CHAPTER 80 Torj
CHAPTER 80
Torj
‘In the light of the Furies, I swear my allegiance, my loyalty, to casting the evil from these lands. I will hunt. I will punish. I will kill. Any and all who threaten these kingdoms’
– Warsword oath to the Furies upon the Great Rite
W REN WAS IN his arms, whole, beautiful, and his . Not just his to protect, but his to love. She was a part of him, and with her mouth on his, he felt it through every fibre of his being: coursing through his veins, crackling beneath his skin, thundering through his heart.
Somewhere in the distance, he heard Thea wolf-whistle, and a smattering of applause followed.
‘Congratulations, Elwren, Odessa, and Zavier,’ the High Chancellor’s voice boomed. ‘Not only have you passed our great Gauntlet, but you have won first place.’
A more dignified round of applause echoed between the rafters and the sound of glasses clinking rang out across the hall. Attendants rushed to Zavier and Dessa, who stumbled further into the hall, looking more dazed than celebratory, an assortment of injuries covering them.
It was then that Wren buckled beneath Torj, and he pulled back to survey her properly.
He froze.
A deep cut slashed through her right cheek, dried blood caking that side of her face. The sleeves of her gown were ripped, mottled welts swelling on her arms. A familiar pair of manacles were slung over her shoulder. Torj looked to her wrists. They were pink and raw, blood crusting the skin there too.
Every breath he took seared his lungs. Every nerve in his body was alight with the call for vengeance.
Behind her, Dessa and Zavier were in similar states. A blur of movement told him that the masters had gone to their aid. But Wren’s teammates were not his concern.
He didn’t look anywhere except at his poisoner, and the wounds that marked her. He took in every bruise, every stitch of torn fabric, every smear of blood across her body. He didn’t touch her. Instead, he catalogued every wince, the slight favouring of her less injured side, and that cut, that brutal slice to her beautiful face...
When he met her gaze, five words spilled from his lips: ‘ Who did this to you? ’
Wren stared back at him, and her eyes were a beacon of defiance. ‘We were tortured. To see if we would break before the Gauntlet. To test our oath of secrecy...’
Torj couldn’t stop himself touching her then. He cupped the uninjured side of her face, feeling the kiss of lightning beneath his palm. He exhaled slowly, as a means of restraint. ‘Tell me,’ he said simply. ‘Tell me so I can end them all.’
He felt her jaw clench as her eyes flicked to the High Chancellor. ‘You can’t. I took the oath. We were warned we’d be tested. I passed.’ Her eyes moved about the room, clearly noting the lack of other students. ‘And then I faced the Gauntlet. And won.’
Torj dropped his hand. In three strides he was before the High Chancellor, that same hand wrapping around the fragile column of Belcourt’s throat. His mind was blank. All that filled him was an inferno, roaring with the rage of a thousand storms as he began to squeeze the life out of the High Chancellor. Everything else faded around him, and all he could feel was the tension in his own muscles, coiled tight and ready to unleash devastation on the piece of filth who spluttered beneath his grip.
‘Let’s see how long you last.’ Torj’s voice was cold and cruel. He lifted the High Chancellor bodily from the ground so his feet kicked the air in desperation and his nails clawed at Torj’s hand.
With one ounce of added pressure, Torj knew he could crush Remington Belcourt’s windpipe, snap his neck. He would relish the sound. He would savour the light leaving the bastard’s eyes. It was only the second time in his life he had felt rage as he did now, a primal, searing torrent. And when he peered at the purpling face before him, he saw his father.
Torj was no longer a Warsword, no longer a man. He was the embodiment of wrath itself, a force that would obliterate anything and anyone that lay a hand on Elwren Embervale—
‘Torj.’ A gentle hand rested on his arm.
He blinked, turning from the mottled face of the High Chancellor to find Wren at his side.
‘Enough,’ she said.
Torj’s grip did not loosen. ‘He had you hurt. Tortured. ’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘And yet you’d let him live?’ Torj’s heart still pounded like a war drum, the blood pumping through his veins still full of fire.
‘I will not let it have been for nothing,’ Wren said, her voice unwavering. ‘Enough.’
Torj let go. The High Chancellor collapsed to the floor like a sack of grain, clutching his throat and gasping.
Wren looked at him coldly. ‘You’re welcome, High Chancellor.’
She seemed to be holding herself upright with sheer willpower alone, but soon, she swayed, and Torj locked his body to hers, supporting her.
Farissa was suddenly there as well. ‘Let’s get you looked at, Elwren.’
‘You knew,’ Wren croaked, a note of betrayal lacing her voice. ‘You knew what they were going to do.’
Farissa looked grief-stricken. ‘I didn’t know,’ she murmured, reaching for Wren. ‘I swear it.’
‘Testing the oath was a new addition with your cohort,’ the High Chancellor wheezed as Hardim and Nyella helped him to his feet. ‘My idea for an added measure of security, given all the unrest we have faced of late.’
Farissa whirled around to face him. ‘You tortured our students! How could you—’
‘I did what was required. As did those novices who passed, your former apprentice included.’
Feeling Wren trembling against him, Torj had heard enough. He made to guide her away from the masters, a protective arm around her shoulders, careful of any wounds that might be hidden by her dress. Molten fury still coursed through him, but he had to get Wren away from these monsters, had to make sure she was alright. Then, and only then, would he take his vengeance.
But Wren paused in front of Master Belcourt. ‘How many?’ she asked hoarsely. ‘How many broke? How many passed?’
‘Only time will tell.’
She shook her head. ‘I never thought I’d see the day where I was ashamed of this place, but today? I will remember it for the rest of my life.’ Her words were a warning, a threat. Torj felt it in the thunder that thrummed in his chest as Wren looked to her bruised and battered teammates. ‘And so will they.’
She straightened and made for the door. Torj rushed after her, Thea on his heels.
In the foyer, Thea gripped Wren’s shoulder. ‘You look awful,’ she said with a grimace. ‘Can I do something?’
‘Leave me in peace.’ Wren brushed her off with a forced smile. ‘I’ll manage.’
‘Are you sure—’
‘Thee,’ Wren cut her off. ‘Later.’
Torj was about to step in when Thea nodded stiffly. ‘Later, then,’ she said, leaving them.
It was only when Wren and Torj were alone that Wren’s mask faltered. She stumbled in the hallway. Torj caught her, holding her upright once more, only to find tears tracking down her cheeks.
‘I need your help,’ she whispered, voice cracking.
‘Anything you need, Embers, it’s yours.’
Her throat bobbed. ‘I need you to carry me.’