of the vials and the lamp made it inside the small, metal box he retrieved from the junk pile in the training field. Why it was hidden among scraps of swords, daggers, and spears, he couldn't care less. It didn't have a lock, and it's the least of Rhys' worries. None of his roommates were thieves, because if they were, then he'd tattle away about the things they hid under their pillows. He's not the only forager here.
He stored most of the cooled potions inside, taking care to stop their lip with well-measured cork. He still had to find out how long it would last without going bad or start having diminished effects. Granted, he had yet to figure out if it worked at all.
Taking the fairy potion he got from the Synketrian tables, he analyzed the trail woven into it before taking a swig. Most of the ones he drank from here weren't laced with dreaded potion, but that's the catch. Nobody knew or cared what they're consuming were spiked with something that'd enslave them to the Sovereign. The potion's existence was kept secret so as to not raise suspicion and increase the likelihood of people succumbing to it without their permission or control.
