CHAPTER 43 Wren
Wren
‘The curious paradox of dreams: they can flourish in the most toxic soil, drawing strength from the very poisons meant to destroy them’
– Elwren Embervale’s notes and observations
THE STAGGERED ARRIVAL of their allies caused chaos to sweep across the camp.
There was no uniformity – an array of banners and sigils dotted the tents with colour, and Wren had no idea which units belonged to whom.
Among all the movement and madness, with the land beside her old cottage now brimming with warriors, there was one notable missing figure.
‘Where is he?’ Lord Lucian demanded as he strode through the ranks. ‘According to your Guild Master, the Bear Slayer was meant to be leading this campaign, and we’re due to leave!’
Wren blinked at the enraged man. ‘I haven’t a clue, Lord Lucian. Perhaps the other Warswords can help . . .’
Lucian crowded her, his stance wide, clearly trying to intimidate her. ‘Don’t play games with me, girl. You may be marrying my son, but that doesn’t mean you get to act coy—’
‘I simply answered your question. And may I remind you that you’re the one cautioning me to stay away from him?
I’m merely following your instructions.’ Wren rested a hand on her belt of potions and lifted her chin.
‘I suggest you rethink the way in which you speak to me, my lord. You may be of a noble house, but I am a ruler of the midrealms.’
His nostrils flared, as though he couldn’t fathom a woman challenging him in such a way. ‘Not yet, Princess Elwren. Not yet.’
Wren lowered her voice. ‘Is that a threat?’
‘I would never threaten my future daughter-in-law.’ The meaning was cleverly laced between his words. No, Lord Lucian wouldn’t threaten his son’s wife, but anyone who didn’t hold that title? He’d have no qualms putting them in harm’s way.
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Wren told him, glancing over to where Thea was shooting her a questioning look. ‘I suggest that we move out as planned, with or without the Bear Slayer. Don’t you agree?’
The smile that graced Lord Lucian’s face was almost serpentine. ‘Absolutely. I see no reason to delay. I’m eager to see the crown upon your head, Elwren, and my son standing proudly as your husband at your side.’
Wren wished she could say that it was the first time she’d mounted a horse at the head of a war force, but it wasn’t.
It was, however, the first time she’d been a part of one without the Bear Slayer.
Her heart was lodged in her throat as she looked around, scanning the iron-clad warriors for his silver hair and piercing gaze.
Fitting her boot to her stirrup, she pulled herself up into the saddle, her fingers numb on the reins.
She hadn’t seen Torj since that night in his tent, the night she’d practically begged him to live for her .
. . She’d sent her orders through Kipp, not sure she would be able to face him without breaking.
She had told him she loved him countless times, and now, instead of saying the words, she poured that feeling through the bond, hoping that it reached him, wherever he was.
The connection between them, usually a warm presence at the edge of her consciousness, now felt stretched thin like a thread about to snap.
There was a hollowness where he should be, an echo chamber where the essence of him had anchored her.
Wren found herself reaching for him through that invisible tether, only to grasp at emptiness.
Behind her, Dessa and Zavier were overseeing the transport of the last remaining silvertide in their saddlebags. There was little hope Wren would be able to distil more of the cure while they were on the road, and the dwindling supplies left fewer options in any case.
All too soon, Wilder called for them to move out, and the blossoming landscape ahead blurred as Wren blinked hard, fighting back tears. ‘He’d rather die strong than live weak . . .’ Kipp’s words both haunted her and steeled her. She wasn’t going to let that happen. Not in her lifetime.
As they rode across her kingdom, Wren remembered sharing the saddle with Torj during those first few months at Drevenor.
Gods, how he’d infuriated her. But even then, the rhythmic beat of the Warsword’s heart at her back had been a comfort, his body surrounding her with his strength and his fierce determination.
Back then, she had fought him every step of the way, and now .
. . now she wished for nothing more than his solid presence behind her, the war-drum beat of his heart against her spine, promising retribution.
Thea’s horse pushed up alongside Wren’s, her sister’s presence offering her some reprieve from her thoughts.
‘Lord Lucian’s a piece of work,’ Thea muttered with a glare in the nobleman’s direction.
‘What’s he done now?’ Wren asked.
‘Existed. Shared his narrow beliefs. Been himself,’ Thea retorted. ‘That’s enough, right? You’ve met the man.’
‘Unfortunately.’
‘I hate that he’s got us over a barrel,’ Thea said under her breath. ‘Not just with the Bear Slayer’s situation, but with the allies too . . .’
‘You and me both,’ Wren admitted. ‘Kipp and I have been working on something—’
‘The letters?’ Thea asked. ‘He told me. I think it’s as good an idea as any.’
Wren sighed. ‘I thought so too at first. But who am I to demand the common folk hear my story? Who am I to ask for understanding from those who have suffered the most since the last war?’
‘You’re one of them,’ Thea said unexpectedly. ‘Or at least, you were. Was it so long ago that you were a simple alchemist of Thezmarr? An orphan with no more to her name than the tools at her belt and the skills at her fingertips?’
‘I was one of many.’ Wren adjusted her grip on the reins, flexing the ache from her hands.
‘So?’ Thea pressed. ‘It doesn’t make your experience any less.’
‘I don’t like asking for help . . .’
Thea snorted. ‘Shocking.’
‘You’re one to talk,’ Wren shot back before she sighed. ‘Honestly, I hate it. I hate to ask anyone.’
‘Again, sister . . . that’s not exactly new information to me,’ Thea said gently. ‘Though it might help if you told me why.’
Wren shifted in her saddle, her posture growing rigid as her scalp prickled.
‘It was me who asked Sam and Ida to stay back at Thezmarr while I left. It was my idea that they remain behind and make more of the sun orchid essence. I thought we could use more of it at the fortress. I asked them to do that. It’s my fault they were captured. My fault they’re dead.’
‘Oh, Wren,’ Thea murmured, her voice pained. ‘That wasn’t your doing.’
Wren forced the words out. ‘If I hadn’t asked them to stay back—’
‘You think if you hadn’t asked for their help, they wouldn’t have died?
’ Thea finished for her. ‘There’s no way you can know that.
They could have just as easily died in the battles!
It was their choice to stay at Thezmarr, to continue their work.
You can’t let what happened to them stop you from seeking help, from asking for support when you need it. You can’t go through life like that.’
‘I haven’t . . . I wrote the letters like Kipp told me to. I have asked for allies where I could. I even sent Torj away to—’
‘You’re doing all that you can,’ her sister cut her off. ‘I think Kipp’s right. You should keep writing the letters. Silas got his platform; you should do the same. If people are going to choose sides, let them know what you stand for.’
Wren tried to cling to Thea’s resolve, and as they continued to ride across Delmira, she tried to remain stoic about the fate she and Torj now faced. Under different circumstances, they had been apart before, and she had survived. But now, knowing what they were to one another . . .
The hollow ache in her chest whispered that she wouldn’t survive a second time, nor would she want to.
A shadow fell across her face. She looked up, expecting to see storm clouds gathering in answer to her turmoil.
But it was a familiar set of broad shoulders that blocked out the sun. Torj Elderbrock sat tall in his saddle before her, his hammer across his back, determination gleaming in his eyes.
Wren’s heart stuttered, then raced, her breath catching painfully in her lungs. The world around her – the army, Thea, even Lucian’s schemes – all faded away. Her fingers trembled on the reins, and she fought the desperate urge to fling herself from her horse to his.
He didn’t reach for her; he didn’t address her, not aloud. But the bond between them, so empty just moments before, now hummed with his presence – stronger and clearer than she had felt in weeks.
Torj guided his horse into the ranks, and it was only then that she saw his stallion pulled a cart behind him. A cart gleaming with pearly white blooms.
With silvertide roses.
And then, Torj’s words echoed through their golden bond and into her mind.
I want to live, Embers. For you. Always for you.