CHAPTER 33 Wren
CHAPTER 33
Wren
‘In the art of poisoncraft, the adept alchemist wields tools of destruction, shaping fates with a single drop’
– Alchemy’s Dark Side: The Study of Malevolent Substances
W REN BLAMED THE drink. And the sex-fuelled environment of the hall.
It was a physical response, nothing more. Entirely natural, entirely healthy, and...Well, she wasn’t blind. She knew what the Bear Slayer looked like. All six-foot-five of him with his stupidly broad chest and dishevelled silver hair. She knew what he looked like, alright; she just couldn’t stand him. Not what he reminded her of, not how he’d invaded her life again, and not how he made her feel.
She’d known there was no way she’d get to sleep in the agitated state she’d been in, so she’d opted for a relaxing bath to ease the tension. If only she’d been able to stop things there. But she’d been so tightly wound, so on edge, that she’d given in. She’d pleasured herself in the tub, yet again imagining the Warsword’s body crushing hers, her legs wrapped around him...Afterwards, not nearly satisfied, she’d fallen into a fitful sleep, and morning light had crept through her window all too soon.
As dawn broke across the academy, Wren set about her tasks, checking the shallow glass dishes of her blood she’d prepared the night before. She was more determined than ever to learn more about the alchemy that had been used in the attack on King Leiko. Her former mentor’s words came back to her: ‘We have never seen this alchemy before...But it reminded me of you...Of your work during the war.’
Wren eased a drop of liquid into the sample of her blood and watched the crimson part around the solution, just as her magic had recoiled in the presence of the sword Farissa had shown her back at Thezmarr.
It reminded her of the war, too. Of the sun orchids of Naarva and how they’d been a natural deterrent to the shadow wraiths, as Torj had mentioned in the greenhouse.
She would need more blood samples. And more of the strange alchemy to experiment with.
With a fine needle, she bled herself from her other arm this time, glancing at the adjoining door. When she was done, she divided the blood between more shallow dishes, making a note to cover them. She had the distinct suspicion that what she was doing would be frowned upon, to say the least. But who better to investigate? Who better to experiment with the alchemy that had targeted a ruler? Farissa had said so herself: ‘The midrealms need you, Elwren. Drevenor needs you.’
Pressing a scrap of linen to her bleeding arm, she paced the room, hoping the movement would dislodge some vital piece of information. She lost herself in the rhythm of her thoughts for a time, almost forgetting where she was.
Her skin prickled, and instinct propelled her to place a large tray over her samples, covering them from sight.
Wren didn’t hear the adjoining door open, but she sensed Torj before he uttered a word. Her magic awoke in his presence, sparking in recognition. She hated it, the connection forged between them in the wake of that fateful battle. It had been foretold... Gold will turn to silver in a blaze of iron and embers, giving rise to ancient power long forgotten.
Wren had gone over the words time and time again, trying to decipher their true meaning. Torj’s hair had turned from gold to silver. The battle itself had been a whirlwind of iron and embers. And the power? The Bear Slayer had wielded her magic as if it were his own...The prophecy had come to pass, just as predicted. So why were their fates still so entangled?
There had been no choice, only the instinct that she’d acted upon, but in doing so, she had scarred him and changed him for life. More so, she hated how every time he entered her rooms, no matter how furious she felt, there was also the absence of emptiness, of that palpable loneliness she’d carried with her for so long.
And there he was, waiting with his hands clasped in front of him, his expression unreadable. He had known that she was up and about, ready to leave for morning meal, as though he’d been listening to her every move.
Gods, had he heard her last night? The thought sent a hot flush from her neck to the tips of her ears.
‘Have you thought more about those self-defence lessons?’ he asked, leaning against the door frame as she buckled her belt of tools and potions over her apron and gown.
‘To keep me safe from rogue carriages?’
He gave her a flat look. ‘To keep you safe, full stop.’
Wren shook her head and made for the door. In truth, those lessons from her childhood in Thezmarr were hazy, to say the least. She had trained with Thea, Sam and Ida in their game called Dancing Alchemists, in which they’d thrown knives at each other’s feet and developed quick reflexes...but were it to come down to hand-to-hand combat, she was no warrior. She still remembered Thea when she was younger, so keen to split her knuckles on faces, to swing a sword. Wren’s thirst for violence was different, darker – the subtle prick of a poisoned pin to Thea’s slashing and slicing. But she was just as angry, just as lethal. If not more so.
For the first time since her arrival, Wren attended first meal at the dining hall. She regretted it instantly. Amid the long tables lined with platters and baskets of bread, Kipp waved her over with a grin, motioning to the seat he’d saved her.
‘Heard you went to a brothel last night!’ he said by way of greeting, pushing a fresh pot of tea in front of her.
She balked. ‘Where’d you hear that?’
‘Oh, you know me, I have my sources. Though I’ll admit, I’m hurt you didn’t invite me.’
Wren snorted. ‘Since when do you ever need an invitation to go anywhere?’
‘Fair point,’ he allowed. ‘But if you were that lonely, you should have said. I’d have been more than happy—’
The Bear Slayer cleared his throat pointedly as he slid onto the bench at Wren’s other side, his plate piled ridiculously high with food.
Kipp put his hands up in mock surrender. ‘A joke, a joke, I assure you, Warsword. But then...perhaps you were lonely too?’
‘You’ll stop talking if you know what’s good for you, Snowden,’ Torj muttered, digging into his breakfast.
Wren shook her head at the pair of them and reached for the tea.
Kipp watched her pour. ‘Figured I’d make that, given your reputation.’
Rolling her eyes, she brought the steaming cup to her nose and inhaled appreciatively: rose petals, marigold, and cornflowers. She moaned as she took a much-needed sip.
Beside her, she felt the Bear Slayer tense, his eyes on her like a brand.
‘What?’ she asked, turning in time to see a muscle flex in his neck, heat rolling off him in waves.
‘Nothing,’ he replied around a mouthful of bread, averting his gaze.
Someone waving from further down the table caught her attention. ‘Wren!’ Dessa called. ‘We’ve got healing with Farissa this morning. Wasn’t she your mentor at Thezmarr?’
Wren cringed. She could have done without her teammate shouting about her across the breakfast table. But somehow, Dessa mistook her silence for enthusiasm and picked up her plate and cup, shuffling down the bench to join Wren.
‘Isn’t that right?’ she pressed, tearing into a piece of toast. ‘You were her apprentice, weren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Wren said, if only to shut her up. It was too early in the morning for this much enthusiasm.
‘I’ve heard wonderful things about her,’ Dessa gushed. ‘She’s a Master Alchemist of Healing, isn’t she?’
‘She is. Specialized in women’s health,’ Wren muttered.
‘Fascinating,’ her teammate replied, looking around at the others at the table, her eyes falling to the hulking frame that was Torj Elderbrock at Wren’s side. ‘You’re the Bear Slayer,’ she breathed, eyes growing wide. ‘I’ve heard stories about you too—’
A hand was thrust out in the middle of the table. ‘No doubt you’ve heard about me as well, then,’ Kipp said, flashing her a grin. ‘Kipp Snowden.’
Dessa’s brow furrowed. ‘Uh...no, sorry, I don’t think I have...?’
Completely unabashed, Kipp winked. ‘The history books are still being written, then.’
‘Furies save us,’ Torj groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Dessa turned back to Wren. ‘Did you see that the first points have been awarded in the foyer?’
Wren’s head snapped up. ‘No.’
‘They’re according to our teams.’
‘And?’ Wren pressed, fighting back the urge to sprint to the foyer and see the black garnet stones for herself.
‘We have eight,’ Dessa told her. ‘One of the other teams has thirteen. We’re sitting squarely in the middle of the cohort.’
Wren tensed. ‘That’s going to change.’
A shadow fell across the table, and Wren glanced up to see Zavier darkening their breakfast.
‘Enjoy your little midnight stroll last night, Elwren?’ he asked, looking all too pleased with himself.
‘What do you want?’ she said bluntly, reluctantly placing her empty cup back in its saucer.
He gave the group a cursory glance, full of disdain. ‘If you lot are done yammering, we’ve been given instructions for this morning’s task.’
‘Dessa said we have Healing.’
‘We do. But it’s not on academy grounds.’ Then he turned on his heel and stalked off.
‘Charisma in spades, that one,’ Kipp declared.
Dessa chatted all the way to the stables, while Torj practically wrestled Wren’s bulging oilskin satchel from her.
‘You’ll break your back lugging this thing around,’ he said, heaving it over his shoulder. ‘What have you got in here, anyway? Dead bodies cut up into little pieces?’
She’d put up a fight, but in truth, the bag’s strap had been cutting savagely into her skin. ‘That can be arranged,’ she replied sweetly.
No, it was not her poison victims, but supplies for the infirmary they were visiting. With Farissa as her mentor back at Thezmarr, Wren had fallen into the habit of stocking up on a range of remedies that were often needed in the spur of the moment with so many warriors in their midst. She had also become the unofficial supplier of the contraceptive tonic for the women of the fortress – which she herself took religiously – along with a range of other tinctures and cures, things she knew a place of healing was always in need of.
There were no bounds to the suffering of women, and thanks to Farissa’s tutelage, Wren knew better than most the practical application of alchemy in such a setting. Torj need not know that the bag he carried was bursting with pregnancy preventatives, herbs for menstrual pain, mood-stabilizing powders, pain relief capsules, and a number of other treatments. She might have been known for her poisons, but Wren was well versed in healing too. As Hardim had said, could you have one without the other?
As they moved across the grounds, Torj stuck to her side like a burr. He scanned the grounds as though he expected them to be attacked at any moment, his body rigid with tension.
‘Do you think we should wait for Zavier?’ Dessa was saying, looking around hopefully.
‘No,’ Wren replied, trying to keep the scorn from her voice. He’d set her up last night, and to what end, she still didn’t know.
‘Wait here,’ Torj told them, disappearing into the stables.
Within, Wren could hear him interrogating the stable hands, his voice low and menacing as he demanded to know who had saddled her horse. With some reluctance, she realized she couldn’t blame him for thinking someone might have tampered with her tack if they’d been bold enough to search her rooms.
‘Your Bear Slayer is a tad intense, isn’t he?’ Dessa observed mildly, craning her neck to get a look inside.
‘A pain in my arse is more like it,’ Wren retorted, feeling sympathetic for the poor bastard currently taking the brunt of Torj’s questioning. ‘And he’s not mine.’
The sound of hooves echoed across the cobbles, and the warrior emerged with his own Tverrian stallion in tow, Wren’s satchel stuffed into the saddlebag. A panicked-looking stable hand passed the reins of a mare to Dessa.
‘Where’s my horse?’ Wren said, frowning.
‘You’re looking at it.’ Torj gestured to the enormous warhorse at his side.
Wren blinked. ‘You mean there’s only one? For both of us?’
‘That’s exactly what I mean.’ The Bear Slayer pinned her with a triumphant stare. ‘Did you think there’d be no consequences for your little stunt last night?’