Thorns & Fire, page 26
Wren’s whole body sagged with relief. ‘I’d love that.’
The women sat cross-legged on Dessa’s bed, steaming mugs of tea between their palms, and Wren sank into the warm comfort of female friendship once more. It was a balm like no other, she realized. She needed it.
When she’d settled in, Dessa told her about her progress with her own opus – the memory device to help her ailing father. She told her how much interest the masters had shown in it, how excited they were on her behalf.
‘I’m worried I won’t have enough time, though,’ Dessa admitted. ‘It’s such intricate work, it can’t be rushed . . . but our presentation day is so close now.’
Wren knew the feeling well. ‘The pressure is mounting, isn’t it?’
‘Truly,’ Dessa agreed. ‘You’d think during this time of upheaval we’d be shown a bit of grace, but . . .’
‘Knowledge is the victor over fate,’ Wren replied.
Dessa huffed a dry laugh. ‘And the mind is a blade . . . Drevenor stops for nothing, not even a possible war.’
‘I think we’re beyond the realm of possible now,’ Wren said gently.
‘I think you’re right.’ Dessa heaved a sigh. ‘Shall we talk about something else?’
The conversation shifted to romance, as it tended to with Dessa at the helm – but for once, Wren wasn’t the subject in question.
‘Things are over between Kipp and me,’ Dessa admitted, draining the rest of her tea.
‘Zavier mentioned it. I’m sorry.’
Dessa sighed. ‘It was fun while it lasted, but after we went with you to Delmira . . . I realized my priorities are with the academy. I want to put my work before all else, until I meet someone who feels like home . . . Does that sound ridiculous?’
‘No,’ Wren told her. ‘It sounds wise.’
‘Well, I have my moments.’ Dessa poured them both a fresh cup. ‘And you? Have you fixed things with your Bear Slayer?’
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘It’s not easy.’
‘The good things never are, Wren.’
Wren let out a rueful chuckle. ‘I’ll say.’
The next morning, as the early light bled into the council room, Wren’s head was already aching. She sat beside Zavier, who’d been strangely understanding about her keeping Delmira a secret, while Lord Lucian Devereux, King Leiko, and Lady Liora had graciously come to the conclusion that the Embervales were indeed the rightful heirs to the kingdom. The newfound state of said kingdom was another thing entirely, and the rulers raged and bickered about what to do with the information. Meanwhile, Darian Devereux watched everything unfold with a bored expression, and Kipp sat at the far end of the table, his auburn hair falling over his eyes as he scribbled away in a small notebook.
‘If we keep this hidden from the common folk, it’s more fodder for the People’s Vanguard to use against us. They’ll say we’re hiding resources, that we’re deliberately keeping them in the dark,’ Lady Liora argued, her face flushed with passion.
‘And if we announce it to the midrealms, people will flock to Delmira and ravage the lands,’ Audra countered.
The dispute had gone on in circles like this for the better part of an hour, and to Wren’s further dismay, the chronicler Magnus Crane sat in the corner, scribbling away on a roll of parchment, glaring at her whenever he got the chance. Apparently, history was being written in this very room, by a biased fool.
Rubbing her temples, Wren glanced at Kipp, who was still quiet on the outskirts of the room, sipping from a mug she suspected contained something stronger than tea. But the strategist’s eyes were bright with interest, his brows knitted together as he followed the debate back and forth.
At last, he cleared his throat. ‘Until there is a structure in place for the governing of the kingdom, we cannot let this information spread,’ he told the seated party. ‘If Delmira is as superior as claimed, whoever holds the kingdom has an advantage in the conflict ahead. The last thing we can afford is for the enemy to get their hands on more potent ingredients, or to win over more of the common folk with promises of land. The People’s Vanguard nearly bested us in Drevenor’s own halls. If they can enhance their concoctions, it will be over for us.’
‘Kristopher is right,’ Audra said. ‘Currently, only the silvertide rose from Delmira has been effective in Wren’s experiments against the dark alchemy. If they get wind of this, we’d be giving them the very blade that ends us all.’
‘So what?’ King Leiko interjected. ‘We’re to wait until the Embervale girls – who have previously rejected the crown, might I add – decide the fate of the whole midrealms?’
The way he spat the word girls had Wren’s blood boiling, as though she and Thea were still teenagers running around Thezmarr. They were women – women who had defended the midrealms and nearly lost everything. She had listened to men talk about her as though she wasn’t there for long enough, and she was done.
Wren got to her feet and stared down the King of Tver. ‘I may not wear a crown, Your Majesty, but I deserve your respect – or have you forgotten my role in the war? How I saved you? How I brought you back from the brink of insanity?’
‘That’s hardly—’
‘I’m still speaking.’ Wren had learned from the women who came before her how to make her words sharp enough to cut glass. Audra. Farissa. Anya. Thea. She rarely used that tone, but the utter disrespect in this chamber called for it now. ‘I have summoned my sister here, and as the only living heirs of Delmira, she and I will decide how to handle this development. I assure you, I have no intention of hiding resources or abusing power, but nor will I hand the enemy the best chance we have at defeating them. Unless you have any genuine questions or suggestions, I have work to do.’
Wren waited a moment, watching as the realization dawned on each face before her that they had no choice but to wait, or declare war on her homeland.
‘Good,’ she said curtly, before leaving the room.
Torj was waiting for her outside. ‘That went well . . .’
‘You heard?’ she asked.
‘I heard you put those pricks in their places.’
A smile curled Wren’s lips. ‘Someone had to.’
‘Elwren!’ a voice called after them, and Wren turned to see Audra hurrying towards her. ‘I’d like a word with you in private,’ the Guild Master said without preamble.
Before Wren could answer, Audra was leading her into an empty room, dismissing Torj with a wave. When the door clicked closed, Audra faced her.
‘I have a list of Warswords for you to choose from,’ she stated, producing a piece of parchment from the folds of her cloak.
Wren stared blankly at the yellowed square. ‘What?’
‘It was never my intention to break my word to you,’ Audra continued, still holding out the list. ‘I agreed that in exchange for you creating the cure, Elderbrock would no longer be in your service, that we would find you a suitable replacement once Thea returned to her regular duties. I have not forgotten my promise.’
Wren stared at the tally of names as Audra pushed the parchment into her waiting hand.
‘I’ll have your choice of guard here within the next two days, and I’ll have the Bear Slayer removed by the end of the week,’ the Guild Master told her.
‘I don’t want a replacement,’ Wren blurted, pushing the list back.
Audra’s brow furrowed. ‘You don’t?’
It was as though Wren were watching herself from a distance, a stranger to her own actions, her own words, even as they threatened to carve her open anew.
‘I’m his to protect,’ she said. ‘And he’s mine.’
CHAPTER 41
Torj
‘Often among circles of those in close protection roles, there is a misconception that if a guard is skilled enough, there is no need for their charge to carry a weapon. However, it is a guard’s duty to equip their principle with every possible asset for protection’
– The Guardian’s Handbook: Principles and Practises of Personal Protection
WREN LOOKED SHAKEN as she returned from her brief meeting with Audra. The latter looked subtly pleased – a fair sign that schemes were afoot and playing out exactly how she wanted. But Wren held her head high as she strode down the corridor. Elwren Embervale had always been a force to be reckoned with, but hearing her stand up for herself in a room full of small-minded pricks was something else entirely.
It wasn’t until they turned a corner towards the dining hall that Torj noticed the new addition to her belt of potions.
His dagger.
If he had felt pride before, he didn’t know this new sensation blooming in his chest – it was something far more smug, far more primal. He wasn’t about to let her know that, though.
‘Do you even know how to use that?’ he asked with a nod to the blade in question. ‘Properly?’
Wren looked down, as though she’d forgotten it was there. ‘It seems simple enough.’
‘You realize that’s like me telling you that alchemy is simple?’
Wren shrugged. ‘I felt like wearing something a little more . . . commanding today.’
Torj nodded. ‘It suits you.’
‘You think?’
‘So long as you’re wearing it and not wielding it for the moment,’ Torj quipped. ‘I’ll teach you.’
‘I’ll be giving it back, so that’s hardly necessary.’
But Torj shook his head. He didn’t want it back. He liked that she was wearing something of his for the world to see.
Later, in the dining hall, Wren sat down opposite Torj, next to Kipp. Immediately the pair huddled with their heads close together, talking inaudibly as the rest of the hall dug into their dinners. Torj knew plotting when he saw it, and those two were up to no good.
He leaned in a little closer, busying himself with pouring a tankard of mead.
‘Are you going to do anything with the information I gave you?’ Kipp was saying, stuffing his face with roast potatoes.
‘I’m looking into it,’ Wren said stiffly, clearly avoiding Torj’s eye across the table.
Kipp shrugged and loaded his plate with more food. ‘So long as you remember—’
‘A deal’s a deal, I know.’
Torj couldn’t help himself then. He waited until Wren’s eyes met his. ‘What’s that about?’
‘Nothing that concerns you, Bear Slayer,’ she said lightly, taking a sip from her goblet.
‘If you’re getting into debts with the Son of the Fox, I feel like your bodyguard should know about it,’ he ventured, glancing at Kipp, who was now deep in conversation with Dessa.
‘My bodyguard knows what he needs to know,’ Wren replied.
‘I highly doubt that, Embers—’
‘A word, if you don’t mind, Elwren?’ came a smooth voice that made Torj’s skin crawl.
Devereux appeared by their table, and it was all Torj could do not to block her completely from his view. The fat lip the nobleman wore brought him some measure of satisfaction, though.
‘In private,’ Devereux added with a sly look at Torj.
Torj knew he had to keep himself in check. This was no deserted corridor. This was the busy dining hall of Drevenor Academy. If he threw a nobleman around again, people would notice.
As Wren gave her consent and stood with the smarmy prick, he had no choice but to fall back and watch them move to the edge of the hall. He hated that they looked good together – the handsome nobleman in his fine clothes and the beautiful alchemist. Who knew what honeyed words that snake was whispering in her ear?
‘If you’re going to burst into flame, Bear Slayer, can you kindly put a bit of distance between us first?’ Kipp commented.
‘Why are you always so intent on irritating me?’ Torj replied moodily.
‘I think you’re doing that all on your own,’ Kipp told him, with a glance at Wren and Devereux. ‘They’re just talking.’
‘It’s never just talking with Darian.’ From the looks of things, the nobleman hadn’t changed a bit. He still dressed like a pampered prince, still laced his words with false charm.
‘I have news from Thezmarr,’ Kipp said, voice low.
‘Go on,’ Torj replied, not taking his eyes off his charge.
‘Cahira has been laid to rest on the Plains of Orax. Farissa went to examine the body herself. It was definitely a variant of the dark alchemy Lord Silas is using.’
‘We guessed as much, didn’t we?’
Kipp nodded. ‘The missing Warsword has also been found.’
‘Alive?’
‘Dead. Killed the same way as Cahira.’
‘Shit,’ Torj muttered, his heart sinking. The strength that had risen from the ashes of the shadow war was fading. ‘Our Warsword numbers are dwindling . . . Does Audra know how many are ready to take the Great Rite the next time it presents itself?’
‘She told me three, maybe four,’ Kipp said. ‘But what good will that do if the enemy has the ability to strip them of their Furies-given strength the moment they have it?’
‘We don’t need Warswords for this fight,’ Torj told him. ‘We need alchemists.’
He hadn’t stopped watching Wren and Devereux across the hall, noting the subtle stiffness in Wren’s shoulders, and how her hand rested on the grip of his dagger.
‘He’s had more than enough time to chat, wouldn’t you agree?’ Kipp mused.
‘For once, Kristopher, yes, I would.’
Torj strode over to Wren and placed himself between her and the nobleman.
‘Time’s up, Devereux.’
Devereux gave Wren an infuriating smile, followed by an even more infuriating bow. ‘Until next time, Princess.’
As he walked off, Torj realized that Wren was still gripping his dagger.
‘I’m definitely teaching you how to use that,’ he told her.
CHAPTER 42
Wren
‘The fool draws water from an empty well, while the wise seek new springs’
– Arcane Alchemy: Unveiling the Mysteries of Matter
WREN WAS A woman obsessed. She spent hours, days, hunched over her workbench, her back constantly aching. It was akin to wading through mud, trying to understand the properties of the dark alchemy, as well as what made the Delmirian rose different to the rest. Even wearing gloves, she had pricked herself on more thorns than she could count, her blood dotting the workbench, along with dozens of severed thorns.
She had always thought she worked well in organized chaos, but in the early hours of yet another morning, the clutter simply reflected the state of her mind. Nearly every surface was covered: a small wooden rack held vials of royal blood and alchemical concoctions, a mortar and pestle housed crushed herbs, and several open books with her notes in the margins were scattered about.
Any day now, the High Chancellor would call upon the adepts to present their findings, and with every day that passed, Wren was less sure of her convictions.
Peering into a shallow glass dish, she used a dropper to deposit three beads of blood into the sample. Nothing. Her supplies from Delmira were already dwindling, and those she tried to propagate didn’t have the same effect in her alchemy. She had studied the samples of Delmirian soil. All the masters had. None of them could discern what made it more fertile than any other.
Wren buried herself in work, because every waking moment that she didn’t she worried for Delmira and for her sister. She wasn’t sure when to expect Thea’s arrival, but with every day that passed, she grew more anxious, more guilt-ridden.
And then there was Torj . . . The Bear Slayer hardly left her side, despite what had happened between them. Wren was too tired to be angry; she was simply heartbroken, for the both of them. She tried to understand the secrets, the choices made for her, but all she was left with was a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Wren didn’t want to feel that way for ever. Glancing up, she took in the sight of the towering Warsword, who was pacing her quarters for the millionth time, his movements methodical and efficient, that tic in his jaw the only tell that he wasn’t alright.
‘Have a drink with me,’ she heard herself say suddenly.
Torj whirled around. ‘What?’
‘Was I speaking the ancient tongue of the Furies without realizing?’ she replied. ‘I said, have a drink with me, Bear Slayer. Must I always promise not to poison it first?’
They were in a strange place, caught somewhere between her sorrow and his regret, that wall of secrets now rubble between them. And yet she couldn’t help wanting to be near him. She couldn’t help craving his touch or relishing the sound of his husky voice. She missed him – missed them.
As usual, the Mortar and Pestle was bustling with scholars and students alike, with Kipp holding court at the bar. Wren and Torj had taken a corner booth away from the noise, and Wren was currently staring into a tankard.
‘I’ve summoned Thea right into a waiting ambush,’ she told the Bear Slayer. Just because they weren’t together, didn’t mean she couldn’t talk to him. He had always been there for her, had always been a friend.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked gently.
‘She’s a Warsword.’ Wren took a deep drink. ‘I don’t need to tell you how much that means to her. The world is asking her to be a queen instead, to give up her totem and swords.’
‘You think it’s only a symbol and some steel that makes a warrior a Warsword?’ Torj asked, motioning to the armband of three crossed swords around his bicep.
But Wren put her head in her hands, despair gnawing at her from within. ‘Thea was happy. She gave everything in the war, and she was meant to live the days after it in peace – or hunting monsters abroad, which is her version of that. Now I’ve got her tangled in this mess.’
‘This isn’t your fault,’ Torj told her. ‘You didn’t start a rebellion. You didn’t attack a king or queen—’
‘I may as well have,’ Wren argued. ‘They used my work as a foundation for their own evils. The alchemy I used on those manacles all those years ago . . . It had the ability to target certain properties, like the Furies-given strength that Warswords have. Silas took that and has been altering it – to weaken Warswords, to mute the magic of royals. It’s my design, the alchemy that targets. My fault.’ She sighed. ‘Perhaps there was a certain comfort back then. When you faced a monster, you knew that danger and death awaited in fangs and talons, in the shadows lashing at you. But now . . . With the men of the midrealms, there’s no telling what threats lurk beneath their jewels and fine clothes. No knowing what perils are threaded between their elegant speeches and formalities. Do you ever think that things seemed simpler in the shadow war? Monsters were bad, we were good . . . But now everything is in shades of grey.’
