CHAPTER 3 Torj
Torj
‘Denial is about as useful a cure as opium – deadly comfort that only hastens the inevitable’
– Wisewoman Vara
TORJ WAS GOING to kill Darian Devereux. He was going to squeeze the life out of him with his bare fucking hands.
Devereux’s father too. The whole damn family was poison and the midrealms would be a better place in their absence.
Rage was consuming him like a fire from within, burning and burning, the flames almost out of control – until Wren’s soft voice sounded in his mind, her words echoing through their bond.
I belong to you . . .
But the ring on her finger said otherwise.
Perhaps a day will come when I’m not pretending.
Before them all stood a queen announcing her intentions to the world, which both soothed and tore at his heart.
The midrealms deserved a ruler like her: perfectly flawed, duty-bound and strong, smart and cunning.
Only she could unite the kingdoms against Silas and protect the silvertide roses that might be their only salvation against his spreading shadow magic.
Torj watched the council disperse, his shoulders bunching with tension. Whether it was because of Darian or not, Wren could never marry him. Not now.
As though the prick could sense his turmoil, Darian tucked a strand of hair behind Wren’s ear and laughed at something she said.
‘Easy, brother,’ Wilder murmured beside Torj.
It was rich, coming from Wilder. He knew if anyone so much as looked in Thea’s direction wrong, Wilder would punch through their chest and rip their heart out.
Now, his fellow Warsword was poised in readiness, as though he expected he’d need to hold Torj back at any moment.
Which was a fair assessment, especially as Wren and Darian made their way around the table, talking to the stragglers, including Darian’s father.
Torj could see the ruthlessness in the older nobleman’s eyes as he surveyed Wren, no doubt weighing up how much she was worth in his schemes.
‘You have been poisoned, my Bear Slayer.’ Wren had said she’d done this to save him, but Torj knew the Devereuxs, and he didn’t want either viper near her—
‘Torj?’ Dessa obstructed his view of the betrothed couple.
‘What is it?’ he said, trying to peer around her.
‘Wren asked me to run some tests,’ she replied. ‘We need working samples of your blood to show the masters. They might be able to help.’
That caught his attention. ‘What?’
‘Can you come with me?’
‘I need to speak with Wren.’ He was already pushing his way towards her. In that moment, he didn’t care what she’d agreed to with Lucian. He wasn’t going to let this happen. He’d burn the Devereux name to the ground before he did.
‘Now’s not the time,’ Wilder cut in, giving him a shove towards the door. ‘Thea’s got her.’
Sure enough, Thea, the Shadow of Death, was standing shoulder to shoulder with the future Queen of Delmira.
Neither sister so much as glanced in his direction, and to Torj’s frustration, Dessa was pulling him away from them.
He didn’t want to let Wren out of his sight.
The last time he’d done that, she’d wound up engaged to the fucking Lord of Larkwood Valley.
Trust me, she had begged.
At last, Torj gave in. It would do no good to make a scene – well, more of one than he’d already made. He didn’t speak as Dessa took him to one of the workshops on the level below, with Wilder following quietly on their heels.
Night had well and truly fallen outside, but there was no end in sight to this awful day.
Torj felt wrung out. As though he had experienced every emotion on the spectrum in a short space of time and was now in some sort of daze.
So much so that he paid no attention to his surroundings, until Dessa pricked his finger with a sharp pin.
Snatching his hand back, he shot her a glare. ‘What was that for?’
Dessa didn’t seem fazed by his tone. Instead, she grabbed his hand again, squeezing the tip of his finger until a bead of blood formed. ‘I told you, we need to determine what poison was used so we can counter it. We need samples to work with—’
‘I feel fine,’ Torj ground out.
‘Well, you will,’ Dessa told him, pressing his finger into a shallow dish, smearing his blood on the fine glass and repeating the motion in another. ‘For a while, anyway. From what I know and from what Wren told me, it’s something slow-releasing, something you won’t feel until it’s too late.’
Just like Silas’s strategy, Torj thought. Infiltrating slowly, corrupting from within, until the shadow magic has spread too far to stop. He exchanged a grim look with Wilder. ‘Great.’
‘Look on the bright side: you’re in the best possible place to be poisoned,’ his fellow Warsword offered unhelpfully.
‘He’s right,’ Dessa added. ‘Wren believes the roses might be the key to your cure too. I just need to get a few samples for us to study. Then you can be on your way out of Drevenor—’
‘What are you talking about?’ he interrupted.
Wilder replied this time. ‘Our orders from Audra are to investigate the villages outside of the city. To gather information on the numbers of the People’s Vanguard, to determine what sort of foothold they have with the common people.’
‘You mean I won’t get to see Wren tonight?’ Torj blinked, not even feeling the pin prick his finger this time.
‘’Fraid not,’ Wilder said with a note of apology.
Torj was ready to throw the workbench through a window. ‘She said she would explain, or that Kipp would.’
‘And she will,’ Dessa reassured him. ‘Just—’
Torj shook his head, turning for the door. ‘I can’t just leave without talking to her. I can’t—’
‘You have to,’ Wilder told him. ‘You being near her like this puts the whole plan in jeopardy. Lives hang in the balance. But you’ll get her back, brother, I swear it.’
Torj stared at his brother-in-arms for a moment, the only other man who knew what it was like to love and lose an Embervale sister. ‘You swear it?’
Wilder bowed his head. ‘Yes.’
‘Then get me the fuck out of here before I rip the smirk right off that highborn prick’s face.’
As they rode away from the academy in silence, Torj’s thoughts were of Wren, as they always were.
He wondered what she was doing at that very moment – if she was with Darian, or if she’d managed to extricate herself from him by now.
Was she standing at her workbench in her room, pondering over her crucible?
He would have liked to think she was in the conservatory, digging up supplies for her potions .
. . or in the gardens, where she looked the most free.
The reality was that she was likely being dragged into another meeting with the vipers.
He knew Thea would guard her with her life, that there was no one better for the task than the midrealms’ most revered Warsword, and yet .
. . He was soul bonded to Wren. She was his to protect, and he wasn’t there.
‘Has there been news of Vernich?’ he asked Wilder, inquiring after their senior Warsword, who’d gone missing not long ago. Anything to stop his mind churning over thoughts of Wren and who she was with.
His friend sighed. ‘None. He’s still missing. There have been no reports, no sightings pertaining to his whereabouts. Audra is pushing hard for his safe return.’
‘I’ll bet,’ Torj muttered. ‘If Silas can take down one of the three original Warswords from the shadow war, that might be enough to turn the people against us entirely. And without unified kingdoms standing behind Wren, Delmira won’t stand a chance.
The silvertide roses will be in his hands, turning our potential cure into his ultimate weapon. ’
The hour was growing late, and their venture was only just starting, which only made Torj want to turn his horse around even more.
What if Wren was wrong? What if he hadn’t been poisoned, and it was all just a ruse designed to force her into an alliance with the Devereuxs?
He certainly wouldn’t put it past the bastards. They were more than capable.
It felt like an age had passed, but as they finally approached the first village on the outskirts of Highguard city, something shining on a stone wall caught Torj’s eye.
‘Hawthorne,’ he said, signalling to halt. ‘You see that?’
Wilder followed his gaze, frowning. ‘What is that? Blood?’
Torj urged his stallion closer to the wall, the moonlight illuminating something wet. Removing his riding glove, he dragged his fingers through the moisture. It didn’t have the coppery tang he associated with blood.
‘Paint,’ he declared, guiding Tucker back so he could survey the wall from afar.
Is this a better world? the vandalism read.
‘That’s not the People’s Vanguard motto . . .’ Wilder said slowly.
As Torj turned to Wilder, he heard a shout from within the village. He moved on instinct, charging on horseback towards the commotion, Wilder close behind him.
A crash echoed from the village square, followed by angry shouts.
The details unfolded in fragments as they rounded the corner: a ring of villagers, the torchlight illuminating faces twisted with rage.
Two men were grappling in the centre, one with a bloody nose, the other nursing a swollen wrist. Behind them, an overturned cart spilled apples across the packed earth.
‘This is your fault!’ one man spat, lunging forwards. ‘My brother’s dead because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut!’
‘And my brother has lost his mind because of you!’ the second screamed back.
‘Stand down!’ Torj’s voice cut through the chaos, carrying the full weight of his authority. Most of the villagers startled at the sight of him – his warrior garb and the war hammer strapped across his back. But the two men remained locked together, deaf to everything but their own fury.
Torj saw no trace of enemy alchemy. This was just a poor village on the outskirts of the city, and yet .
. . there was the same animosity here, the same anger.
The shadow of Silas’s influence was spreading like a disease through the midrealms, village by village, just as Wren had warned.
If he discovered the silvertide roses, his corruption and strength would be amplified a thousandfold.
And if he sought to destroy them . . . there would be no stopping him.
Wilder was already moving. He jumped down from his horse and slipped between the fighters with the same efficient grace as always, his hands finding pressure points that made fingers spring open, weapons clattering to the ground.
Torj stepped in from the other side, creating a physical barrier between the men as they struggled in Wilder’s vice-like grip. ‘Enough,’ he snapped.
The sudden stillness that fell over the crowd told him they’d stumbled into something far more significant than a simple village dispute.
‘What is going on here?’ Torj demanded.
Both men blanched, but the one with the broken nose had the gall to meet his gaze.
‘You have no business here, Warsword,’ he said. ‘Look around. You’re too late.’
Torj surveyed the group. Their faces were gaunt, their clothes tattered and there was a hungry gleam in many of the eyes staring back at him.
‘Am I to understand that you are not affiliated with the traitor group known as the People’s Vanguard?’ he asked.
Someone made a show of spitting on the ground.
‘Tell us what happened,’ Wilder prompted.
A woman broke through the crowd, pushing to the front to address them.
‘A commander did come through here, weeks ago. He told us of their so-called better world, and all that Silas the Kingsbane was offering folk like us. Our mayor said we’d think about it, and he left .
. . but not long after, a lot of our people started acting strange.
Angry and violent . . . That’s what these two here are having words about. ’
Torj exchanged a glance with Wilder. ‘This commander . . . Did he give you anything? Potions? Weapons?’
The woman shook her head. ‘We offered our hospitality. He shared a meal and then went on his way.’
‘Who shared the meal with him?’ Torj asked.
The woman looked around, brows knitting together. ‘They’re all gone now . . . or dead.’
A cold dread settled in Torj’s gut. This wasn’t just about claiming a throne – Silas was systematically corrupting the common folk, building an army from within.
And with each village that fell, he grew closer to Delmira and the power of the silvertide roses – however he would choose to use them.
But if there was one thing Torj knew about tyrants, it was that they never stopped at one kingdom.
The Kingsbane would not stop until the entire midrealms was under his heel.
The race against time had already begun.