CHAPTER 39 Wren
Wren
‘The alchemist knows that the most valuable elements require the strongest vessels – not to contain their essence, but to preserve it’
– Arcane Alchemy: Unveiling the Mysteries of Matter
‘I HAVE TO go to him, Thee,’ Wren hissed, fighting against her sister’s hold as Cal finished telling her what had happened to Torj.
‘Not yet.’ Thea braced her forearm across Wren’s chest to stop her from rushing from the tent. ‘Lucian’s out there sniffing around. If he sees you running across camp to be at the Bear Slayer’s bedside, this will all have been for nothing.’
‘I don’t care.’ Wren pushed against the immovable force that was Thea’s Furies-given strength. ‘He needs me.’
‘He will when he wakes,’ Thea said. ‘But he’s sleeping now. Dessa’s with him. There’s nothing you can do for him now.’
Wren stepped back from her sister and passed a hand over her face, her chest constricting with every moment she wasn’t with her soul-bonded as he suffered. ‘I should have killed Lucian the moment he told me about the poison, not gone along with this horseshit.’
‘No arguments from me there,’ Thea replied. ‘But you didn’t, and this is where we are now. You need to show your face in front of the bannermen, show your unity with the Devereuxs. Then, when everyone is drunk and passed out, we’ll cover for you while you visit Torj.’
Wren shook her head, fighting back tears of despair. ‘I hate this,’ she murmured.
‘I know,’ Thea said gently, tugging on her hand. ‘Come sit by the fire with me and Wilder. We’re going to sharpen our swords.’
‘Is that some sort of warrior couple innuendo?’ Wren asked weakly.
Thea snorted. ‘No. We take the care of our blades rather seriously.’
With that, Wren allowed her sister to lead her from the tent and guide her to one of the campfires, where Wilder was waiting. As she sat, Wren unsheathed the dagger at her thigh and pulled it into her lap.
Thea let out a low, appreciative whistle. ‘Naarvian steel . . .’
‘Torj had it altered for me,’ Wren said quietly.
Wilder glanced up at that. ‘He not only gave you a Naarvian steel blade, but had it altered from the Furies’ chosen form?’
‘Yes.’ Wren balanced the weapon on her fingertip, showing how the weight suited her perfectly. ‘Will you teach me how to care for it?’
‘Here.’ Thea offered her whetstone. ‘You want a coarser stone to begin with, for repairs and major sharpening.’
Wren took the rough object and waited.
‘You can use water or oil to wet the stone before you start. I prefer water. Then you hold the blade at a consistent angle, like this.’ Thea pointed to where Wilder was holding his sword against his own whetstone.
‘Then you draw the blade across the rough surface in smooth strokes, from base to tip—’
Wilder snorted. ‘Something you’re rather familiar with, Princess . . .’
Wren’s mouth twitched. ‘I remember when you were a serious warrior, Wilder. Good to see how thoroughly Thea’s corrupted you.’
‘I never stood a chance,’ he replied. ‘My mind was always filthy when it came to her.’
‘I’m well aware,’ Wren said dryly before turning back to her sister. ‘You were saying?’
‘You need to maintain even pressure and repeat the motion on both sides until it’s sharp. Then, you can use a finer stone for a razor edge.’
Wren dragged her dagger over the whetstone. ‘Like this?’
‘Make the angle a touch sharper,’ Thea told her. ‘Yes, like that.’
Wren repeated the motion, and when she looked up for Thea’s approval, she saw that her sister had started on another blade with a rag this time.
Without a word, Wilder handed Thea the oil she needed before she could ask.
Her sister’s fingers brushed his as she took it, a touch that lingered just a heartbeat too long to be casual, even after all these years.
Every small gesture between them made Wren ache for Torj – the way Wilder shifted to block the wind when Thea shivered, how Thea absently brushed the fire’s ash from his shirt while reaching for another whetstone.
The cool night air was filled with the soft scrape of steel on stone and the crackle of the fire.
Wren had hoped the repetitive task would quieten her mind, but it only made the thoughts churn faster.
What if she and Torj never got the years her sister and Wilder had?
What if they had squandered their chance?
The thought of poison coursing through the Bear Slayer’s veins made Wren nauseous.
Wilder’s voice cut through her thoughts. ‘I’ve been where you are.’
Wren looked up to see the Hand of Death watching her with a pained expression.
‘Remember when we thought that fate stone belonged to Thea?’ he asked. ‘We all thought that she would only live until she turned twenty-seven.’
‘I’m not likely to forget it,’ Wren said. ‘It belonged to Anya instead . . .’
Wilder dipped his head. ‘It did. But we didn’t know that until the end. For the entire first chapter of our time together, I thought I would lose her . . .’
‘But Torj . . . Torj is dying,’ Wren whispered, finally saying the words she’d been too afraid to say aloud before this moment.
‘The poison is moving faster than we anticipated, and I am no closer to saving him. Even if Lucian gives me what I need, there may not be enough time. How do I know that and not . . .’
‘Break?’ Thea finished. ‘You don’t. You break a little every day. But you keep going, because that’s what warriors do – we fight anyway.’
‘And I’m a warrior . . .’ Wren said slowly.
‘You are.’ Thea nodded. ‘You always have been.’
‘She’s right,’ Wilder agreed. ‘You and Torj both. And you’ll find a way through it, no matter what.’
The words hit home. Wren drew her blade across the whetstone one final time, testing its edge with her thumb. It was sharp enough to cut. Something that had to be maintained carefully, deliberately, with the right balance of pressure and restraint . . .
‘Thank you,’ she said, first meeting her sister’s eyes, then Wilder’s. ‘For showing me how.’
From across the camp, she saw Cal signal to her, and so Wren rose from her place by the fire and slipped into the darkness, leaving Thea and Wilder to their quiet companionship.
Wren slipped into the Bear Slayer’s darkened tent and between his sheets with the stealth of a Warsword herself.
‘What are you doing?’ Torj murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. ‘We can’t—’
‘You needed me. So I came.’
‘I’m fine—’
Wren pressed her index finger to his lips to silence him before sweeping her nightshirt up over her head and pressing her naked body against the hard heat of his muscular chest. She traced the web of scarring over his inked heart – the mark she’d made with lightning when she’d refused to let him go all those years ago.
‘The others told me how you collapsed,’ she said quietly.
‘Traitors,’ he muttered.
‘They’re trying to keep you alive. As am I.’ Wren threw a leg over his thick thighs and pulled herself on top of him, her bare skin sliding over his.
‘Is that so?’ The Bear Slayer’s trembling hands were already tracing her curves. ‘’Cause it feels like you’re trying to kill me, Embers . . .’
Wren brought a glass vial to his lips. ‘Drink this, you stubborn Warsword.’
He let her tip the liquid into his mouth without protesting. ‘What is it?’
‘A strengthening potion of sorts. It’s not nearly as strong as I’d like it to be, but we’ve had limited time to brew it and increase its potency,’ she replied, noting that the tremors wracking the hand resting on her hip were abating.
‘So, this is how you save me?’ he murmured, trailing circles across her bare skin.
She could feel him growing hard beneath her and bit back a smile. Wren rolled her hips and clapped a hand over Torj’s mouth as he swore. ‘You need rest, Bear Slayer.’
‘I’ll rest when I’m dead.’
‘You’ll rest when I tell you to.’ Wren slid off him to the empty space beside. On the few occasions when they’d had the freedom to share a bed, Torj had always covered her body with his, cocooning himself around her, always her shield against the world. But this time, Wren wanted to hold him.
Gently, she pushed him onto his side and wrapped herself around him from behind, feeling the heat of his back seep into her.
‘I love you,’ she whispered against his spine.
Torj guided her hand around his ribs and clutched it to his scarred chest. ‘I love you too, Embers . . . but I’m not sure even that is enough to stop this. How do you plan on keeping me here?’
Wren pressed her hand over his heart. ‘By showing you what you’d be missing if you left this world without me.’
‘Believe me, I’m aware,’ he replied thickly.
‘Do you know what my deepest fear is?’ she asked him, threading her fingers through his. ‘It’s not failing as queen, or letting the midrealms down . . . It’s not a second war, or my role in it. It’s losing you. I can’t lose you, Torj. Not you.’
She could feel the steady rhythm of his heart beating against her palm as he said, ‘My deepest fear is leaving you unprotected . . . or that I’ll become part of the reason you’re no longer safe.’ He kissed her knuckles. ‘The poison . . . It’s getting worse, Wren.’
‘I know,’ she whispered. Her eyes burned as hot tears slipped free, tracking down her cheeks.
He turned to face her, gently catching her tears with his thumb. ‘I’m not afraid of dying, Embers . . . I never have been. Truth be told, I thought I’d die long before now.’
Wren let him see her emotions; she didn’t hide as she lifted her gaze to his. ‘I used to think dying for someone would be the ultimate act of love, but . . . living for someone – that’s the ultimate act. I need you to live for me, Bear Slayer. Because together, we can change the world.’