CHAPTER 62 Wren
Wren
‘The histories of even the greatest rulers are marred by decisions they would unmake’
– Elwren Embervale’s notes and observations
‘HAVE YOU LOST your mind?’ Wren hissed, scowling at the Bear Slayer as he stood before their friends, their council, and told them that they needed to host a coronation during the chaos of war.
‘Far from it, Embers. It’s the most sense I’ve made in days,’ he replied evenly.
‘What good in all the midrealms do you think that would do?’ She was on her feet as well, her hands planted firmly on her hips.
‘I think it would make you a legitimate ruler of the midrealms, one that any usurper would have more difficulty overthrowing, at least from a customary standpoint. You’ve got nobles out there claiming that you’re not queen until you wear a crown, nobles who won’t honour their oaths until they see a queen on the throne.
This is your chance to take what’s yours. ’
The hum of the bond between them told Wren that there was something more to Torj’s words, that there was another reason he was pushing this, but he tore his gaze away from her and addressed their friends.
‘What is the point of risking lives and meeting Silas on the battlefield if the question of succession is raised afterwards? With a crown on Wren’s head, it’s far harder to contest who should govern Delmira,’ he argued passionately.
‘I agree,’ Kipp declared. ‘It’s the most logical thing to do—’
‘Do you think anyone will support me doing this while people are dying around us?’ Wren countered.
‘That’s why they’re here,’ Torj said.
‘We don’t have a crown, or a blacksmith to make one,’ she ventured. ‘Doesn’t it need to be made with some sort of precious metal?’
‘Leave the crown to me,’ Kipp told her. ‘But if you’re concerned about the people dying around us, you’re a healer, aren’t you?’
Wren could have slapped him. ‘Yes,’ she ground out.
‘Then I suggest you put your skills to use in the meantime, Your Queenliness.’
Wren let out a growl of frustration. ‘One of these days, Kris-topher . . .’ she said threateningly.
‘You’ll knight me and set me up with a beautiful maiden in my own estate? I wouldn’t say no to that, Elwren – you know me well.’
‘Want me to hit him?’ Torj muttered.
‘At some point in the near future, I’ll say yes.’
‘So it’s decided,’ Torj said to the others. ‘Wren will be crowned at sunset. Hopefully that’s enough time for everyone to retrieve what they need.’ He didn’t pose it as a question, and no one speculated.
‘What are you playing at?’ Wren asked, shaking her head. ‘Becoming a crowned queen doesn’t help us now. Crown or not, we fight with the numbers we have. No one is answering our call for aid now.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Torj said. ‘But when this war is over, when the dust has settled and you stand upon the ruins of this kingdom once more, I want there to be no question of your place in the midrealms. I want there to be no doubt as to who you are.’
‘And who exactly am I, Bear Slayer?’ she demanded, planting her fists on the table and bracing herself against it.
‘A fucking queen, Embers,’ he growled. ‘You always have been.’
Around them, the group dispersed, no doubt sensing that it was best to leave her to deal with the Warsword alone. Only she didn’t want to argue. She didn’t want to plan the moment she’d been dreading since she’d declared herself heir to the kingdom.
‘I’m going to tend to the wounded,’ she told Torj, brushing past him towards where they’d tethered the horses so she could retrieve her medical kit.
‘Wren . . .’ He started after her.
She threw up a hand to stop him. ‘When you’re ready to tell me why you’re really pushing for this coronation, come find me. Until then, there’s work to be done.’
Wren left him there, staring after her as she made her way through the muddy streets to the medical tent that had been set up in her absence.
Zavier and Dessa had beaten her there and were already making poultices and stitching injuries.
When she spotted Cal lingering in the wings, Wren forced him into a seat.
‘You did exactly what I told you not to, didn’t you?’ she said sharply, peeling away the blood-soaked bandage from his shoulder.
‘Maybe,’ he said sheepishly.
‘I did such beautiful work with those sutures last time too,’ Zavier called wistfully from where he was cutting fresh linen into strips.
A smile tugged at Cal’s mouth. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.
‘You’re not in the slightest,’ Zavier quipped back.
Exchanging a glance with Dessa, Wren cleared her throat and stepped away from Cal. ‘Zavier, could you take over for me? I’ve just realized I’ve left a tonic brewing that will spoil if it’s overdone.’
When she passed the Prince of Naarva, he glared at her and muttered, ‘Subtle as a fucking war hammer, Elwren.’
She simply smiled sweetly and moved over to Dessa, who was also grinning.
Wren lost herself in healer’s work. For hours she administered pain relief to wounded warriors, sewed up gashes and cauterized several deeper injuries.
She tended to the prisoners as well. The members of the People’s Vanguard seemed shocked to see her and her medical kit down in the cellar with them.
No one spoke, no one tried to attack her, they simply showed her those who were injured and did what they could to help.
Wren reminded their guards that they needed plenty of fresh water and sanitary conditions. The enemy might be a monster, but she and her allies were not.
‘I want to show you something,’ came Torj’s voice from behind her as she washed her hands in a pail of water.
‘Torj . . .’
‘Just come with me.’
Wren followed him wordlessly, the shadow of the bell tower darkening their path down one of the narrow, empty streets.
She tried to picture Dorinth as a bustling city like Highguard or Hailford in Harenth, but her imagination failed her.
She’d spent too many years thinking of Delmira as a burden, a place of curses and poison, something rotten to be cast aside and forgotten – like her.
‘It’s just here.’ Torj’s voice cut through her preoccupation as he gestured to an old shopfront. The windows had been smashed in and boarded up a long time ago, by the looks of the decaying timber facade. The metal frame above the door, where a sign might have once hung, was bare.
‘What is this place?’ she asked, taking a tentative step forwards.
Torj pushed the door open for her, the wood groaning on its hinges.
Inside, Wren stopped short. Any aromas were long gone, only the lingering scent of damp remaining, but there was no doubt in her mind what this place had been.
Light spilled from a lantern Torj lit and confirmed what she’d known in her bones.
She was standing in an apothecary – one larger than any she’d seen before.
If she closed her eyes, she could smell it: the earthy scent of roots and mushrooms, the sharp vinegars and sweet honey and the dried bundles of rosemary, thyme, sage and lavender that might have hung overhead.
It had been ransacked, of course, broken vessels of clay and glass crunching beneath her boots and the shelves bare of the powders and potions they would have once stocked.
‘There was a garden out back,’ Torj told her quietly. ‘The frames of the beds are still there.’
‘They would have grown fresh herbs out there, essentials to always have on hand,’ she murmured, her eyes skimming the dusty countertop and the set of brass scales that had been upturned and left behind. ‘Why have you brought me here?’ she asked, her voice hoarse.
‘I thought you’d like it,’ Torj said.
‘And?’
‘And I thought maybe when you’re queen . . . you might want to restore it, back to its former glory.’
Wren’s heart was suddenly in her throat. ‘Why show me now? Why not when the battle is won and we’re able to make such plans for the future?’
Torj met her gaze, and she knew. Wren knew why he wanted her crowned that night, why he was planting ideas in her head now rather than later.
‘You don’t think you’ll survive the battle.’ The words rushed out of her, broken and hoarse.
‘Wren . . .’
‘Tell me the truth, Torj Elderbrock,’ she demanded, her voice suddenly sharp. ‘You have my heart and soul; you have all of me. And I deserve to know the truth.’
His throat bobbed and he dipped his head in reluctant acceptance. ‘The poison . . .’
‘Is spreading,’ she finished for him, reaching out to touch his chest where she knew it built up the most. ‘I can feel it through the bond. Every day it takes more of you.’
His larger hand covered hers against his heart. ‘I’m needing more and more of the strengthening potion. One day it won’t be enough, and though I’m not afraid of dying, I’m afraid of failing you in the moment you need me most.’
‘Torj . . .’ Her voice broke. ‘What good is being queen, wielding so much power, when . . . when I don’t have the power to save you?’
He kissed her then, desperate and deep, tasting of metal and smoke, of everything she couldn’t bear to lose.
She revelled in the taste of him, the feel of him pressed to her.
She wanted to lose herself in him here and now.
This couldn’t be how it ended, not for them, not after everything they had been through.
He broke their kiss and rested his forehead against hers.
‘Listen to me, Elwren Embervale,’ he growled. ‘If these are my final days, then they’re yours. Every breath. Every heartbeat. They belong to you. They have since the moment I met you in the Bloodwoods.’
‘I refuse to accept it. These aren’t your last days,’ she said fiercely. ‘I won’t let you go. I don’t care what it takes. I’ll drain every drop of my storm magic, brew every potion and cure in existence . . .’
‘My stubborn alchemist.’ He brushed his thumb gently over the scar on her cheek. ‘Always trying to solve everything.’
‘Don’t.’ She dug her fingers into his muscular forearms. ‘Don’t you dare make light of this. Not when I can feel you slipping away. Not when you’re giving up—’
‘You think I want to?’ he cut in. ‘You think I want to leave you behind? I’m trying to make this easier. I’m trying to make life after me easier.’
‘There is no life after you, Torj,’ she said, dragging his face down to hers, sealing her lips over his.
She kissed him hard, desperately, as though she could pour all the strength she had into him to keep him going. She memorized the taste of him, the hitch in his breath, the bruising press of his fingers as he clutched her body to his.
The kiss was brutal, each of them trying to devour the other, as though the more marks they left on their skin, the more tethered they were to the world, to each other. The bond was a taut, living thing between them, vibrating with their need, their anguish.
Wren untucked his shirt, slipping her hands beneath the fabric, aching to trace the heat of his bare skin. But she couldn’t do this, not without him knowing that she wouldn’t stand for a world without him.
She broke away, panting. ‘When this is over—’
‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep.’ Torj pressed closer, cupping her face in his hand. ‘Just . . . be here. With me. Now.’
Outside, she heard footsteps on the cobbles, and Wren pulled back, bracing herself against the pain that lanced through her chest.
A quiet knock sounded at the door, and Thea peered inside. ‘They’re ready for you, Wren,’ she said softly, glancing between her and the Bear Slayer before ducking away.
Wren closed her eyes and inhaled deeply to steady herself. How had dusk come so quickly? Outside, a broken army waited. And her kingdom hung in the balance.
But she opened her eyes and turned to the warrior before her, letting him see the resilience, the determination she had forged throughout her years of grief and solitude.
‘You are mine to protect,’ she told him. ‘And you always have been.’