CHAPTER 58 Torj
Torj
‘A Warsword knows his weapon as an extension of himself. The wise Warsword recognizes when he has found something worth laying that weapon down for’
– The Warsword’s Way
ALL TORJ COULD see was red as he grabbed the front of Lucian’s doublet and tore him away from Wren. The nobleman’s feet kicked out in a panic as Torj lifted him bodily from the ground and hurled him through the side of the tent.
Lucian screamed as his flailing body tore through the canvas and landed hard in the mud outside with a thud.
The sound echoed through the unnatural silence of the camp as Torj stalked through the torn tent after him. Blood roared in his ears, his vision tunnelling in on Lord Lucian scrambling back.
‘Elderbrock!’ someone called, their voice sharp and commanding.
Warswords, bannermen, soldiers were all moving towards him, closing in. He could hear the pounding of their footsteps in the puddles, their shouts distant compared to the man at his mercy.
‘You’ve just signed your death warrant, boy,’ Lucian spat, attempting to stand.
Boy?
He was a fucking Warsword of Thezmarr, and he was done.
Fury coursed like fire through his veins, and he clamped his hand around Lucian’s throat, dragging him to his feet, squeezing his windpipe mercilessly, relishing the way his eyes grew bloodshot and bulged from his head.
‘You put your hands on my wife.’ Torj’s voice was low and deadly as he lifted Lucian once again before slamming him back down into the ground. ‘My fucking wife.’
‘Torj.’ At the sound of the soft voice, the crowd that had gathered parted, revealing Wren, in her torn clothes, her body trembling.
A ragged gasp escaped him at the sight of her.
He released Lucian, who was unconscious in the mud, and rose to his feet. Torj went to her, drawing her to his side.
‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured. ‘I’m so sorry. I was going to let you go through with it. I was going to stand by and watch the ceremony, like we agreed. But then . . .’
‘Then he touched me,’ Wren said simply.
Torj nodded. ‘Then he touched you.’
My wife. He could still taste the words on his tongue, and around him the wide eyes of bannermen and soldiers blinked in shock. But it was too late. There was no undoing it. No going back.
‘You bastard,’ Darian shouted across the camp, charging for them. Torj gently pushed Wren out of the way as he allowed Darian’s blow to hit his cheek. Knuckles collided with bone, and Torj grunted at the impact, momentarily blinded.
‘First one’s free, Devereux,’ he murmured so only his friend could hear. ‘But I won’t be responsible for what happens next.’
He saw the gleam of amusement in Darian’s eyes before the nobleman masked it with a snarl of rage. ‘You think you can just steal my bride away?’ he yelled, swinging his fist again. ‘Do you know what you’ve done?’
Torj caught the blow before it landed. ‘If you or your father lay so much as a finger on my wife again, I’ll rip it from your hand and shove it down your throat.’
He pushed Darian away roughly, and the nobleman rushed to his father’s side.
Lord Lucian was conscious now, bleeding, surveying Torj with a scathing look.
He had seen that look before. He knew what came next: a verbal lashing, an onslaught of horrific consequences.
But he couldn’t bring himself to feel regret. Not after what the bastard had done.
Torj went to Wren and fastened his cloak around her shoulders, tugging it closed at the front to cover her tattered shirt and exposed skin.
‘You’re done for,’ Lucian spat. ‘A dead man walking. No more than a warrior brute born in the slums. And that’s how you’ll die too.’ The nobleman withdrew something from his pocket, a piece of parchment, as his gaze went to Wren. ‘This is what you were willing to sell yourself for, whore.’
Torj coiled tight, ready to launch himself at the bastard again, but Wren’s gentle touch stopped him.
Lucian dangled it between them, taunting. ‘Everything you need to undo the Kingsbane’s poison killing the Bear Slayer, right within your grasp.’ He snatched a torch from Lord Briar and held the parchment to the flame.
‘No!’ someone shouted behind them, but neither Torj nor Wren moved.
Beside him, Wren watched the information burn, the parchment curling and turning to ash before their eyes. ‘You were never going to give me that.’
‘Now you’ll never know.’ Lord Lucian motioned to Darian, Lord Briar and Lord Pendelton. ‘Gather our men. We’re leaving. Let the Delmirian heir fight this war alone and see how she fares.’ He pinned Torj with a look of disgust. ‘You’re nothing.’
A current surged forth, and Torj felt Wren’s hand thread through his, her power rising around them.
‘He’s my husband,’ she said quietly. She didn’t need to raise her voice; the lightning flashing at her fingertips spoke volumes. ‘Get out, Lucian. Leave now before you’re no longer able to.’
Torj’s chest swelled with pride as he watched his soul-bonded lift her chin in defiance. Clutching his cloak around her, Wren turned to the bewildered faces before them and addressed her allies.
‘I cannot stand before you good people and ask you to risk your lives for a lie. Not when it would make me every bit the kind of ruler Silas the Kingsbane makes us out to be – putting my need for forces above your freedom, your right to choose with all the facts in hand.’
‘So what are the facts?’ someone yelled.
Gods, it was all his fault. Torj had done this. He had turned her own allies against her with his big mouth and stupid soul-bonded heart.
As if in answer to the thought, a spark of magic flickered in his chest, and the glance from Wren told him she had felt it as well.
‘The facts . . .’ Wren scanned the people before her.
‘The facts are these,’ she said. ‘I am married to the Bear Slayer of Thezmarr. We were married by the captain of The Furies’ Will on the way from Naarva.
And together we will fight Silas the Kingsbane.
We will do everything within our power to ensure the survival of the five kingdoms.’
The camp descended into chaos.