CHAPTER 60 Torj
CHAPTER 60
Torj
‘When uncertainty creeps into the heart of the guardian, the walls of defence crumble’
– The Guardian’s Handbook: Principles and Practices of Personal Protection
T ORJ WOKE IN a blur of confusion, struggling to take in his surroundings. He reached for his hammer. Which wasn’t there. Nor was his sword. Or his dagger.
Flailing, his head spinning, he realized that he wasn’t on the battlefield, or on his horse. He was in a bed, and not his own. It smelled of spring rain and jasmine, of a life he coveted and would never have.
Wren’s bed. He was in Wren’s bed. His large frame took up the entirety of the mattress, but someone had taken great care to ensure his comfort: pillows beneath his head, blankets tucked around his body.
Torj tried to sit up, the details still fuzzy, still unable to comprehend exactly what was happening, but a small, firm hand pressed him back down into the sheets.
‘Easy,’ a familiar voice murmured, as something damp and cool pressed against his brow. It felt good. His skin was hot beneath it, but the heat ebbed away beneath the compress.
But he reared up again. It wasn’t his job to lie idle while someone nursed him—
‘No you don’t,’ Wren commanded. ‘You’re not going anywhere.’
At long last, Torj blinked the room back into focus and spotted the beautiful poisoner at his bedside. ‘Embers,’ he croaked, trying again to rise.
‘Move a single muscle from this bed, Bear Slayer, and I’ll pour a sleeping draught down your throat.’
Torj stilled.
‘Better,’ Wren said.
‘What happened?’ he managed, scanning her from head to toe for any signs of injury. But Wren stared back at him, unharmed, her eyes brimming with that same resilience and determination he always saw there.
‘You took on a group of them,’ she said slowly. ‘You tore them apart. Ripped limbs from bodies, even with your strength halved...It was a bloodbath. And when Cal saw what you were doing, he joined you. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
Torj’s breath rattled out of him. ‘I don’t really remember...What happened after?’
‘What always happens,’ she replied. ‘You Warswords took charge without so much as a thought, and a storm wielder had to swoop in and finish the job.’
‘We were still outnumbered...?’
‘Not against lightning, Bear Slayer,’ she replied. ‘Though I’ll admit...I don’t have the control I once did. I’m...out of practice.’
He swallowed painfully before he asked, ‘But they’re all dead?’
‘Or wishing they were, yes. I finished it.’
‘Oh.’
‘Sounds familiar?’
‘More than I care to admit.’
Wren held a canteen to his lips. ‘Drink.’
He didn’t dare disobey. Cool, fresh water hit his lips, and he made an undignified noise as it washed over his parched tongue. When he’d finished drinking, Wren gently took the canteen away and watched him closely.
‘What about Cal? Kipp? Your teammates? What about the cart driver?’
‘All safe. All unharmed. Zavier sent up a smoke signal while you were still fighting. Drevenor sent guards to retrieve us, and Dessa sedated the injured attackers and anyone trying to escape, so they were easy to take into custody. None of us were seriously injured. No one except for you...’
‘How bad?’ he asked slowly.
‘Bad enough to bring you here. You took an arrow to the shoulder, a spear to your side – a spear meant for me...’
At her words, the memory came crashing down on him, filling him with that same desperate need to protect. He hardly remembered tearing the enemy apart with his bare hands, but whoever they were, they had deserved what they got.
‘Farissa’s been to see you, of course,’ Wren continued. ‘Can’t have a novice treating a legendary Warsword. But she’s assured me that I’m more than qualified to tend to you.’
‘I’m not worried about that.’
‘Well, you should be. I wounded you once before—’
He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. ‘All you have ever done, Wren Embervale, is save me. You can argue with me, tell me off all you like, give me the silent treatment, but that? I won’t hear you say that again.’
She narrowed her eyes, and he thought for a second that she would fight back. Instead, she pulled away, tending to something at her workbench.
‘It’s certainly not the first time you’ve patched me up, anyway,’ he said lightly. He waited for her to glance his way before he gestured to the small, neat scar between his pectoral and shoulder. ‘The Furies were smiling down on me the day we met as well.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Wren replied, busying herself with stirring something.
The logical part of his mind knew she just wanted a rise out of him, that there was no way she’d forgotten that afternoon. He’d felt that pull towards her from the moment he’d clapped eyes on her. And he remembered it like it was yesterday – the dirt staining her apron, the orders that brooked no argument, the leaf in her hair...
Now, Wren thrust a cup at him. ‘Drink this. It should bring down your temperature.’
‘Feverfew?’ he asked, remembering their time in the gardens that he cherished so dearly.
‘You’d make a good alchemist,’ she said, pushing the steaming cup towards him.
He took a sip of the tea, not surprised that it tasted like dirt. ‘No, I wouldn’t.’
Wren huffed a laugh. ‘No, you wouldn’t.’
Torj winced as he shifted, realizing that he was injured worse than he thought. A sharp pain seared his side. It must be a deep wound. He vaguely remembered a blade hitting bone...
‘How...?’ he murmured.
‘You mean how did they get past your Warsword prowess to hurt you so badly?’ Wren offered.
Torj grimaced. ‘Without wanting to sound arrogant...Yes.’
‘They used the manacles on you. Or tried to, at least. Same ones as they used on me. Considering I originally designed them to subdue a Warsword, it’s not surprising that they were effective against you. They only managed to get one on, which was how you were able to keep fighting, but it’s worrying...Audra agrees that it means at some point they produced more of them. The pair I created during the war was a sample model. It appears they moved past that phase of development...’
He couldn’t think of the irons now. All that mattered was the woman standing before him. ‘You...Are you—’
‘Perfectly fine.’
He loosed a painful breath. ‘I failed you. I—’
‘I won’t hear it, Torj.’ Her voice was sharp as a blade, hard as iron. ‘You did your duty. You almost lost your life in doing so. If you torture yourself over this, I’ll stab you myself.’
Torj met her gaze and was astounded by the woman staring back at him, a warrior in her own right, a force to be reckoned with.
Something must have shown in his expression, because Wren nodded to herself and handed him something else, something small and round and golden.
‘More terrible-tasting alchemy?’ he asked.
‘Actually, it’s salted caramel.’
Torj stared at her. ‘Who are you and what have you done with Wren Embervale?’
‘Shut up and eat your sweets, Warsword.’
He wisely did as he was told.
Torj hadn’t been wounded this badly since long before the war. Not since he’d fought those cursed bears in Tver and one of them had got a deep slice across his middle that had festered on his way back to Thezmarr. He realized all too quickly that being bed-bound didn’t suit him, especially with Wren by his side day and night, administering tonics and tinctures.
‘When were you going to tell me about the People’s Vanguard?’ she asked a few days later as she mixed something at her workbench.
Torj grimaced, trying to sit up. ‘Soon.’
Wren raised a brow. ‘Not even mildly convincing, Bear Slayer.’
‘Who told you?’ he asked, his voice rough.
‘Audra briefed me yesterday. The attack on the road wasn’t an isolated incident; they coordinated assassination attempts all over the midrealms. They came after Thea while she was guarding Queen Reyna in Aveum. But Reyna had a vision – saw it coming and was able to warn them. King Leiko’s Warsword guard managed to get him to safety and slay the attackers. They caught the assailants before they even made it into the palace at Harenth.’
‘Gods...’
‘Everyone is fine,’ Wren told him. ‘More than fine, actually. Between our efforts here and Thea’s in Aveum, as well as those of your Warsword comrades in Tver and Harenth, the threat has been subdued. Audra has more people in custody than she knows what to do with.’
‘They’re being interrogated, I assume?’
‘Naturally. By all accounts so far, it looks as though we thwarted their efforts. There’s talk of pulling back the additional security measures as early as next week.’
‘So soon?’
Wren nodded. ‘The rulers and the various councils are wary of spreading resources too thin and don’t want to be seen prioritizing the wellbeing of the rulers over the common folk – which was half of what the rebels were campaigning against. Kipp was able to reverse engineer a lot of their strategies...If they weren’t caught in the act, they’ve been hunted down and imprisoned based on that information.’
Wren brought a dish of rancid-looking paste over to him, along with a bowl of steaming salted water. Seating herself on the edge of the bed, she drew back the covers carefully. ‘As such, you may not be stuck as my guard for much longer...’
Torj faltered. Months ago, he would have done anything to hear those words, to be relieved of his position by her maddening side. Now, unease gripped him, and he found himself wanting to argue.
Instead, he hissed in pain as she began to remove the bandages at his side. ‘Well, that’s a relief...’
‘For both of us, I’m sure.’
He glanced down at his wound. Covered in the crusted paste she’d applied yesterday, it looked particularly gruesome. It hurt like a bitch, too.
‘I’m going to have to clean it and reapply this,’ Wren said apologetically.
‘Go ahead. I’ve had worse—’
She swept a warm rag across the injury and Torj had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop a stream of curses from spilling out. But Wren’s touch was gentle and efficient, the practised hands of someone who had done this kind of work time and time again. Dipping the linen back in the water, she cleared the old paste from the wound and inspected it, pressing her fingertips lightly to the skin around it.
‘Well, it’s not infected,’ she said with a note of satisfaction. ‘I was worried the solution they treat their blades with might act as some sort of delayed poison, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. This is just a regular flesh wound.’
‘What good news,’ Torj muttered with a wince as she finished her poking.
A smile tugged at her mouth. ‘Don’t be ungrateful. This could have been much worse.’
Torj watched as strands of bronze hair escaped her bun and fell across her eyes. Gods, she was breathtaking. She needed no cosmetics, no fancy gown or jewels. She was perfect in her own skin, doing the thing she loved.
‘I am...’ His voice was hoarse.
Wren looked up, brow furrowed.
‘Grateful.’ Torj swallowed. ‘I am grateful, you know.’
Wren’s expression softened as she applied the fresh paste across the wound, the cool glide of it across his skin instantly soothing the pain and irritation.
‘I know,’ she replied, wiping her hands clean on another scrap of fabric.
‘Were you scared?’ he asked. ‘During the attack?’
Wren’s hands stilled. ‘I was scared for you.’
‘Not of me?’
‘Why would I be scared of you?’
Taking a deep breath, Torj gathered himself. He had never spoken the next words aloud before. ‘When I fight...I have to go to a dark place inside myself. Become something more animal than man...’
Understanding filled Wren’s eyes, but Torj told her anyway.
‘What I become in the heat of battle...It reminds me of my father. Sometimes I worry that the same blood flows through my veins. That I have the same violence, the same potential to become what he was. That I could be a monster.’
Wren’s hand covered his. ‘You’re not.’
‘How can you know?’
Torj’s heart stuttered as Wren brought his palm to her chest. Even through the fabric of her shirt and bodice, the touch sent a jolt through him. He could feel himself there.
‘I can feel it,’ she said. Her gaze was fierce upon him, a storm within waiting to break, ready to fight him, should the need arise. ‘Through whatever curse links us, I can feel what you are. And you are no monster, Torj Elderbrock.’