Thorns & Fire, page 6
‘But it’s a short-term solution?’ Wren finished for him.
He nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’
Thea studied him. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Paden.’
‘Well, Paden of Harenth,’ Thea said, mounting her horse. ‘I trust you won’t forget this?’
‘No, my lady.’
Wren followed her sister’s lead, fitting her boot to her stirrup and mounting her mare. ‘We’re heading to Thezmarr,’ she told him. ‘I trust that information will stay with you as well.’
‘Yes, my lady. Thank you.’
‘We wish you and your family well, Paden.’ She motioned for him to leave.
Wren and her sister watched him ride back towards Harenth, disappearing over the horizon.
‘Should have killed him,’ Thea observed as they steered their horses in the opposite direction. ‘He’ll report straight back to whoever he wanted coin from.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Wren replied. ‘There are far greater currencies than gold and silver to some people.’
Thea made a noncommittal noise. ‘Either way, this isn’t good.’
‘No, it’s not.’
They urged their horses into a gallop. ‘The sooner we meet with Cahira,’ Thea called out to Wren, ‘the sooner we can figure out just how fucked we are.’
The next day, as another sunset kissed the horizon, Wren admired the vast expanse of land before them. A sea of silver-green blades swayed gently in the cool afternoon breeze, with dew clinging to every stem, catching the light and transforming the field into a glittering tapestry.
Crossing the open fields should have felt like freedom, but Wren only felt exposed and vulnerable out here. Every rustling blade of grass seemed to whisper of hidden dangers, turning the once-inspiring landscape into a reminder of the strange undercurrent now sweeping through the midrealms.
Lost in thought, she almost didn’t hear the approach of hoofbeats. But she twisted in her saddle to see a lone warrior riding towards them.
Her new bodyguard.
Wren straightened, curiosity piqued. She had only met a handful of the newer Warswords over the years, though Thea had done nothing but sing their praises. If having a guard was mandatory, she needed someone strong, disciplined, able to put duty above all else, someone detached—
A familiar figure dipped their head in greeting.
It was no woman Warsword.
Silver hair peeked out from beneath a hooded cloak, and broad shoulders bore the weight of a war hammer across his back.
‘You . . .’ The word slipped from Wren’s lips while her fingernails cut half-moons into her palms.
As he reached them, Torj Elderbrock blocked out the sun. ‘Me.’
CHAPTER 7
Torj
‘The bond between guard and ward strengthens with time’
– Mastering the Craft of Close Protection
GODS, I’VE MISSED you.
The words bloomed in his mind and formed on the tip of his tongue, aching inside him. He’d missed the freckles scattered across her nose, the storm in her eyes, the way her hand drifted to the belt of potions he knew was beneath her grey travelling cloak. He moved towards her without deciding to do so, drawn to her as though in a trance.
Wren Embervale was more beautiful than she’d ever been, and Torj could hardly breathe as he drank in the sight of her: a freshwater stream in the middle of a desert. Her bronze hair was swept up in a dishevelled bun, damp tendrils curling at her nape. As he drew closer, the scent of spring rain and jasmine enveloped him, and it was all he could do not to come apart at the seams. She was devastating.
Despite the disastrous events that had brought him back to her, despite how bad things had become with Silas and the People’s Vanguard . . . he couldn’t help but feel grateful to have the chance to see her again. A part of him had hoped that with the bond between them torn her effect on him would be lessened, or at least bearable. But even without an otherworldly connection to one another, he was utterly overpowered by her.
Her gaze traced over him in return, seeming to catalogue his cuts and bruises, her breasts rising and falling with each laboured breath.
‘Well,’ she said at last, her throat bobbing. ‘This ought to be good.’
‘Wren—’
But she was already signalling to the others to set up camp for the night.
Kipp greeted him with a clap on his shoulder, a gesture that felt a little harder than necessary. ‘I assume you have much to tell us, Bear Slayer?’
Torj had forgotten the others were there. He had followed the lure of the current right to her, the rest of the world fading away around him. For him, there had only ever been Wren. And from the way she was looking at him . . . The cloud of rage parted briefly as those green eyes tried to peer into his soul, to understand.
‘I do,’ he told Kipp. ‘And it’s not good.’ Isn’t that the understatement of the century, he thought. The state of the midrealms had gone from bad to worse, and Audra’s orders had left no room for debate. It was at her bidding that he’d raced across the kingdoms to rejoin his former charge as her protector once more.
‘Right. I won’t be listening on an empty stomach,’ Kipp replied, glancing between the Warsword and poisoner before heading for their saddlebags.
As Torj built the fire, he stole glances at Wren. Her expression was unreadable. In the flickering firelight, she was transformed – a gilded goddess, so beautiful that it hurt to look at her. She had belonged to him once. For that fleeting moment, he’d been able to freely tuck her hair behind her ear, rest his hand on her thigh, press his lips to hers . . . Now, the chasm between them was greater than ever.
He could feel their eyes on him, waiting for the news he brought, or for him to implode. Suddenly he couldn’t bear it a moment longer. He muttered an excuse and stepped away, standing on the edge of camp as night closed in around him. The need for her burned so fiercely that he didn’t feel the chill in the air. He ached to touch her, to talk to her, and he fought every raging instinct to go to her, to take her pain as his own. But that was what had got them here. She’d taken his pain and nearly died for it. It was only that stark reminder that had him standing guard alone, rooted to the spot.
Only he was not alone.
Grass rustled behind him.
Wren. He knew it was her before he turned, could somehow feel the world shift in her presence – that familiar electric charge in the air that made the fine hairs on his arms rise. And there she was, the faint glow of the distant fire behind her painting gold across her skin, the moon illuminating the determined gleam in her eyes, like a lightning strike over dark water. In a handful of strides, she closed the gap between them, staring up at him.
She was everywhere all at once, and he breathed in deeply, as though she were the air he desperately needed filling his lungs. His whole body was too tight, a canvas stretched taut across a frame that was bound to snap. Her stare was mesmerizing, so consuming that he couldn’t look away even if the world went up in flames. He trembled with restraint as Wren’s hand came up between them, slipping between the V of his half-buttoned shirt.
‘What are you doing?’ he whispered hoarsely, barely breathing, his heart nearly bursting through his chest.
Mine, a voice whispered within him. Mine. The word came with memories of a different time – her laugh tickling his neck, her fingers tracing his tattoo in all of its ruined glory . . .
But she’s not yours, he argued with himself. You severed the bond. The beautiful thing between you is gone.
Wren’s fingertips brushed the lightning-shaped scars over his heart, sending a rush of desire through him that left him trembling. The ink seemed to pulse beneath her touch; his skin aflame at her command.
‘I wanted to see,’ she said, peering at the marred flesh, the ruined tattoo.
‘See what?’ he croaked.
She peered up at him through thick, dark lashes. ‘If it was real. If you still felt it . . .’ She trailed off.
Torj tipped his head to the stars, silently praying to the Furies to grant him mercy. He could deny it until he was blue in the face, but his body’s reaction to her? The way he looked at her? There was no hiding that. He’d been a fool to think he could.
‘You ended it with me,’ she said. ‘Why?’
‘I told you why.’
‘No,’ Wren replied. ‘You didn’t.’
‘It was never going to work—’
‘Do we have some sort of magical bond?’ she cut him off. ‘Beyond when we shared my power during the war?’
It was the last thing he had expected her to say, but clearly Thea had mentioned the damn book. How could she not?
He didn’t recover well. ‘Not any more.’
‘But we did?’ she pressed, searching his face, her eyes lined with silver.
‘It doesn’t matter now—’
A bolt of brilliant white lightning split the sky and, on instinct, Torj grabbed Wren, shielding her body with his – until he realized the storm closing in above was her doing, her magic singing beneath him.
For the first time in a long while, Wren looked scared.
‘You didn’t mean to do that?’ he murmured.
Thunder clapped overhead and he flinched, the realization dawning. He had done this. Because of him, Wren’s magic was out of control . . . Unbeknownst to her, their severed bond had left her power jagged and wild. The tempest threatening to break around them was a mirror to the pain swimming in her gaze, pain he had caused.
‘Embers . . .’ Torj’s chest was tight as he cupped her face without thinking.
Those willow-green eyes flashed in anger, and she shoved him away with enough force to make him stumble. Her words were charged with all the power of the storm above. ‘You don’t get to call me that any more.’
CHAPTER 8
Wren
‘The kingdom of Delmira was once ruled by the Embervales, a family of lightning wielders who held the most prosperous lands in the midrealms, until it fell to the shadow wraiths during the reign of King Soren and Queen Brigh’
– The Midrealms Chronicles
HE HAD FLINCHED. Flinched at her magic. In all their years of knowing each other and fighting together, Torj had never done that. He had never feared her, or her power. Until now.
Was that why he’d ended things? Despite all that had come to pass between them, she had earned that fear. She could still feel the rough texture of his scars at her fingertips. She’d marked him for ever, and she supposed he had done the same to her, only her scars were on the inside.
‘Embers . . .’
The nickname sparked something painful within her. There had been a bond between them of some kind, he’d admitted as much . . . but what? Something to do with sharing her power during the war? Something that he wanted no part in?
With the ghost of his touch still lingering on her skin, Wren walked away from the Warsword before she fell apart. A sob lodged itself in her throat and familiar panic rose in her chest . . . but she would not break. Not now. Not because of him.
Forcing down the wave of grief that threatened to knock her legs from beneath her, she returned to the camp that had been set up in her absence. She felt eyes on her instantly, and though she knew there was only concern in her friends’ stares, she resented them. The fact that people knew she was hurting made her feel all the more vulnerable, and it made her sick to the stomach.
As she joined Thea at the fire, her sister studied her. ‘You alright?’ she asked.
Wren sighed, glancing back at the lone figure at the edge of camp. ‘Let’s just find out why he’s here.’
Thea knocked her hip against Wren’s. ‘You want him dead, say the word.’
Wren’s answering laugh was hollow. ‘I’ll keep that in mind. But I could probably do a better job.’
‘No arguments here,’ Thea quipped.
The group settled around the fire for bread and roast hare, and Wren tensed as the Bear Slayer returned. He seated himself on the ground, putting much-needed distance between them, and looked to Thea expectantly. ‘Well?’ he prompted.
‘What happened to Cahira?’ she asked without hesitation. ‘We were told it was her we were meeting.’
‘Cahira’s dead,’ Torj said bluntly.
Thea stared at him. ‘What?’
‘Dead,’ he repeated. ‘She was captured by the People’s Vanguard not long ago. And handed over to the enemy who’s calling himself Silas the Kingsbane. What he did to her . . . She didn’t recover. She’s gone.’
‘Silas the Kingsbane . . .?’ The name tasted bitter on Wren’s tongue. ‘That’s the bastard’s name? The same coward who attacked Drevenor?’
‘So Queen Reyna told us. A moniker fit for all the royal blood he intends to spill, apparently,’ Torj replied.
‘Let him fucking try,’ Thea muttered, shaking her head. ‘Poor Cahira. She was one of the first to pass the Great Rite after the war . . .’
‘She was a fucking Warsword . . .’ Kipp said slowly. ‘When was the last time a Warsword was slain? How did this happen? What did they do to her?’
‘Dark alchemy,’ Wren ventured, more desperate now than ever to set foot back on Delmirian soil. ‘That’s what they used in the attack at Drevenor.’
‘Yes.’ Torj pushed his food around. ‘And now there’s another Warsword missing.’
Thea looked to Wren, disbelief clear in her eyes. ‘So this is it . . . Silas the fucking Kingsbane and the People’s Vanguard really have the power to wipe Warswords from the midrealms?’
‘We already suspected that,’ Wren reminded her gently, not looking at Torj. ‘The world is changing.’
Thea was tracing the scars on the backs of her hands. ‘There was a time where only three Warswords roamed the world . . . We can’t go back to that.’
‘We won’t,’ Torj interjected. ‘Even with Cahira gone, there are far more Warswords than we had back then.’
‘You’re forgetting that Vernich is retired, out in the middle of nowhere – fishing, of all things,’ Thea countered. ‘And with another missing, our numbers are sliding.’
‘There’s more,’ the Bear Slayer said quietly, reaching for his pocket. He retrieved two items and tossed them onto the ground between them, the fire illuminating the strange pieces of curved bone.
Wren’s chest constricted, and the acrid burning scent surrounded her suddenly. ‘Tell me those aren’t what I think they are.’
A horn and talon of a monster. The very kind that had threatened to consume the midrealms with shadow.
‘I wish I could,’ Torj replied. ‘I retrieved them from Silas’s stronghold. From a crate full of them.’
Wren was going to be sick. She was going to hurl all over her boots—
Boots. Hammer. Saddle. Flask. Buttons. She focused on each object until her vision stopped blurring.
‘So that’s how they’re doing it,’ she said eventually. ‘They’re extracting whatever magic lingers in these remains and infusing it with their own alchemy, corrupting it even further . . .’
A shocked noise escaped Thea. ‘They’re insane. Don’t they remember what it was like? Don’t they remember that we nearly lost?’
‘That’s why we’re here.’ Wren reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘It’s why getting to Delmira and finding that plant is so important. So we can stop them.’
Torj grimaced. ‘Thea, the guild has asked you to escort Queen Reyna to Aveum. She’s refusing to return to Drevenor and Audra seems to think you might be able to persuade her otherwise.’
Thea flung an arm in Wren’s direction. ‘But Wren—’
‘Will be safe with me, until Audra can find an alternative replacement as she promised,’ Torj replied. Wren tried to suppress a snort from across the fire and failed. He ignored her, pressing on. ‘And you should know – Wilder’s been injured.’
‘What? Why didn’t you lead with that?’ Thea snapped, eyes wide as she leapt to her feet.
‘Because he’s fine.’
Thea looked ready to strangle the Bear Slayer. ‘Tell me. How bad?’
‘He’ll be fine, Thea. Just keep an eye on him when you get there. You know how stubborn he gets.’
‘What happened?’ Her eyes were bright with worry.
‘We’ve been in several ambushes over the past few days. Stupid bastard failed to mention that he was hurt until I saw the blood dripping onto the floorboards.’
‘Ambushes?’ Wren blurted the word before she could stop herself, her stomach suddenly roiling with concern. She had noted the cuts and bruises on the Bear Slayer the moment he’d arrived, but it was another thing to know he’d been in true danger.
Torj simply nodded before continuing to reassure Thea. ‘I’ll let him explain the rest. He told me to tell you not to worry. I told him you would anyway.’
‘Imagine the state he’d be in if our positions were reversed. I’ll worry as much as I damn well please.’ Thea turned to Wren, her face lined with anguish. ‘I didn’t want to leave you just yet—’
Wren forced a smile and waved her off. ‘Go. You belong at his side.’
‘I really did want to see it with you this time,’ Thea said quietly, her gaze drifting north, to where their homeland lay beyond the borders.
‘One day,’ Wren told her gently. ‘Now go. There’s a Warsword who needs fussing over.’
Thea nodded and got to her feet. ‘I’ll leave now.’
Wren walked her sister over to her stallion and hugged her. ‘Be careful.’
‘Careful’s my middle name,’ Thea grinned as she broke away from the embrace.
Wren huffed a laugh. Noting the Bear Slayer lingering in the shadows, clearly wanting a final word with his fellow warrior, she bid her sister farewell.
Without looking at Torj, Wren passed him, but as soon as he reached Thea, she slowed her steps and ducked into the nearby underbrush. She knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, that it was a childish solution, but if Torj wouldn’t talk to her, he’d left her no choice. She spared little guilt for Thea, knowing her sister would have done exactly the same in her shoes.
