Thorns & Fire, page 24
He was her guard, nothing more.
The chant in his mind started anew.
Not enough. Not enough. Not enough.
CHAPTER 37
Wren
‘Come winter the petals fall, but the thorns remain’
– From Root to Petal: Understanding Plants and Their Properties
‘WHAT HAPPENED TO you?’ Zavier demanded, staring at Wren’s puffy eyes as they reviewed their work in the warfare dungeon the next day.
‘I know I look like shit, but do you really need to draw attention to it?’ Wren hissed, rubbing her aching temples.
‘Depends,’ Zavier replied. ‘How bad is it?’
Despite the fact that Torj was currently stationed outside their lesson, she hadn’t spoken to him since last night. She’d done nothing except stare at that damn book and wonder where the fuck they’d gone wrong.
Now, she surveyed Zavier in return. Her friend’s skin was sallow, his hairline damp with sweat, his lips dry and cracked. ‘Are you alright?’ she asked, noting that he appeared to have lost weight as well.
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ he said defensively.
‘You . . . you just don’t look like yourself today.’
‘I know I look like shit, but do you really need to draw attention to it?’ he parroted.
Wren gave a tired laugh. ‘Fair enough. I don’t think any of us look like ourselves lately.’ She looked around the workstations. ‘Where’s Dessa? She should be here by now.’
Zavier shrugged. ‘I think she and Kipp ended things between them last night. Perhaps she’s taken the morning to . . . deal with that.’
‘She would have told me!’ Wren exclaimed.
Another shrug. ‘First time for everything, Poisoner.’
Wren’s brow furrowed as she glanced at the door, waiting for Dessa to burst through at any moment.
‘If you’re this antsy, you may as well tell me what happened to get you in such a state,’ Zavier said. ‘Or are your secrets only good enough for Dessa’s ears?’
Wren snorted. ‘Since when are you interested?’
‘Since I need something to make this lesson a tad less dull.’
Normally, Wren would have laughed, but the hollowness within her only widened. ‘I’d keep that to yourself. Master Crawford has excellent hearing, if you recall . . .’
Zavier rolled his eyes. ‘Dessa was careless, as usual.’ He motioned to the vials of corrosive agent they had created. ‘Her handwriting looks like a child’s. How are we meant to read these labels, for Furies’ sake?’
‘It’s not that bad.’ Wren picked one up and pointed to the admittedly messy scrawl. ‘That’s the date, those are the ingredients . . .’
This time it was Zavier who looked to the door, clicking his tongue in annoyance. ‘Alright, she’s definitely late. We still need to test everything to ensure it can be reproduced, and we still need to develop application methods and safety measures. It’d be nice if she showed up to pull her weight.’
‘Ease up,’ Wren said with a note of warning. ‘She’s never let us down before.’
‘First time for everything,’ Zavier repeated darkly.
‘You’re in a mood today,’ she observed. ‘Why don’t you tell me what happened? Is it something to do with your opus?’
Scoffing, Zavier shuffled his notes. ‘Not even close. How about we both mind our own business?’
‘It’s called showing an interest in your friends’ lives, Zavier . . . You might like to try it sometime.’
‘I assure you, I would not. The only thing I’d like is to complete this damn task so I can get back to—’
The dungeon door swung open and in strode Torj and Cal, their expressions hardened.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Master Crawford demanded. ‘I was assured that there would be no disruption to my lessons.’
Cal had the audacity to shrug. ‘Prince Zavier and Princess Elwren’s presence is required by the Guild Master of Thezmarr and the High Chancellor. We’re just following orders.’
Wren’s gaze cut to Zavier, whose brows were raised.
‘We’re being summoned?’ she asked, directing the question at Cal.
‘It certainly seems that way,’ Master Crawford snapped, motioning for them to leave. ‘Get out before you disrupt any more of my lesson.’
Wren gathered her things quickly, hoping that Dessa would soon show up to pack away their work, and followed Zavier from the dungeon.
With Torj and Cal stationed outside, Wren and Zavier entered the High Chancellor’s chambers to the sound of raised voices and the thudding of fists against a table. All eyes went to the pair as they approached, and Wren’s hand drifted to her belt of vials, seeking the familiar comfort.
At an oval table before her were more than a dozen agitated faces, some familiar: Lady Liora, Queen Regent of Harenth; Audra, the Guild Master of Thezmarr; and King Leiko of Tver, who sat next to Darian Devereux, Lord Lucian and a handful of other noble figures. The Master Alchemists of Drevenor were also present, though they stood with their backs to the wall, not seated at the table. The only friendly face was Kipp’s, but his expression was one of stone as he took stock of the room, his gaze lingering on the Devereux men.
‘We were summoned?’ Zavier said curtly.
‘Yes,’ King Leiko replied. ‘We are here to discuss the threat that Silas the Kingsbane and the People’s Vanguard pose to the midrealms. It’s high time the Terlings and the Embervales contributed. Take a seat.’
Already, Wren didn’t like his tone. King Leiko had tearfully thanked her at the end of the war, both for her heroics at the battle of Notos and for saving him from King Artos’ empath control . . . Apparently the King of Tver had a short memory, for he looked at her now with contempt.
Saying nothing, Wren slid into the empty chair offered to her. She looked to Farissa across the room, but her former mentor’s expression betrayed nothing.
‘We were just discussing the People’s Vanguard and how they are gathering numbers by the day,’ King Leiko told them testily. ‘It has been suggested by some sources that they are raising an army to march on each of the capital cities.’
Wren’s blood ran cold. ‘What—’
‘What sources?’ Zavier demanded, cutting her off.
‘Trusted sources close to each of the crowns,’ Lord Devereux Senior replied, his voice smooth, full of command.
Zavier eyed him suspiciously. ‘Who are you?’
‘Lord Lucian Devereux of Tver, Prince Zavier,’ he replied with a bow of his head.
Wren glanced at Zavier, noting how his fists clenched beneath the table.
‘Princess Elwren.’ Lord Lucian bowed his head again, this time in her direction. ‘Another of our lost monarchs returned to the fold.’
‘Wren is fine,’ she told him.
But the nobleman raised a brow. ‘I would not so easily dismiss your status. You may be grasping for it before long.’
Wren’s gaze swept around the room before narrowing on the older man. ‘And what is your role here, Lord Lucian?’
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I am here to assist His Grace, King Leiko. In recent years I have taken a far more hands-on approach to my support for the Tverrian crown.’
‘We were discussing the possibility of the rebels rallying an army,’ Audra cut in, looking as severe as ever with her hair scraped back and her spectacles perched on the end of her nose.
‘Indeed,’ Lord Lucian replied. ‘I was about to say that between my own private forces and the units I manage for His Majesty, we have the numbers to protect Tver.’
‘Perhaps it’s best we don’t underestimate them, Father,’ Darian said.
‘Our men are the same calibre as those at Thezmarr,’ Lord Lucian snapped. Wren had to stifle a scoff, but he continued, ‘Our position is strong.’
‘As you say, Father,’ Darian replied, his face a mask of calm.
Wren glanced from father to son, her curiosity piquing as Darian’s own words came back to her: ‘My father and I have played this game for as long as I can remember, and we’ll play until one of us doesn’t walk away.’
Like his sire, Darian wore an unreadable expression. Long gone were the roguish grin and flirtatious banter that infuriated the Bear Slayer. Here was someone cold and calculated.
‘What news on Silas the Kingsbane?’ the High Chancellor’s voice rang out across the table. ‘I have received no update since his attack on our grounds.’
Audra stood, clasping her hands behind her back. ‘My Warswords have been tracking him across the midrealms. He has been travelling ever since.’
‘And yet you haven’t taken him down?’ King Leiko’s tone was accusatory.
‘The situation is a delicate one—’
‘Delicate?’ the king spat. ‘Delicate how? He attacked the rulers of the midrealms, several times. He destroyed a good portion of this academic institution and took the lives of a dozen people in that very hall. Furthermore, he goes about spreading treasonous propaganda throughout our lands. He needs to be dealt with.’
‘Well said, my king.’ Lord Lucian tapped his goblet on the table in solidarity. ‘The Guild Master should be using the brute force of Thezmarr to bring him down, not following him about the kingdoms, taking notes.’
Only decades of knowing Audra allowed Wren to spot her tell – the flare of her nostrils. It was a subtle tic that belied her former warden’s rage. Audra had spent many a year being told what to do by men; Wren knew she did not suffer it gladly now. She waited for the moment Audra would put them in her place. The Guild Master could flay a man with words just as easily as a blade.
But to Wren’s surprise, the older woman said nothing. Instead, she scanned the table, seeming to catalogue everyone there, waiting and watching. That, more than anything, caused a chill to rake down Wren’s spine. Audra had often done the same thing before and during the war, always assessing, always calculating her next move. It meant that there was more going on than the dick-measuring contest in front of them.
Wren glanced at Zavier, who was glaring daggers at the Devereux noblemen, while the masters around the perimeter of the room looked increasingly uncomfortable. The party at the table had broken out in hushed whispers, though Wren could make out none of their words exactly—
King Leiko slammed his fist on the table. ‘I have another pressing matter that needs immediate attention.’ The King of Tver motioned to his captain stationed by the heavy oak doors. ‘There is a traitor in our midst.’
Wren’s heart seized as the doors creaked open and Dessa stumbled into the room.
She barely kept her footing as a burly guard shoved her forwards. Wren shot to her feet. This couldn’t be real. Dessa was good and decent. Dessa was her friend.
It was then that she noticed Dessa’s face, usually alight with mischief, was a canvas of anguish. Tears carved glistening tracks down her cheeks; her lip was split, a trickle of dried blood stark against her skin.
Wren’s fists clenched at her sides. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
But Zavier was faster. From nowhere, he unsheathed a thin blade and pointed it at the guard whose meaty hand was bruising Dessa’s arm. ‘Unhand her,’ the Prince of Naarva ordered. Kipp was on his feet too, his mouth open in outrage.
‘Odessa Chamberlain is a traitor to the midrealms and all its crowns,’ King Leiko declared.
‘Release our student, Your Majesty,’ the High Chancellor said, holding out a trembling hand as though to soothe a wild beast.
But the king did not relent, and in the presence of other threats, his guard had drawn a blade on Dessa. He held the wickedly sharp edge mere inches from her throat, a silent warning that made Wren’s blood run cold. One wrong move, one act of defiance, and Dessa’s life would be forfeit.
‘What is she holding?’ Lady Liora asked, her prim voice cutting through the promise of violence.
‘King Leiko,’ the High Chancellor interjected, an edge to his voice this time. ‘Release Miss Chamberlain at once. She is a student of this academy and therefore under my care.’
‘She’s no longer a student. She is a traitor to the crowns, as His Majesty has clearly stated,’ Lord Lucian declared. ‘And Lady Liora asks a poignant question: what is in her hand?’
Wren’s gaze went to Dessa’s fists clenched at her sides. She couldn’t see anything, but Dessa was trembling uncontrollably, refusing to meet her eye.
The room seemed to shrink, the air growing thick and oppressive. Wren’s ears rang with the pounding of her own heart as she watched her friend dragged before the king, the blade still poised at her throat.
King Leiko’s eyes flashed as he stood up suddenly, closing the distance between himself and Dessa. Wren’s lungs constricted as he invaded her friend’s space, his face mere inches from hers. With a sharp nod, he signalled the guard. The blade pressed harder against Dessa’s throat, and Wren’s rage surged as she saw a bead of crimson bloom where steel met flesh—
Lightning crackled, but King Leiko held up a hand of flame in her direction. ‘Don’t you dare.’
If Wren struck, she’d risk the blade slipping across Dessa’s skin, or the king burning her. Beside her, Zavier seemed to come to the same conclusion; he gripped her wrist and pushed her hand back down.
King Leiko, incensed now, snatched Dessa’s hand, where she was clutching something as hard as she could. Despite her trembling body, her jaw clenched in defiance, her lips pressing into a thin line.
Wren couldn’t believe this was happening: that she was in a room of powerful people and no one was stopping the king – including herself.
‘What is it?’ Lady Liora demanded again. ‘Would someone show us what she’s holding, for Furies’ sake?’
Wren’s stomach turned to lead as she glimpsed a hint of green and silver-white between Dessa’s knuckles.
No. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
But King Leiko’s patience snapped. He whirled to face the assembled nobles and masters, his eyes blazing. ‘The question is not what she’s holding. It’s where it’s from,’ he spat. ‘This woman has been keeping a secret, one that could turn the tides of our upcoming conflict.’
In one fluid motion, he grabbed Dessa’s clenched fist and slammed it down on the table, causing her to cry out in pain. Wren caught a fleeting glimpse of something shimmering as it settled on the wooden surface before them all.
Wren’s eyes widened as she stared at the fistful of delicate iridescent petals scattered across the polished wood. Their glow seemed to pulse in time with her racing heart.
‘It looks to be a simple rose,’ the Master of Lifelore observed, his weathered face wrinkling as he surveyed the plant. ‘Silvertide, if I’m not mistaken.’
The silence that followed was deafening. But King Leiko rounded on Dessa once more, his fury palpable.
‘I’ll ask you one last time, girl,’ he growled. ‘Where did you get this? Tell them what you admitted to me. Tell them where it’s from!’
Lady Liora, clearly confused by the reactions around her, spoke up hesitantly. ‘For the love of the Furies, will someone answer him?’
The question hung in the air.
Wren’s mind was racing. Her gaze locked with Dessa’s, and in that moment, a thousand unspoken words passed between them. Her friend gave a subtle shake of her head.
But as Wren looked at Dessa – battered, bleeding, yet still protecting her – she knew there was only one choice.
A time will come when that knowledge will be more impactful than the swing of a sword.
Slowly, deliberately, Wren produced a sample of her own from one of the pouches her belt. All eyes turned to her with a mix of curiosity and suspicion as she held the bloom up for all to see. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come, knowing that nothing would ever be the same again.
‘The Master of Lifelore is correct; it is a silvertide rose,’ Wren said, her voice steadier than she felt. ‘Only this particular specimen is from Delmira.’
CHAPTER 38
Wren
‘After the deaths of King Soren and Queen Brigh, no heirs to the kingdom of Delmira came forwards to claim their throne of ruins. It has remained a wasteland ever since’
– The Midrealms Chronicles
TIME HUNG SUSPENDED, just for a moment, as all eyes fell to Wren. The weight of their stares was a crushing pressure that threatened to overwhelm her. She fought the urge to shrink back, to hide from the accusations and betrayal etched on every face.
Instead, she lifted her chin in defiance.
And then the room erupted.
Fists slammed atop the table, accompanied by a cacophony of raised voices; chairs were knocked backwards as people stood in outrage. King Leiko’s expression morphed from surprise to fury, and he made a move towards Wren, scattering the papers that had been neatly piled before him.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Your Majesty,’ said a familiar voice from the doorway.
Torj didn’t shift an inch, didn’t fall into his usual rhythm of brute strength and violence. His glimmering dark eyes said more than enough. Both he and Cal stood at the entrance now, their presence commanding the entire chamber.
‘This doesn’t concern you, Warswords,’ Lord Lucian told them. ‘Or perhaps you were in on this betrayal?’
Neither Torj nor Cal moved, but Torj’s gaze slid to the nobleman. ‘Though my current duty binds me to the heir of Delmira, I am a Warsword of Thezmarr. I do not answer to you.’
But Warswords or not, they could not save Wren from this. She looked to Farissa, to Audra, and both women gave her a nod of encouragement. There was no going back, no hiding this any more.
Wren swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. ‘I discovered the rose on my recent research trip to Delmira,’ she began.
‘But Delmira is barren. Nothing grows there,’ Master Norlander argued, not taking his eyes off the vibrant petals on the table.
‘I thought so too,’ Wren told him with a nod. ‘In all the years that I lived there after the war, it barely supported the grasslands and the heather. The earth was cracked and dry, the fields yellowed . . .’
