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But the damage was done. The thought took root and the tremor returned. Suddenly, he was back in that dark cell, the weight of the tower’s magic pressing down on him, his own abilities muted, his body slick with sweat as the onslaught of nightmares flashed before him.
Biscuit whinnied, shifting beneath Wilder’s touch, sensing his unease, his fear.
‘You’ll become a legend among monsters.’ The Archmage of Chains’ voice came back to him in a poisoned whisper, making his skin crawl, a shiver racing down his spine. He had been moments away from becoming a weapon in their army, a tool to be used against everyone he held dear, his free will stripped away entirely.
Cursing silently, Wilder tossed the comb back into the grooming kit and searched for the farrier’s rasp —
Only to find it clutched in a large, outstretched hand.
He knew those hands. Had seen them braid countless belts. He didn’t dare believe it, not until he looked up and saw his brother’s face, and even then, he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming again.
‘Malik?’ he managed.
His huge frame took up the entire entrance to the stall, even with his shoulders slightly caved in as he handed Wilder the tool.
‘This isn’t real,’ Wilder muttered, as he took the rasp. ‘This is what they do…’
It followed the same pattern as it had in the cell. A myriad of horrific memories and imaginings, and only at the point of the mind breaking would they show something good… Only to start the torture all over again.
Malik’s huge hand came down on Wilder’s shoulder, a gentle but firm weight, his fingers digging in just enough to give Wilder pause —
A soft bark sounded from his brother’s side.
‘Dax?’ Wilder stared at the mongrel. His ears were pricked up, as Wilder had seen countless times before when Malik had been in a trance of sorts.
Wilder’s gaze slid back to his brother. ‘You’re really here…’
Malik’s eyes crinkled as he grinned and pulled Wilder into a near-suffocating hug. Wilder let him. And a moment later, he squeezed Malik back, taking solace in his brother’s presence like he had when they were younger.
At last he broke away, emotion welling in his throat. Malik simply smiled and motioned for Wilder to continue with Biscuit’s grooming. Wilder shook his head in disbelief, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
‘You certainly get around nowadays,’ he told his brother, picking up Biscuit’s front leg and tending to his shoe.
Malik made a noise of amusement, reaching for Biscuit’s mane and dividing it up into sections.
‘You’re not seriously about to braid my warhorse’s mane?’ Wilder said.
Malik ignored him and went about doing exactly that.
With another shake of his head, Wilder continued cleaning and shaping Biscuit’s shoes. Someone had been taking decent care of them in his absence. It was surreal, to be working quietly in the stall with his brother at his side, Dax sprawled in the hay by the door. He could feel Malik watching him, just as he was stealing glimpses at Malik, as though neither of them quite believed the other was there. It had been a long time since they’d been alone together.
When Wilder returned the tools to the kit, he found himself staring at the faint scars that littered Mal’s face. The memory of him being attacked at Islaton felt more fresh than it had the day after it had happened, thanks to the Scarlet Tower.
‘I told you before,’ a rich voice sounded from the door. ‘None of it was ever your fault, Wilder.’
Talemir was there, leaning against the frame, his hazel eyes brimming with more understanding than Wilder felt he deserved.
‘I didn’t say —’ he started.
‘You didn’t need to say. You’ve been carrying that burden since the day it happened.’ He strode forward and slung an arm around Malik’s enormous shoulders. ‘We’re safe. We’re whole,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Mal?’
Malik covered Talemir’s face with his gigantic palm and gave him a gentle push with a grin.
Talemir laughed and raised a brow at Wilder. ‘See? Same old shit.’
Wilder forced himself to take a deep breath, to process the sight of his brother and his former mentor before him, something he’d thought he would never see again.
Dax gave another bark and Biscuit snorted in protest at the mongrel’s presence, but Wilder still stared, stuck. Here were the men who had suffered because of him, the men he had cared for his whole life, whom he’d been unable to save from their fates —
