CHAPTER 82 Wren
CHAPTER 82
Wren
‘All things are connected in the grand tapestry of existence’
– Alchemy Unbound
T WO WEEKS PASSED in a blur of pain tonics and fitful sleep. Visits from Thea, Cal, and Kipp punctuated the hours, but the one constant was the Warsword at her bedside.
Wren often woke in a daze, wondering if it had all been a terrible nightmare. But as her room came into focus, the memories grew sharper.
She had passed the Gauntlet. She had won .
And she had all but declared her love for the Bear Slayer before the whole academy.
Over the past few days, she’d found her feet again. She’d moved about a little, regaining her strength, talking quietly with Torj into the evenings, sharing meals with him. Her friends visited as well, each of them recovering in their own way from the trials.
Soon, the official date for their graduation ceremony was set.
That morning, Wren came back to herself, waking for the first time with a clear head, and the worst of the pain gone from her body. At her bedside, Torj was asleep in a chair, his hammer resting across his lap, as though he needed the comfort of its weight in his hands as he guarded her.
Wren tentatively drew herself up into a sitting position, still expecting to feel the pull of her injured ribs. But she felt nothing. Not a single twinge of pain.
She shifted again, her eyes catching the beam of sunlight filtering in through her window, reflecting off her box of trinkets on the sill. Distantly, she realized that she hadn’t opened it in weeks, hadn’t sought out the reassurance of her mementos of vengeance for a long while. Somewhere along the road, she’d left the Poisoner behind, and become an alchemist once more.
Months ago, that thought would have bothered her; enraged her, even. But now...
With a glance at the sleeping Warsword, she peeled back the blankets and lifted her camisole, where Torj had routinely bandaged her middle. Slowly, she unwrapped the fabric.
Where Torj had applied the salve every evening, the skin was smooth. Only a faint discoloration lingered in the wake of the deep, mottled bruises that had been there after the Gauntlet.
She lifted a hand to her face, where she could feel the dried residue of the salve, but again, no pain.
Quietly, careful not to wake Torj, Wren slipped from her bed and padded to the bathing chamber. When the door closed behind her, she studied herself in the mirror for the first time in weeks. Across her cheek was a pink line of scarring; the deep slash had healed nicely...and as Wren’s fingers traced it, she smiled. It reminded her of Anya. Her eldest sister had sported a brutal scar right through her eye, from above her brow to midway down her cheek. If Wren’s new scar made her look half as fierce as Anya, she’d wear it proudly. There was nothing quite like making men quake in their boots at the sight of them – something they’d both agreed on.
Wren looked down, turning her hands over. The manacle marks around her wrists were faint. All her open cuts had scabbed; some were already healed, small pink lines of new skin littering her flesh. The beating she’d taken was a distant memory, at least to her body.
At long last, feeling more herself than she had in a long while, she washed, scrubbing the remnants of salve from her skin. Wiping a soapy washcloth around her midsection, her thoughts went to the Warsword asleep beside her bed. Upon her return to Drevenor, she had felt his turmoil in her own chest. She had felt that animal fury as though it were her own as he’d nearly killed the High Chancellor...and he hadn’t left her side since. Warmth bloomed within her at the thought.
As Wren dried herself, she glimpsed her reflection in the mirror again. Though traces of her hardships remained, she was herself. Healed. Whole.
A restlessness took hold of her then, a readiness to face the world once more. She had been cooped up too long, and there was so much she wanted to do.
Starting with the Warsword in her room.
When she emerged from the bathing chamber, wearing her towel tucked under her arms, Torj was awake, on his feet, war hammer in hand.
‘You shouldn’t be up. You should—’
‘Torj,’ she said gently. ‘I’m alright...I’ve been in bed more than long enough. I feel good... Better than good.’
He dropped the hammer with a resounding thud and closed the distance between them in two strides. His hands came up to cradle her face, tilting it by the jaw to examine the pale pink slash across her cheek.
‘See?’ she prompted.
His brow furrowed as he scanned her exposed arms and legs, assessing, before his gaze met hers. ‘Are you sure?’
Wren smiled. ‘I’m sure.’
The Bear Slayer’s shoulders dropped with relief. ‘Thank the Furies. Wren, I—’
But Wren pressed a finger to his lips. ‘We’ve talked enough, don’t you think?’
Her hands went to the knot of her towel between her breasts. She pulled it loose, taking a deep breath as the material fluttered to the floor, leaving her utterly bare before him.
A muscle trembled in his neck as his gaze dropped from her face, down the length of her torso and below...
She heard him gulp as his attention shifted from her breasts to her navel, where small pink scars littered the skin and the bruising had all but faded.
Torj’s hand brushed across them. ‘Embers...’ he said hoarsely.
‘I want you,’ Wren told him. ‘I have wanted you for as long as I can remember.’
As he cupped her bare hip, Torj’s jaw clenched, the muscle twitching beneath his dark stubble. He wet his lips, the internal struggle drawing his features together. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘You’d never hurt me.’ That simple touch at her hip was doing something to Wren, the heat of his fingertips alone turning her molten. This time, she was the one who was naked, and he was still fully clothed. ‘I want this.’
Wren took his hand and placed it between her legs.
Torj groaned at the dampness he found there. ‘You’re killing me, Embers...You’re still healing. I’m trying to be decent—’
‘Forget decent,’ she said, pushing against his hand. ‘Give me wicked and unleashed.’
Desire darkened the Warsword’s stare, and he slid his fingers through her wetness, finding her centre. ‘You’re sure you’ve recovered?’ He traced a circle around her clit, the touch possessive, demanding. ‘I won’t ask you again.’
A desperate whimper escaped Wren as she nodded.
She didn’t know who moved first, only that they came together in a frenzy. Her mouth was on his, and he lifted her bodily from the ground, crushing her naked body to his as he kissed her back. She moaned at the taste of him, at the way his tongue moved with hers and sent spirals of anticipation from her head to her toes.
Every part of her ached for contact, her skin singing beneath the rough press of his clothes, at the touch of his fingers between her legs. Her hands flew to the buttons of his shirt, practically pawing at him, desperate to feel the heat of him against her bare palm.
Torj caught her hands. ‘This isn’t how I imagined it, Embers...’ he murmured.
Her gaze shot up. ‘What?’
‘A bustling academy outside our door, listening to every sound you make...This time, those noises belong to me and me alone.’
Wren blinked up at him, suddenly very aware of how naked she was.
‘You said you wanted to know what it was like,’ he said. ‘With someone like me.’
‘I do.’
‘Then get dressed.’
Though it seemed counterproductive, with trembling hands, Wren did as the Warsword bid. When she was done, he took her hands in his.
‘Do you trust me?’ he asked.
She didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes.’
He kissed her. It was gentle, but full of dark promise. Weeks ago, Torj had said there was no going back, but this...Wren knew she was on the precipice of something far deeper than she’d ever known.
When the Bear Slayer tugged her hand, she followed.
She was ready for what came next.
To her surprise, he led her through the adjoining door into his chamber, where he grabbed a pack from beneath his bed and went to the map mounted on the far wall. There, he hooked his fingers behind the frame and dragged them down. Something clicked, and the framed map swung open, revealing a dark passageway beyond.
Shouldering his pack, Torj gave her a mischievous grin and held out his hand. ‘There’s something I want to show you.’
Wren reached for him, his strong fingers entwining with hers and pulling her into the tunnel after him. He pulled a cord on the wall and the map closed after them.
‘How long have you known about this?’ she asked in wonder as he lit a lantern and led her towards a narrow spiral staircase.
‘Since we arrived.’
‘Is it not a security risk?’
He huffed a laugh. ‘Now you’re thinking like a Warsword. The passage only opens from the inside. It’s an escape route, should something go wrong. I was assured that only the High Chancellor knows of its existence. This way, Embers. Watch your step.’
Wren’s heart was racing as she followed him into the near darkness, still clutching his hand. Their footsteps echoed softly in the cool, damp air, and Wren could feel the pulse of power in her chest, curious and ready to explore.
‘Where are you taking me?’
His hand tightened around hers. ‘You’ll see.’
‘I don’t do well with cryptic, Warsword.’
Another laugh. ‘I’m taking you somewhere I can make you moan loud enough to make the ground tremble.’
Wren’s breath hitched at that.
‘How many places does this lead to?’ she managed to ask.
‘Three. But don’t go getting any ideas about using these passages without me. They’re for emergencies only.’
‘And this is an emergency?’
‘Gods, yes.’ Torj squeezed her hand. ‘It’s a matter of life and death.’
At last, they emerged into a secluded courtyard – one Wren didn’t recognize, enveloped by ivy-clad stone walls and adorned with a pair of elaborate iron gates.
‘Not much farther,’ Torj told her, pulling her through the gates.
Beyond them was a meadow.
A vast, rolling meadow, full of wildflowers, so unlike the neat and tidy rows of the academy gardens. A canvas painted by nature’s hand.
Untamed, beautiful, just like the Warsword at her side.