Epilogue
WILDER HAWTHORNE
‘ W ho are you? ’ Wilder demanded, staring at the woman whose name, whose voice, whose touch had set his body alight and nearly destroyed him. Even now, as a black tempest gathered around her and waves crashed violently below, he felt utterly anchored in the moment, to her .
Thea whirled around, shock rippling off her, lightning dancing at her fingertips. He could feel her power thrumming in his chest, could feel its untapped potential tangled in her confusion, her rage.
He took a step towards her —
‘Don’t!’ she shouted, her eyes wide. ‘I… I don’t know how to control it,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know…’
How is that possible? He had seen her summon that power and spear the reaper with it. He stared at her, taking in every little detail – the lack of the fate stone at her breast, her torn, blood-soaked clothes and the utter terror lacing her words.
She was vulnerable in an entirely different way to how she had been in the broom closet. There, she had feared the pain of losing him and losing her future, here… Here she feared herself and what she might unleash upon the world.
A daughter of darkness. The words echoed in his chest.
‘It’s alright,’ he told her.
More lightning split the sky over the thrashing seas, the bolts at her fingertips growing brighter as if in answer. Her magic was immense, chaotic and beautiful, just like her.
She stared at it in wonder, in horror. ‘How can this be?’
In this moment, his harsh words were forgotten and he watched as she blinked several times, as though hoping that upon opening her eyes again, the evidence would be gone and she could convince herself it had never been there.
Wilder took another step towards her, to do what, he didn’t know. He just needed to be closer to her.
‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ she said.
‘You won’t,’ he told her, meeting her gaze, trying to offer some semblance of reassurance.
‘How did this happen?’ she asked, voice trembling.
He stood beside her now, careful not to touch her. ‘Why don’t you tell me that, Alchemist?’
At the title, Thea’s whole body shuddered, her magic crackling around them. ‘Wren…’ she croaked. ‘She lied to me. She… did something to my fate stone.’
Ah. So the sister is involved in this. Of course… The master alchemist.
‘We’ll figure it out.’ He didn’t take his eyes off the lightning dancing between her fingertips. It glowed an other-wordly blue, a jagged network of forks flickering at her command.
‘We?’ she asked weakly.
‘Yes, we, ’ Wilder replied firmly. ‘You’re my apprentice, after all.’
Thea’s shoulders sagged, and with a final flash, the lightning vanished. Overhead, the black clouds retreated, rolling out to sea with a thunderous roar.
Body tense, Wilder closed his hands around hers, finding a soft energy that hummed there.
At his touch, Thea swayed, her lips parting as if in surprise.
When she fell, he caught her just in time.
The Warsword carried his apprentice back to his cabin, his mind churning with all that he’d seen and all that he was yet to understand.
Thea’s body was limp in his arms. Despite the healing properties of the Aveum springwater, she was utterly spent from the trial, the battle with the monster, and her discovery of magic.
Magic . He’d suspected since that unfortunate night with her friends on the cliffs. He’d sensed it then: the lightning bowing to her silent order.
And yet, she hadn’t known. She truly thought she was an orphan from Thezmarr and nothing more…
Wilder kicked open the door to his cabin. This was not how he’d imagined the day unfolding. The devastating sex, the high of claiming her as his, the utter terror when he’d felt the reaper hungering for power – her power.
When he’d seen the darkness lashing at her, he’d lost all semblance of control. Fear unlike anything he had ever known had gripped his heart in its claws and refused to let go. Only the rhythm of his blades swinging and Thea’s presence fighting beside him had guided him through.
He faltered at the thought of everything that had come after. Her brush with the cursed reaper’s claws at her chest; the Guild Master’s manipulation of them both; her confession about the fate stone and his dismissal of her.
After their wretched conversation in the broom closet… He’d planned to leave his newly announced apprentice behind to travel to Harenth and get roaring drunk with Marise. It was the only way he knew how to deal with a fraction of what had transpired between them.
But as he’d saddled his stallion with trembling hands, he’d seen the lightning carve through the skies and he’d known. Her power had called to his. She needed him.
Wilder hadn’t thought twice, he’d moved. The climb up the cliffs had been a blur.
Now, swallowing the thick lump in his throat, he placed her on his bed, still unconscious, mercifully lost to the world around her.
Understanding that he was in shock himself, he paced the cabin, toying with the necklace of flowers Thea had braided all those months ago, something he couldn’t bear to throw away.
Jaw set, shoulders tense, he watched over her, counting the rise and fall of her chest before his eyes landed on the volume Malik had given him in the library.
A Study of Royal Lineage Throughout the Midrealms.
Wilder’s scalp prickled as he traced the title, remembering how his brother had tried to show him something, but his distress and Audra’s appearance had brought that to a halt.
Now, he let the book fall open on the table before him.
His heart leapt at the messy scrawl he recognised as Malik’s.
His brother had drawn a star next to a long list of royals.
Wilder read on, a wave of goosebumps spreading over his arms, his stomach hardening.
He read the text over and over, his thoughts swirling so quickly it was hard to follow them.
But follow he did, for the book confirmed the very thing he had suspected since they’d rescued the shieldbearers from the mountain caves.
Malik had known all along. His final spoken words to Thea when he’d been in the infirmary after the wraith battle had been, Beware the fury of a patient Delmirian .
He had known.
At last, Wilder set the heavy tome aside to wait.
It was a long while before Thea came to, but when she did, she stared up at him, those celadon eyes brimming with an unbroken tempest.
He swore quietly as all he had guessed rang true.
He now knew three things…
First; Althea Zoltaire was a storm wielder . The magic she possessed made her not only one of the lost royal heirs of the midrealms, but a princess of none other than the kingdom of Delmira.
Second; Althea Zoltaire had been forged with blood and steel, and was now, against his wishes, his apprentice.
And third… Despite the harsh words he had spoken and the vows he had taken, Wilder Hawthorne, the Hand of Death, a Warsword of Thezmarr, was irrevocably in love with her.