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‘We sentenced him to death,’ Wren said calmly. ‘I wanted to be the one to do it. The man who helped seal Anya’s fate, the man who took so much from Thezmarr and the midrealms…’ She surveyed the shocked expressions around the room, including Thea’s. ‘Did you think I’d have no stomach for what needs to be done? When it’s deserved, it’s an easy choice.’
Thea stared at her sister. ‘Is it always so… brutal?’
‘Only if you make it so.’
It was Kipp who came forward and marvelled at the Ladies’ Luncheon teapot. ‘I think I love you,’ he told the alchemist.
Adrienne shook her head in disbelief as she approached Wren, clapping her on the shoulder. ‘Killed by a teapot… I’ll have to tell Drue and Tal about this.’
Hours later, when the shock of Wren’s actions had worn off, Thea slipped away to the Bloodwoods. She needed silence, she needed space, she needed the comfort of the bleeding trunks and the crisp air. Only when the forest enveloped her and the canopy blocked out the afternoon sun did she breathe more easily.
She hadn’t ventured through the glades since they’d marched on the fortress. Now, the shadows and vine blights had gone, leaving the forest to recover, the scent of damp earth filling Thea’s nostrils once more. She inhaled it, grateful that the trees still stood, that the midrealms remained. It was surreal to think of what the world had been like only weeks before.
Thea wove through the dense trunks as she had years ago, staying off the main trail out of habit. The memory of Esyllt’s voice rang out through the trees.
‘A month ago you were mere students, boys whose purpose did not extend beyond the ordinary… Today, you are shieldbearers of Thezmarr and you have come here to the Bloodwoods hoping to be something far greater.’
Goosebumps rushed across Thea’s skin as she reached the familiar clearing. It seemed smaller somehow. Rolling her shoulders, she reached for the throwing stars in her boot and widened her stance.
Slowly, Thea lost herself to the rhythm of old training drills and target practice. As she flicked her wrist and aimed her silver stars at a distant tree trunk, she paid tribute to Sam and Ida, who would never again play Dancing Alchemists. And Anya, who had lost and given so much. The thoughts awakened the dull ache that so often kept her company.
Next, she twirled Malik’s dagger of Naarvian steel between her fingers and threw it with flawless precision, embedding it right in the centre of the stars in the tree. The sight pleased her, making her glad she hadn’t lost her touch in the weeks of negotiating and planning rather than training.
Finally, she unsheathed her Warsword blade, revelling in the comfort of its perfectly balanced weight. She closed her eyes for a moment, listening to her breathing, channelling that kernel of magic to the surface, letting it dance with her Furies-given strength and agility. Then, she launched herself into a series of manoeuvres, feeling the tension ease from her body as she practised each slice, each parry, every twirl of her blade.
Princess of Delmira. Guild Master… She wanted none of it. All she’d ever wanted was this. The song of steel in her hand, the wind on her face —
A twig snapped close by, and Thea whirled around, scanning the forest.
Her gaze fell upon the tree, her silver stars gleaming there, only… her dagger was missing from the centre of the target.
‘Looking for this?’ came a deep, familiar voice.
Thea’s heart stuttered at the sight of him.
Leaning against a tree, clad in his black armour, was the love of her life, twirling her dagger between his long, tattooed fingers. ‘I know a Warsword who still needs a Tverrian stallion…’
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
WILDER
Watching Thea ride across the gilded hills of Tver in pursuit of her stallion was a thing of beauty. With her braid dancing in the wind behind her, she urged her mare into a gallop across the rugged landscape, lassoing her rope over her head as she rode, the mountains framing her in sage and gold.
Wilder only wished Malik and Talemir were there to see her as well. She was doing far better than he had, having spotted her stallion in the herd within moments of their arrival. He sat atop Biscuit, lifting a flask of fire extract to his lips as his brother and mentor had done, watching on in pride.
Wilder let out a cheer as Thea’s rope looped around the stallion’s neck and she slowed their pace, bringing the majestic creature to an angry halt, its back legs kicking out. His chest swelled as she leapt down from her mare, her cheeks flushed with exertion. She approached the rearing stallion with her hands raised, murmuring soft words Wilder couldn’t hear.
Her dark brows furrowed in concentration, Thea soothed the horse, inching closer and closer until the flat of her hand rested against its gleaming black coat. The stallion huffed, but Thea continued to talk, stroking its neck gently. As the beast calmed, it stared at her, as though recognising her.
Wilder let out a breath as he witnessed it for the first time from afar: the piece of the puzzle clicking into place for the legendary beast. Warsword. Rider.
As though that piece had slid into place for Thea as well, she ever so slowly reached for the lead rope around the stallion’s neck and removed it, the horse bowing his head as she did.
Her gaze instantly found Wilder’s, a wide smile breaking across her face.
The sight nearly floored him, and for a brief moment, he was taken back to the image he’d seen when he’d been a prisoner of the Scarlet Tower – of Thea in his cabin, a simple band of silver around her fourth finger. One day, he vowed. One day I’ll ask her to be my wife.
But for now, Wilder steered Biscuit towards Thea as she turned her mare loose and saddled her new stallion. ‘You did it,’ he said, beaming.
