CHAPTER 8 Wren
CHAPTER 8
Wren
‘Both wolfsbane and nightshade are known for their interference with the heart’
– Elixirs and Toxins: A Comprehensive Guide
Two years ago
T HE MIDREALMS NEEDED her to do this, needed her to strike another name from her ledger.
Edmund Riverton.
Wren crept through the shadows of the manor, her dark cloak concealing the vial of poison clutched in her hand. The high-ranking nobleman’s lies and publications about her fallen sister had only been the start of his treachery during the war. He had also made generous donations to fund King Artos’ experiments with shadow magic in the Scarlet Tower. Experiments that could have spelled the end of the midrealms as they knew them.
Edmund Riverton . She savoured the name on her tongue.
She had something special in store for this one.
Wren paused outside the study, twirling the vial of poison between her fingers. It was a concoction of her own design, and its debut was going to be spectacular.
Taking a steadying breath, she reached for the door handle—
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ a familiar husky voice murmured behind her.
Wren spun around, poison-tipped dagger drawn, to find Torj Elderbrock leaning casually against the wall.
To her dismay, her breath caught at the sight of him. Time had been unfairly good to him – all six-foot-five of him. His shoulder-length hair was worn half-up, half down, with a lock of silver tumbling over his forehead. He was even more devastating than she remembered...Strong, dark features and a square, chiselled jaw covered in stubble gave him a brutal edge, as did the new scar he bore: a thin line slashed through his right eyebrow.
He didn’t look away. As though they weren’t outside her mark’s study, as though there was all the time in the world, his eyes traced her face, her own scar, her body...which grew taut under his stare.
It had been two years since she’d seen him last, at the memorial where she’d broken down and sobbed all over him. She refused to flush at the embarrassing memory. A mistake. A moment of weakness.
But she was weak no longer.
‘What are you doing here?’ she hissed, sheathing the small blade at her belt.
‘Stopping you from committing another murder,’ he replied dryly.
Wren rolled the vial of poison between her fingers. ‘That’s no concern of yours.’
‘I’m afraid it is.’ Torj stepped closer, his broad frame now blocking her from the study door. ‘Thezmarr is building a case against Riverton. Has been for years. Then he’s to be put to trial.’
‘Consider this me cutting out the middleman,’ Wren said between gritted teeth, making to push past his massive frame.
Torj didn’t budge. ‘I don’t think so.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Still held tight on Audra’s leash, I see. Some things never change.’
The Warsword’s jaw tightened. ‘And some things do. Look at you, Wren. What happened to the woman I once knew? The one who fought for justice, not vengeance?’
‘She died with her sister,’ Wren snapped, her grip tightening on the poison. ‘And her blood is on Riverton’s hands.’
‘Don’t make me stop you by force,’ Torj said, his voice low and deadly.
‘You wouldn’t.’
Danger flashed in the Bear Slayer’s eyes. ‘Try me.’
Wren’s hand flew to her belt, not to her dagger, but to a vial of sedative—
But Torj was faster.
In a blur, he had her hands pinned to the wall behind her, his body braced over hers. ‘I won’t let you do this.’
Wren strained against his iron grip, her strength no match for his Furies-given power. ‘Why? What’s it to you? You know as well as I do that he deserves the fate he gets.’
‘That fate is not up to you.’
‘Care to bet?’ she taunted, despite being completely immobilized. ‘You’re not here just out of the duty-bound goodness of your heart, Bear Slayer. What’s his life to you?’
Torj recoiled at her words, which only served to confirm her suspicions.
‘Well?’ she said.
‘People are whispering about the Poisoner. It’s only a matter of time before they put two and two together – the Delmirian heir who poisoned the former Guild Master of Thezmarr and the person striking down those linked to the war.’
‘All of those deaths were reported as natural. Or accidents,’ she said lightly.
‘There are those who know better.’
‘Indeed there are. Which is how I know your concern isn’t for justice, or for my reputation alone.’
A vein pulsed in his neck. ‘If I deliver Riverton to Audra, she’ll grant me a permanent post beyond the midrealms.’
‘Are our kingdoms too small for you now?’ she sneered.
‘Fifty kingdoms would still be too small with you sucking up all the air,’ he snapped.
Movement sounded from within the study, and both of them tensed.
When there was no further disturbance, Torj leaned in close. ‘So you see, I won’t be letting you poison him.’
Wren met his eyes defiantly. ‘Perhaps not today.’
Torj’s grip on her wrist tightened, and he smacked it against the wall, the shock and impact causing her to release the vial of poison she was holding.
She watched in horror as it fell from her grasp and tumbled to the floor, shattering across the timber.
Forgetting the mark beyond the doors, she let a noise of rage escape her. ‘You—’
‘Me,’ Torj said grimly, forcing a damp cloth over her mouth and nose.
Wren struggled against him, but there was no stopping the sharp aroma and bitter taste. It was a double betrayal, for she knew exactly who’d supplied the Warsword with the tranquillizer.
Light spilled from the study door as Riverton at last came to investigate the commotion. But it was too late, for Wren’s body was falling, her eyes fluttering closed.
And when she lost consciousness, it was with curses for Torj and Farissa on her lips.
Wren’s mouth tasted of sawdust when she woke on the cold hallway floor of Edmund Riverton’s manor.
Both the Bear Slayer and her mark were long gone.
With a groan, she sat up, body aching from a night on the hard, unforgiving surface. The remains of her shattered poison vial lay a few feet away, the shards of glass glinting in the soft morning light filtering through the windows.
A dark laugh bubbled from Wren at the absurdity of it all. How she – the Poisoner – had allowed a warrior brute to drug her. How after all her careful planning and experimenting, her ledger still had one name too many.
Getting to her feet, Wren dusted herself off and shook her head at the audacity of the Bear Slayer.
If that was how he wanted to play it, then that was how they’d play it.
But whatever the Warsword did, Edmund Riverton was a dead man walking.