CHAPTER 21 Torj
CHAPTER 21
Torj
‘Upon completion of the Great Rite, Warswords are presented with gifts from the kingdoms: a blade of Naarvian steel, a stallion from Tver, a vial of healing springwater from Aveum, armour from Delmira, and an ampoule of poison from Harenth’
– The Warsword’s Way
T HE DISMISSAL FROM the so-called welcome gala should have come as a relief to Torj, a chance to get Wren out of the chaos. But the mass exodus of the crowd brought with it a new issue: recognition. Along with Wren’s scarred throat, Torj’s presence at her side was confirmation enough of who she was: the Delmirian heir who’d refused her throne and killed the traitorous former Guild Master of Thezmarr.
There was no missing the attention Wren received as they picked up the keys to her quarters and followed directions through the corridors. Word had spread. Torj heard the whispers as he, Cal and Kipp tried to shield Wren on their way to the student residence halls.
Torj marched alongside her, hanging onto his willpower by a thread to refrain from pulling her close to protect her bodily from the words spilling all around her. It raised his hackles more than he cared to admit. Regardless of his own mixed feelings towards the poisoner, she was still a war hero in her own right. She had fought alongside the warriors of Thezmarr to defend the midrealms. He hated that their eyes lingered on the scar at her throat, that someone had the fucking audacity to point it out as they passed. Torj nearly cracked their head open with his hammer then and there.
To her credit, Wren didn’t flinch, didn’t falter beneath their scrutiny. She simply walked on, her eyes fixed ahead. Torj supposed five years of poisoning people developed a thick skin.
They took another corner into a throng of people, and this time, Torj did draw Wren closer to his side without hesitation, shielding her with his towering frame. Her skirts brushed his legs, and he tried not to lean into her heady spring-rain scent.
He was beyond alert, tracking every flicker of movement in his periphery, aware of every set of eyes following his charge. To his surprise, she didn’t recoil from his side as he’d expected; she let him guide her through the last few twists and turns of the torchlit hallways. Perhaps she was still drugged.
You smell good. Her words came back to him with a rush of heat. Gods, the way she’d looked at him...It had tested his self-control beyond belief. He wondered if she’d remember it all come morning.
‘Elwren Embervale, as I live and breathe...’ a voice called from an open door.
Torj whirled on his heel, instantly spotting a handsome young man approaching them from the entrance of a shared dormitory. The man smirked, his eyes raking over Wren’s curves.
In seconds, Torj had the head of his war hammer crushing the youth’s windpipe, pinning him to the stone wall. The same protective instinct washed over him as it had when he’d seen her nightmares back on the ship. He may not like the poisoner, but it didn’t mean he’d let others take liberties with her.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded.
The man wheezed and struggled against his powerful hold. ‘I’m a novice – like Elwren.’
Beside them, Wren clicked her tongue in frustration. ‘Stop being such a brute, Bear Slayer. He’s not armed.’
‘I don’t give a fuck if he’s armed,’ Torj growled, narrowing his eyes as he studied the reddening face of his captive. After a moment, he dropped him, taking a step back and allowing the man to catch his breath and straighten his clothes.
Torj was reaching for Wren to turn her towards the final corridor when the idiot had the stupidity to speak again. ‘The name’s Jasper Greaves,’ he said, his voice a mere croak. ‘Can I buy you a drink, Elwren? At the Mortar and Pestle?’
Torj went rigid, his fists clenching once more at his sides. The boy didn’t know when to shut the fuck up.
Wren, however, surveyed Greaves with complete boredom. ‘No,’ she said bluntly, and walked away.
Torj couldn’t help his smug sense of satisfaction at that.
‘Are you going to attack every potential suitor as well as every threat?’ she asked when at last they reached her door.
Torj felt the tips of his ears grow hot, but there was no way she could see that beneath his hair. ‘Didn’t realize you wanted me letting the suitors through, Embervale. Your demeanour doesn’t exactly scream “Court me.” But by all means, if that’s what you’re looking for, say the word.’
Somewhere behind him, Kipp laughed. ‘The only company the Poisoner keeps are her plants and potions.’
Wren shot him a glare before fixing her stormy eyes back on Torj. ‘Perhaps it’s not courtship I want,’ she said, fitting her key to the lock in the door.
Torj froze at that, an irrational, icy rage washing over him. He’d been no saint, and he certainly had no claim over the storm-wielding poisoner before him, yet the thought of her with someone else, the idea of someone else’s hands on her...It made him see red.
‘Uh...’ Kipp cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘If we’re not needed—’
‘You’ll wait with Embervale while I sweep the room,’ Torj ground out. Leaving Wren in the doorway with Cal and Kipp, he entered her private quarters.
Her belongings had been deposited in a neat stack in the centre of the space. Tucked away in the corner was a single bed, which Torj checked underneath. He scanned the walls for peepholes and anything out of place, and he tested the latch on the window and the lock on the back of the main door. Irritation prickled at him anew. This work was an insult to a Warsword of his calibre. He should have been off hunting down the perpetrators of the attack on King Leiko, or tracking monsters across the midrealms, not playing guard to an entitled poisoner who did what she wanted regardless of the cost.
Wren’s fiery gaze was on him. ‘You’re invading my privacy,’ she hissed. ‘You have no right to go through my things, to—’
‘No right?’ He rounded on her, halting his sweep of the bathing room. ‘I have every damn right. I vowed to protect you, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.’
Wren shoved past Kipp and Cal, who were looking increasingly uncomfortable, and entered the rooms with a venomous expression.
‘I didn’t say it was safe,’ Torj snapped.
‘You’re being ridiculous.’
‘I’m doing my job .’
Kipp cleared his throat yet again from the doorway. ‘Cal and I will be in the tavern if you need us. Sounds like you need to...work some things out.’ He gave Cal’s arm a sharp tug, leading him away from the storm that was about to break.
That seemed to be all the permission Wren needed to truly explode. ‘Ridiculous doesn’t even cover it! You’re rifling through my things! You’re attacking random men in the corridor—’
Torj’s rage suddenly matched hers, a fire burning right beneath his lightning-shaped scars. He crossed the room in seconds. ‘He wasn’t a man.’
Wren’s eyes narrowed as she glared up at him. ‘No? You’re suddenly an expert?’
Torj gave a dark laugh. ‘If you need a comparison between a boy and a man, I can definitely help with that.’
Seeming intent on riling him now, Wren pushed further. ‘I’ve known plenty of men, Bear Slayer. Given the attention I’ve received on the brief walk here alone, I imagine there are any number of them just waiting for a chance—’
Without a second thought, Torj stepped closer. ‘Then I’d hope for your sake they know how to make your toes curl.’
He felt the shiver course through her before she severed the contact between them, jerking away. ‘Is that what you’re known for, then, Warsword? Making women’s toes curl?’
‘Among other things.’ Torj shifted in front of her, forcing her back towards the door so he could complete the damn sweep of the quarters. He could feel the rage vibrating around her, and suddenly he was enjoying himself again. If he was going to suffer her company, she could very well suffer alongside him. ‘Why are you asking about my sex life, anyway, Embervale?’
The alchemist blushed furiously, and she shoved past him, her loose hair brushing his shirt. ‘I couldn’t give less of a shit about your sex life.’
‘Keep telling yourself that.’
Fury swept across her face in a deep crimson hue, and Torj thought it rather suited her.
‘Get out,’ she said bluntly. Apparently, it was her new favourite phrase.
‘I’m not done checking here.’
‘You are if you know what’s good for you.’
‘Threatening a Warsword doesn’t usually end well for people.’
‘Nor does pissing off a poisoner.’
He could see her jaw working as she ground her teeth. His presence in her space, her lack of privacy...For someone who had lived in isolation, he knew it was a lot to process, but it was hardly his fault. In fact, had she not screwed things up so royally for him with Edmund Riverton, he doubted he’d even be here.
The energy in the room crackled in warning, and Torj supposed he ought to hurry things along before she brought a real storm down on them all. He went to the door in the centre of the interior wall, intending to do a final check of the cupboard before getting the fuck out of there.
Flinging the door open, he froze.
It was not a cupboard.
It was another sleeping quarters.
His.
‘Fuck.’ He turned back to Wren. ‘We’ve been given adjoining rooms.’