Chapter 324: The Thorn Gallery

The Thorn’s gallery was a large spacious chamber with tall ceilings that encompassed most of the south wing of the castle. Stained glass windows five paces tall lined the walls, each depicting the greatest victories and achievements of past members of the Thorn family. Hundreds of portraits of Thorns of old hung on the stone walls, from the floor to the high ceiling. The gallery was a record of memories, a place to visit when a Thorn searched for their past.

In the center of the gallery hung a single oil painting all by itself, the portrait of The Last Ebon Lord, Atreus Thorn. The painting itself was a monumental work that stood over 10 ft tall. Its golden frame was an elaborate design of vines studded with rubies, forged by the master smiths of the Bronze Realm before the Schism. A pair of silver-sculpted lanterns hung from each corner of the frame, each with a magestone inside, glowing a soft blue.

A bouquet of black roses, the symbol of House Thorn, was laid below the painting, a gesture of respect or so Ophelia’s father had always told her.

Ophelia sat on a stone bench in front of Atreus’ shrine and simply stared at the memory of their family’s legacy. Atreus had been a tall drow, taller than most. He had a lithe form, though he was not frail. His grey skin was pale as was his hair, a trait that his descendants seemed to have inherited. He seemed almost ethereal, untouchable, invulnerable.

Ophelia sighed, In the end, he fell mysteriously ill and died prematurely, like all the other Ebon Lords.

“Even you, Atreus, were not invincible,” Ophelia smiled sadly. “Your death left our family vulnerable and the other Great Houses preyed on our wounds. And now here I am, 300 hundred years later, left to pick up the pieces… What would you have done in my situation…?”

“Nothing, you have already done enough… for now,” a disembodied voice echoed through the empty gallery.

Ophelia tried her best to keep her face still, to not show the fear that bloomed within her chest. She had heard the voice so many times, yet it never felt familiar, it felt like a cold dagger slipping down her back.

Ophelia swallowed hard and steadied her breathing, “What of Undergrowth’s armies? The other city lords and ladies are furious over the recent attack on our people. They are demanding blood. Tribal blood.”

“They will have their blood, in due time. Though perhaps not the blood they imagined. Use the fury of Undergrowth’s Houses to rally your armies until they have reached full strength.”

“And then what? Whom do we march on?”

“Do not worry about such things, the time for that will come sooner than you expect. For now, continue to strengthen your city's border. The city must stay secure.”

“Secure?” Ophelia laughed indignantly. “You were the one who told me to undermine Undergrowth’s defenses so that those Dusk Valley savages could attack my people. And now you want me to strengthen the city’s security all of a sudden?!”

“Yes,” the voice said calmly.

“Why now? Why do you now care about who walks into Undergrowth?”

“It is not important who comes into the city, but rather who tries to leave.”

Ophelia’s eyes widened, “The Ebon Aspirant? You don’t want him to leave? You wish for me to capture him?”

“No, leave that boy alone.”

“I don’t understand, who—?”

“—You don’t need to understand.”

Ophelia gripped the hem of her dress in silent frustration, “…I have done every single thing you asked of me. I sacrificed my own city’s people and let the savages slaughter them. I sent my guards to seize the Sunken Temple from House Sientia like you wanted. I even put my family’s heirloom cloak as the tourney’s prize!”

“You had no problem putting Blossom up as the prize, now did you?”

“That was before I knew a fucking Ebon Aspirant was in the tourney! But you knew that, didn’t you? You always know everything… I have done everything for you.” Ophelia took a deep, shaky breath, “So why keep me in the dark?”

The voice chuckled amusedly, “You’ve done everything… for me? Was I the one who ordered you to send those assassins after the Azols? No, that spectacular failure was yours and yours alone.”

Ophelia paled, “H-how did…? When…?”

“You don’t know what happened, do you? The assassin’s guild you sent was completely wiped out by the Sword Paragon himself, Gian Gale, and his family’s swordsmen. As to be expected, of course. You attacked the mother of a newborn Gale.”

“B-but, the Kamilo child is an Azol, not a–”

“Do you think Gian cares what his last name is? Gale blood runs through that infant’s veins. In the eyes of House Gale, Kamilo is one of them. Now an entire elite guild of assassins is dead because of your foolish actions. Yet here you sit, demanding why I keep you in the dark?”

Ophelia lowered her head, “...I admit, I miscalculated the care the Gale’s had for the baby and his mother. But one small mistake does not change a lifetime of loyalty–”

“Loyalty? You may listen to my orders, but do not lie to yourself. Everything you have ever done has always been for you, Ophelia, no one else.”

Ophelia jumped to her feet. “You’re wrong!” she shouted indignantly. “Everything I have done is for my family!”

The voice laughed, a cold chill resonating through the empty halls of the gallery, “Family? Dear Ophelia, have you forgotten already? Who was it that asked for my help to rise above her brothers and sisters?”

Ophelia grimaced, “...That was a long time ago.”

“A mere 54 years.”

“I was young…”

“I remember well. You were a small, timid girl of 14. No one saw you for who you were. Your family just saw a powerless little girl. To them, you were an afterthought. But I saw your potential, I saw the anger within you, the determination in your eyes, the ruthlessness to do whatever was necessary to achieve your dreams. Do you remember, my dear Ophelia?”

She looked up at the large painting of Atreus and nodded slowly, “You appeared before me, right here…”

“And we struck a bargain, a pact for the ages. Or have you forgotten?”

Ophelia shook her head, “I haven’t forgotten–”

“AND YET YOU DARE DEMAND OF ME!?” the voice boomed.

Ophelia shuddered in fear and covered her ears, the thunderous voice reverberating painfully in her eardrums.

“It was I who saved you from your mediocre fate. It was I who cut down the Thorns in your way. It was I who placed you on the Rose Throne! Do not forget who made you what you are, Ophelia Thorn.”

“I’m sorry!” She fell to her knees and prostrated herself on the ground in terror. “I’m sorry… please forgive this foolish, impertinent drow.”

“I do not care for your apologies, I care about your ability to follow orders.”

Ophelia placed her forehead on the cold stone tiles and spoke in a reverent voice, “I swear your words are absolute… Lord Caligo.”

“For your sake, I do hope you remember this moment. I have kept my end of our bargain, it is time you keep yours.”

“Yes, of course, my lord! I shall not disappoint you!” she nodded vigorously.

“Is that so? You are a smart woman, I believe you understand the consequences of disobedience. Of course… your father thought he was smart. He tried to run from his commitment to his bargain. It did not end well for him, did it?”

“I am not my father. He was a foolish coward who deserved what happened to him,” she muttered with resentment. “My father refused to declare war on Hollow Shade because he was too scared to lose all that he had gained. I am not. Please, believe me, my lord, I will not fail you as he did. My life is yours, now and always. Command me and I will bathe Hollow Shade in the blood of your enemies in your divine name.”

The painting of Atreus slowly smiled, “No, you have already done enough… for now.”

The gallery’s heavy doors suddenly opened and Calex walked in, glancing about. “Mother, are you in here?” he called out.

Ophelia quickly stood to her feet and brushed off her dress, “I’m over here, Calex.”

Calex spotted his mother next to Atreus’ shrine and smiled in relief, “I thought you’d be here.”

Since he was young he would always find his mother in the gallery, contemplating and gathering her thoughts.

Calex glanced out at the dark stained glass windows, “The sun has already set. Have you had dinner yet?”

“No, why?” she said distractedly.

“Nothing, it’s just, you’ve been so busy with the tourney arrangements recently. It’d be nice if Lerdea, you, and I could spend some time together as a family.”

“I’m not hungry. You and your sister can eat by yourselves.”

“I… I understand. I’m sorry to have bothered you,” Calex bowed his head and turned to leave.

“You let Freya Goldelm live. Why?” she asked coldly.

Calex stiffened and sighed quietly, “Her teammate intervened in our fight.”

“That wouldn’t have mattered if you had just used Nightshade like I told you to.”

“You know I’m not particularly fond of that sword or any sword for that matter. I didn’t think drawing Nightshade was necessary. I was wrong,” he said apologetically.

“And that mistake resulted in a Goldelm, one of the Houses that betrayed our family and led the Thorns into exile, to escape with her life.”

“I didn’t expect her teammate to interfere.”

“Well, luckily for you, tomorrow you have the chance to rectify that mistake. Use Nightshade to kill the hybrid, Sylvie. Is that clear?”

Calex closed his eyes and sighed in resignation, “As you wish, mother.”