CHAPTER 45 Wren #2
‘We can’t . . .’ she murmured, though the images had already started to flood her mind – Torj’s teasing touch, the slow torture of him peeling her clothes away, piece by piece, the trail of his tongue along her skin . . . The push of his hard cock inside her—
Torj gave a low groan. ‘You’re killing me, Embers.’
Wren glanced up to find the Bear Slayer biting his lip as he studied her with a heated gaze. ‘You . . . you saw all that?’
‘Saw?’ Torj loosed a tense breath. ‘Embers, I fucking felt it.’
Wren gaped at him.
He offered an amused shrug before twisting his body to reveal his lower half. ‘Believe me now?’ The thick, hard outline of his erection was clearly visible, straining against his leathers.
The sight had heat blooming between her thighs, had her nipples tightening against the rough fabric of her bodice. It took all the willpower Wren had to stop herself from grabbing a fistful of the Bear Slayer’s shirt and hauling his mouth down to hers—
‘It’s a damn good thing I’m not the jealous type,’ Darian observed as he entered the makeshift alchemy station. ‘And for Furies’ sake, Elderbrock, show some decorum. Not all of us want to see your monster cock multiple times in the space of a few weeks.’
A laugh burst from Wren as Torj adjusted himself, the tips of his ears turning red. But the Warsword clicked his tongue with annoyance. ‘It’s not my fault you’re always showing up where you’re not welcome.’
‘I’m never not welcome,’ Darian quipped.
‘Consider this a first, then,’ Torj replied gruffly.
Amusement gleamed in the nobleman’s eyes before he fixed them with a serious look, his tone full of warning. ‘I could have been anyone just now.’
‘I know,’ Wren muttered, hanging her head.
‘Do you?’ Darian challenged. ‘Because what I’ve just walked in on makes a mockery of our engagement.
You were lucky it was only me, but what if it had been my father?
Or any one of his bannermen or spies? Any alliances you hope to make would have been quashed before they began.
And whatever information he has about Torj’s poisoning would go up in smoke.
’ He studied them, his expression softening.
‘The people of the midrealms, the people we love, depend on your discretion. I don’t say this to be cruel.
I say it out of necessity.’ His gaze landed on Torj. ‘I hope you know that, brother.’
Before either of them could respond, Darian walked back towards the tents.
Wren sighed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she told the Bear Slayer. ‘I’m sorry I’ve made such a mess of all this.’
‘It’s not your fault. You can only play the hand you’re dealt as best you can.’
She faltered. ‘I’m trying . . .’
‘I know,’ he replied. ‘And I’ll be here. Every step of the way, just as I promised.’
Wren felt the ghost of his touch on her skin, a whisper of pleasure to come, someday, before he went back to the heart of the camp. A deep pulse of longing settled low in her belly as she watched her Warsword walk away.
It made her ache.
‘We could split up,’ Kipp suggested before dawn the next morning. ‘The bulk of our forces can continue on to the meeting point, while a smaller unit lures the enemy after us into the ravine . . .’
‘And the roses? Who takes that supply?’ Wren asked.
‘We split it between the two, so we’re not completely without should anything happen,’ Cal ventured. ‘We are playing the bait, after all . . .’
Wren watched as Torj weighed up his options and the advice of his friends.
‘Lord Lucian,’ he said at last, turning to the man he despised above all else, ‘take our forces and continue on the planned route. Make it look like that’s still our primary objective.
’ Next, his gaze found his childhood friend.
‘Lord Darian, you’d best come with us, to ensure your bride’s safety.
I’ll lead our small party through the ravine. ’
‘Absolutely not. Elwren comes with us,’ Lord Lucian said. ‘I will not have my future daughter-in-law used as bait like a worm on a hook.’
‘I’m afraid we need the storm wielders at our disposal, Lord Lucian,’ Kipp interjected smoothly. ‘If we mean to eliminate the force behind us, we’ll need their power, as I’m sure you understand.’
A vein pulsed in Lucian’s temple as he glared at the strategist before Darian led him away, following Torj’s orders.
The smaller company moved forwards at a steady pace while they waited for Cal and Zavier to return from their scouting mission. Wren kept glancing back the way they’d come, trying not to think about what would happen if her friends didn’t make it back.
It wasn’t until hours later that Cal’s voice carried ahead of him. ‘Incoming!’ He and Zavier drove their horses hard towards the company, faces grim. ‘At least a hundred soldiers on our tail, well-armed, moving in formation,’ Cal reported.
Wren tried to gauge the Warswords’ reactions. A hundred men against their fifty . . . She was no military expert, but at a guess, she’d say they were at a disadvantage.
‘How far?’ Torj demanded.
‘Quarter of a league, maybe less,’ Zavier replied, pulling his mount up beside Wren’s. ‘They’re not trying to hide any more.’
‘Any sign of our scouts?’ Wren asked.
Cal shook his head. ‘None.’
‘Shit,’ Torj muttered, his jaw tightening.
‘I was hoping to avoid conflict so soon, but if we can eliminate even one portion of Silas’s force, we should take the opportunity.
The ravine is the best option. We’ll be able to draw them into the narrows and pick them off one by one.
They have the numbers, but the location is perfect, and we have Warswords and alchemists among us. ’
It felt wrong to move at the same unhurried pace as before when they knew there was an enemy plot in motion behind them. But they had to act as though they were unaware, as though they were simply marching towards the capital, relying on the prestige of their force as a deterrent.
‘Do you think they plan to attack?’ Wren asked Torj. ‘Would you, in their position? They’ll want to take advantage of us being outnumbered, won’t they?’
‘We are outnumbered, yes,’ the Warsword said.
‘But with a smaller force like ours, we have the ability to move faster, adapt, change formations . . . We got our supply wagons, heavy siege weaponry and half the silvertide away from the fight.’ Torj looked thoughtful.
‘We have no idea what sort of skill set the unit behind us has. They could be seasoned warriors, or simply farmers who were recruited into the People’s Vanguard.
Something tells me Silas would have no issue sacrificing either. ’
‘You’re right about that,’ Zavier interjected, his expression grim. ‘And Silas’s tactics are as much about mind games as combat manoeuvres. He knew the value of emotional warfare even as a child.’
‘How so?’ Wren asked, watching her friend’s shoulders cave inwards.
‘When we were young, it was always me, Silas and our friend Otis. We did everything together – played, attended my mother’s lessons, and Otis’s father taught us how to fence .
. . He even gifted us matching wooden swords.
We were only little, and one day Silas came down with a fever, as children do, leaving me to play with Otis for the week.
We thought nothing of it, only that we missed our friend and that three was the perfect number for so many of our games.
But when Silas recovered and returned to us, he was different – surly.
Not long after, my wooden sword was found splintered into pieces .
. . Silas told me that Otis had done it. ’
‘And you believed him?’ Wren said.
‘I was a child. And he was my brother,’ Zavier replied sadly.
Wren wanted to hug her friend. She could hear the pain in his voice. ‘What happened to Otis?’
‘I told my parents what he’d supposedly done.
They told his parents . . . and his father beat the daylights out of him in the street.
’ Zavier’s voice was hoarse. ‘Of course, it wasn’t until much later that I realized it had been Silas.
That he’d done it out of jealousy. And that he’d stood by, watching Otis’s thrashing without a care in the world. ’
A shiver raked down Wren’s spine. ‘Gods . . .’
‘So, yes.’ Zavier straightened in his saddle. ‘Silas knows how to use people’s emotions against them. And he’s more than willing to sit back and watch people destroy one another.’
‘Does he care about anything? Beyond power and control? Anyone?’ Torj prompted from the other side of Wren.
‘I thought he cared about me,’ Zavier replied. ‘But I think those days are long gone.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Wren said.
‘I truly thought I could help him.’
Wren sighed. ‘I know you did, Zave—’
She was cut off by the arrival of Thea, who looked as fierce as ever, ready for battle.
Her sister’s attention went straight to Torj.
‘Wilder and I are concerned that we’re being herded into a trap,’ she said without preamble.
‘It’s all well and good to utilize the ravine, Bear Slayer, but what if more waits for us on the other side? ’
‘The area has been secured. Kipp assures me that there are no access points within the ravine but for the entrance and exit. I’ve had ten scouts ride ahead to ensure there’s no secondary People’s Vanguard force waiting for us on the other side as well.’
‘A man after my own heart,’ Kipp declared. ‘But it’s true – everything is in order.’
‘Good.’ Thea nodded, seemingly placated now.
‘It’s settled, then,’ Torj said. ‘Let’s lure those fuckers to their deaths.’
Wren couldn’t help but admire the sight of Torj Elderbrock astride his Tverrian stallion against the backdrop of the Delmirian landscape. He looked every bit a Warsword of Thezmarr, strapped into his armour with his war hammer slung across his broad shoulders.
Behind him, the kingdom – her kingdom – was thriving, oblivious to the promise of violence that marched across its ground.
Endless plains and rolling hills of emerald green swept to the horizon, while flocks of humming sparrows danced in formation across the cloudless sky.
The breeze was warm on Wren’s face, and were it not for the rattling of metal breastplates and chain mail behind her, she could have believed it was a peaceful summer’s day.
In all her life, she had never enjoyed one of those . . . not in the way she’d read about in books – with blankets laid across soft grass and wildflowers, baskets of food and drink, surrounded by laughter.
What are you thinking of? Torj’s voice spoke into her mind.
Peace, she replied. Or at least what I imagine it to be.
Even after the war, I had nothing like it.
Though the shadows had gone, there was still so much darkness in the world around me, and within myself .
. . Sometimes I wonder about the person I would be in a time of peace.
And if I’d be able to sustain myself on something so good after all this time.
It was easier, somehow, not saying the words aloud, but pouring them into Torj through their bond. An unspoken secret between them, something she could say only to him, only in the deepest parts of their minds and souls.
Her Warsword’s eyes gleamed. Of course you could be sustained by good. You are good.
She muffled her sad laugh. You are biased, she said, trying for a light tone, before turning the conversation to him. What about you? What does peace look like for the mighty Bear Slayer of Thezmarr?
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Freedom, he replied. Freedom to court you. To take our time. To have you on my arm for all to see. To not be worried for our safety, but instead for our only concern to be which beautiful place to travel to next . . .
Wren’s heart sank a little. She doubted her new life as a queen would be one of voyages and adventure. I’m afraid my only travels for a good few years will be in the name of diplomatic relations.
It doesn’t matter. I’ll go anywhere as long as it’s with you, Embers.
They came to a stop outside the ravine, which towered before them, its ancient stone worn smooth by time and water, an open maw to the dark, narrow fissure beyond.
Anywhere? Wren asked silently. Even back into the shadows? Her magic thrummed beneath her skin in anticipation.
If that’s where you’re going, that’s where I go too.
And so Wren took a deep breath, and urged her horse into the dark.