CHAPTER 25 Torj
CHAPTER 25
Torj
‘Assess the potential threat and be aware of surroundings at all times’
– Vigilance and Valour: Tactical Training for Professional Bodyguards
I T TOOK EVERY ounce of Torj’s training to stop himself from rushing into that fucking forest at the sound of those screams. He knew it wasn’t Wren, but that knowledge didn’t comfort him in the least. She was still somewhere in there, without him to shield her from harm.
But Audra’s orders had been clear regarding the protection of the Delmirian heir: by no means was he to interfere with her training and studies at the academy – if one could call poisoning a group of novices ‘studying’. No, he was to address outside threats only. Though the Guild Master could have warned him – this place was no picnic.
He’d come here with notions of intellectual discussions and potion-making, of picking herbs in the gardens and making tinctures...But all those preconceived ideas had been shattered when the whole cohort had been drugged out of their minds on arrival. Thus far, every interaction with the academy and its staff only served to solidify his hunch that Drevenor itself posed as much of a threat to Wren as anything in the outside world. An alchemy academy it might have been in name, but he’d just seen a student exit the woods with their hand nearly severed. He’d seen a man’s memories stripped from his mind.
Whatever this place of madness was, it was not for the faint of heart.
He watched the Master of Lifelore pace the treeline until the man glanced up, catching his eye. ‘Farissa also spoke to me of your predicament,’ Hardim said.
‘Which predicament would that be?’
‘The magical wound you sustained in the war,’ Hardim replied, seemingly unfazed by Torj’s less-than-amicable tone.
Torj ground his teeth. He’d thought there would be at least some measure of confidentiality between himself and the Master Alchemist of Healing. Apparently not.
‘What about it?’ he asked coolly.
‘Magic,’ Hardim began. ‘That elusive force woven into the fabric of existence itself leaves its mark upon both wielder and recipient. It always has. Wounds born of magic transcend the physical, delving deep into the core of one’s being. Unlike mundane injuries, they can fester not only in flesh, but in spirit.’
Torj stopped himself from rubbing his chest, where his scars had begun to tingle. ‘So I’ve heard.’
‘I have some contacts you can speak to. People who have experienced similar afflictions, or who are close to someone who has. It may prove a helpful addition to the books Farissa is having pulled for you from the archives.’
Torj brushed a lock of hair from his brow and studied Hardim. ‘You know a lot of people like that?’
‘Some.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘You’ll have to talk to them yourself.’
‘That bad?’ Torj pressed, fists clenching at his sides. Perhaps he should have addressed the damn scars sooner.
Your body wasn’t built to hold magic like this...
Hardim shrugged. ‘As I said, you’ll have to speak with them.’ He drew a crumpled square of parchment from his pocket. ‘Here are their details.’
Reluctantly, Torj took it with a mumbled thanks, looking up in time to see Wren emerging from the gnarled trees. Her apron and skirts were covered in mud, one of her gloves was ruined, and she had smudges of dirt smeared across one cheek. Blood had dried in the corner of her mouth, but for the first time since Torj had seen her after the war, her eyes were bright with something other than fury.
He followed her dutifully from the forest to the infirmary, where she and her teammates were checked over. Rage coursed through him as he overheard the diagnoses. Poisoned with something called daphne, Wren had been bleeding internally.
Do not interfere. Do not interfere . He reminded himself that he only cared because if he failed his task, he could kiss the posting abroad goodbye yet again.
When they left the infirmary, Torj said nothing as Wren turned down Odessa’s offer for a shared meal in the halls, though he did suppress a laugh when she promptly told the scowling man called Zavier to ‘eat shit and die.’
On their way back to their rooms, alone at last, he turned to her. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Yes.’
‘You should eat something.’
‘You should mind your own business.’
Irritation prickled at him. ‘And you should do as you’re told for once in your life.’
‘And make things nice and cushy for the likes of you?’ she scoffed. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘When have you ever made things easy for me?’ he bit back.
When they reached her quarters, she motioned to the door. ‘Can you get your unnecessary security sweep over with so I can do my work in peace? In case you didn’t realize, there’s a form of weaponized alchemy that needs a cure...’
‘And I suppose you’ll be the one to discover it?’
‘Yes,’ she said simply.
He unlocked the door, ready to keep verbally sparring with her, but when he entered, the state of the room beyond shocked the words right out of his mouth.
‘You’ve been here one night!’ he exclaimed, gesturing to the den of chaos her once clean and tidy chamber had become. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing as Wren lit the lanterns. The space was cluttered with potted plants and crawling vines; bundles of dried herbs were strung up around the room; half-empty teacups were strewn about the workbench, along with an hourglass holding loose sheets of parchment in place. Quills and inkpots were everywhere, as well as a scratched-up magnifying glass and several sketches of strange-looking leaves.
Bewildered, Torj carried out his usual checks: the locks, the window latch, under the bed. He searched the bathing chamber and his own rooms for any sign of disturbance.
‘Anything out of place to you?’ he asked Wren, scanning her quarters again.
‘Only the massive Bear Slayer taking up all the space.’
‘Would you rather a small bodyguard?’ he retorted.
‘I’d rather none.’
‘Well, that’s too fucking bad.’
‘Are you done here?’ Wren asked, folding her arms over her chest. ‘I have work to do.’
‘You still haven’t eaten.’
‘What’s it to you?’
A growl of frustration nearly escaped him. This woman – Furies help him. ‘Suppose you die of starvation; they’ll say I didn’t do my job properly.’
‘Sounds like a “you” problem to me,’ she replied, motioning to the door. ‘Leave me be, unless you’d like to stay for a cup of tea?’
On the far windowsill was the teapot she called the Ladies’ Luncheon, the one she’d used to poison the former Guild Master.
‘I’ll pass, thanks,’ he said dryly.
‘Smartest choice you’ve made all day.’
For a brief second, Torj considered arguing, but when it came to Elwren Embervale, he knew to choose his battles wisely. Shaking his head, he at last retreated to his room.
With Wren, it was all about the long game, and it had only just begun.