CHAPTER 11 Torj
Torj
‘A Warsword’s ability to adapt is often the difference between life and death’
– The Warsword’s Way
‘I’M NOT SURE my heart can take it,’ Darian Devereux said dryly.
Heart hammering, Torj shielded Wren with his body, allowing her a moment to cover her exposed breasts and fix herself. He hurriedly tucked his erection back into his leathers and positioned his shirt to cover the clear outline.
Both his and Wren’s cheeks flamed as they finally faced their unintended audience.
Darian was leaning against the side of the alcove, his arms folded over his chest, shaking his head as though disappointed. ‘You lovestruck fools need to control yourselves,’ he said, in that same wry tone. ‘At least until you’re behind locked doors.’
‘What?’ Torj managed. Whatever he had been expecting his nemesis to say, that hadn’t been it.
Wren gripped his arm gently. ‘This is what I’ve been trying to tell you—’
Darian snorted. ‘Can’t say it looked like there was much conversation happening in here . . .’
Torj opened and closed his mouth, struggling to understand what was unfolding before him. Wren turned his face to hers, her cheeks still flushed, her lips swollen.
‘Darian isn’t the man you think he is,’ she said firmly.
Torj’s heart sank. He didn’t know what the nobleman had told her, but Darian was lying. The bastard had used honeyed words and charmed her, convinced her—
Wren raised a brow. ‘You think I’m so easily hoodwinked?’
‘No,’ Torj argued, increasingly aware of Darian’s stare. ‘I just know him. I know—’
‘Well, you’re about to get first-hand insight, Bear Slayer,’ Darian said sharply. ‘Don’t make a sound.’ He wrenched the curtains closed, his boots tapping across the marble floor as someone rapped on the far door.
The hinges creaked as it opened, and another pair of footsteps joined his.
‘Father,’ Darian said by way of greeting.
Holding his breath, Torj peered through the thin gap between the curtains, instantly spotting both Devereux men by the hearth.
The fire cast shadows that made Lord Lucian look monstrous, while illuminating Darian’s perfect posture, but also the telltale twist of his signet ring – a tic he’d had since they were boys.
‘I’d prefer to meet in your private quarters.’ Lord Lucian surveyed the racks of bridal gowns and array of cosmetics with a look of distaste.
‘I think it wise to change locations here and there. You never know which chambermaid is listening in . . . Besides, I thought you’d like to witness our plans in motion before we retired to the library.’
‘If you think I have any interest in frilly dresses and gold wasted on ungrateful princesses, think again,’ Lord Lucian sneered.
‘Fair enough.’ The clinking of glasses sounded. ‘Care for a drink?’
‘You’ve done enough drinking today. I came here for information, not the Pendeltons’ poor excuse for liquor or endless swathes of tulle.’
‘As you wish,’ Darian conceded.
‘So, tell me, son, how goes the new bride-to-be?’
‘She’s malleable enough,’ Darian replied thoughtfully. ‘A life in a warrior’s fortress does not a queen make . . . but there’s potential. As soon as she’s in my bed, I’ll have her ear, among other things.’
Torj’s fists instantly clenched, but when he glanced at Wren, she didn’t seem surprised or angered by the insult. She had heard it before, had perhaps even formed the wording herself. What had she said to him earlier?
This is strategy, not a surrender. He had assumed it was to get some sort of cure for him from Lucian . . . Never in his wildest dreams had he suspected Darian to be in on the plan.
‘Good,’ Lord Lucian replied. ‘You will need to guide her to make the right decisions.’
‘Of course.’
The clinking of glass sounded again as Lord Lucian made himself a drink after all. ‘And the Bear Slayer? Is he going to be an issue for us?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. You remember him, Father. All muscle, no brains.’
‘He watches too closely. And I saw how he looked at the storm wielder at Drevenor. His infatuation with her is plain for all to see.’
‘As it should be,’ Darian countered. ‘It makes her desirable, makes her a prize that even a Warsword cannot obtain. The fact that I have her hand, that she wears our ring, shows just how powerful the Devereuxs are.’
Despite Wren’s calmness at his side, Torj’s blood was boiling as the two noblemen spoke of his soul-bonded as though she were nothing more than chattel.
‘As we rightfully are,’ Lord Lucian was saying. ‘It’s high time that the royals’ and Warswords’ influence came to an end . . . I must admit, you’ve impressed me, Darian. First by dealing so swiftly with Perseus Graymoor and his underlings—’
Torj’s gaze shot to Wren as he remembered the body being carried out of the ball at Lord Hullet’s manor. The nobleman he’d accused Wren of poisoning.
Wren offered a satisfied smirk as if to say, I told you so.
‘And now with the heir of Delmira . . . An inspired idea to marry into magic,’ Lord Lucian said as he sipped his drink.
‘Perhaps I learned from the best after all, Father,’ Darian replied, still twisting his signet ring.
As ever, Lord Lucian withheld his full approval, always keeping his son on the hook. ‘We’ll see if you pull it off yet. What are the next steps?’
Darian tucked his hands behind his back and started to pace.
‘With Lord Briar and Lord Pendelton’s bannermen, we’ll have ample incentive for the royal armies to join.
We should meet them on the mainland and march on Delmira.
The more swiftly we reclaim the kingdom, the better.
Its resources will be ours, its lands ours to divide among whom we choose, and with Elwren’s storms to defend it, Delmira will be the heart of a whole new era for the Devereux dynasty. ’
With his rage on the verge of choking him, only Wren’s hand on Torj’s arm stopped him from bursting through the curtains and strangling a Devereux bastard with each hand.
‘I look forward to it,’ Lord Lucian said with a note of dismissal. ‘I’ll expect updates along the way, with a full report upon your return.’
‘Of course,’ Darian replied smoothly. ‘Can I interest you in—’
‘I’ll see you when you’re back,’ Lord Lucian cut him off, another trait that was familiar to Torj. Everything always ended on the older man’s terms.
A moment later, the door clicked closed, and after another moment, the lock turned.
‘That,’ came Darian’s voice, ‘was incredibly stupid of you both.’
It was Wren who pulled back the curtain first. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I was reckless—’
But Torj surged past her, grabbing Darian by the throat and lifting him bodily from the ground. ‘I told myself the next time I saw you I’d kill you—’
‘Torj!’ Wren hissed, pulling at his arm as the nobleman wheezed beneath his crushing grip.
But Torj didn’t want it to be over too quickly.
He shoved Darian against the nearest wall, bracing his forearm against the prick’s windpipe.
He’d savour the bastard’s death and then he’d smile down on his pulverized body—
‘Torj!’ Wren kept her voice down, but her urgency was palpable as she clawed at his arm. ‘Let him go!’
Torj would do no such thing. Not after all Darian had done. He wanted to watch the nobleman suffer. He wanted to—
He jerked back as lightning burst across his arm, the current sharp and insistent, causing him to drop Darian, who fell to the floor on his knees, coughing and spluttering. ‘Like I said,’ he rasped. ‘Reckless.’
Torj’s rage rose anew as Wren helped the nobleman to his feet. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I—’
‘You both were,’ Darian interjected, though there was a note of amusement in his voice now. ‘Then again, I should have known better. The Bear Slayer has always had a voracious . . . appetite.’
‘Enough.’ Torj was struggling to keep up with whatever was unfolding before him.
Darian’s only saving grace was that he’d kept them hidden from his father, that he’d known they were there, listening to every damning word, and he’d let them.
But that didn’t absolve him of everything he had done to Torj in the past, or in the present with Wren.
‘What the fuck is going on here?’ he demanded.
‘I’m not leaving until I have answers this time. ’
‘I would have thought it obvious, old friend,’ Darian drawled, fixing his doublet and brushing himself off. ‘The future Queen of Delmira and I are working together.’
‘After everything you’ve done, after all these years, you expect me to just accept that?’ Torj felt the start of a tremor in his hand as he clenched his fists.
‘No,’ came Wren’s voice at his side, accompanied by a gentle touch on his arm. ‘But I expect you to trust me.’ She held out a scroll. ‘And this.’
Torj took the parchment, but didn’t unfurl it for fear of Wren seeing the trembling in his hand. ‘What is it?’ he asked instead.
‘She’s alive,’ Wren said softly. ‘Your grandmother.’
Torj could only stare at his soul-bonded, her words swinging between them like a pendulum.
Wren’s expression softened. ‘Ever since you mentioned her, I’ve had Kipp investigating what happened to her. I wanted to give you closure, if anything, to know she was now at peace, only . . .’
‘Only she’s not at peace,’ Darian interjected. ‘Because she is very much alive in this festering pit we call the midrealms.’