Chapter Seventeen #2
By late afternoon, they were through the mountains and out in the open, hilly terrain beyond. The lands were not the rolling green slopes and ridges of southern Harenth, but an almost sunburnt stretch of yellowed plains, the fields bordering the broader territory of Delmira.
‘Did you ever see it before its fall?’ Thea asked Wilder, looking out onto the barren vastness.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘I’m not as old as you think.’
‘My apologies. You should probably know that your less-than-sunny disposition is misleading, then.’
Wilder gave a huff of amusement. ‘Thanks for the honesty.’
Thea shrugged. ‘We made a promise. I’m simply upholding my end of it.’
‘Noble of you.’
‘I’m nothing if not noble.’
The Warsword shook his head in disbelief, then pointed to the foothills below. ‘We make camp there for the night.’
As they rode the final leg of the day’s journey, Thea spotted several flowers that looked familiar, but couldn’t place them.
She had a surreal, blurry memory of braiding flower necklaces with Wren, but…
Thea had never braided flowers at Thezmarr, which meant Wren would have been too young for a task that required fine motor skills.
Frowning, Thea remembered she’d had the same strange feeling the last time she’d journeyed with Wilder.
She’d braided a necklace of flowers for him then.
But when had she done such a thing before that?
For a brief moment, she allowed herself to wonder about her mother, Queen Brigh. Had it been with her? It was hard to imagine someone described as a tyrant doing such a quaint task.
An icy shiver raked down Thea’s spine as two words echoed in her mind…
Remember me.
The words the seer had spoken to her upon pressing her fate stone into her hand.
Thea hadn’t realised she’d muttered a curse of frustration aloud until she met Wilder’s concerned gaze.
‘You alright?’ he asked gently.
Thea opened her mouth to reassure him, but he raised a brow.
‘No lies, remember?’
She cursed her former self for insisting on total honesty between them. Taking a measured breath, she sighed. ‘Just getting caught up in the past again,’ she told him.
Wilder nodded. ‘If you want to talk about it… I’m here.’
Warmth bloomed in Thea’s chest. ‘Thank you.’
‘You offered me the same once.’
‘That feels like a long time ago now,’ Thea admitted as moments from their first journey together flashed before her: teasing him when she’d woken to him holding her, his erection digging into her backside.
Him teaching her how shoot game, his strong frame enveloping her. Sharing stories across the campfire…
‘A lifetime ago,’ Wilder agreed distantly, as though he too were drifting down a river of memories.
As they continued, something else nagged at the back of Thea’s mind, and she allowed it to distract her from thoughts of Wilder: Seb and Vernich, and the conversation she’d overheard.
Suspicion tugged in her chest when she thought of the darkness encroaching on the realm, of the cursed lands around them.
She knew that her friends could very well be right – that just because the Bloodletter and his apprentice were cruel bastards, it didn’t mean they were evil…
But even so, she knew something wasn’t right.
As she and Wilder made their way towards their campsite, she couldn’t help but raise the subject again.
‘How would one hunt a fallen Warsword?’ she said, keeping pace beside him.
‘Why are you asking?’
‘Cal said you’d know.’
‘Your friend has a big mouth.’
‘Well?’
‘Is this about Vernich again?’ Wilder warned. ‘He’s just a prick, a really horrible prick, but he’s no fallen Warsword.’
‘Indulge me,’ she replied, not bothering to recount what she’d overheard. It didn’t seem to matter.
Wilder sighed. ‘A fallen Warsword is corrupted from within. They can’t handle the powers gifted to them by the Furies. It’s… comparable to insanity, I suppose. That corruption leads them all over the midrealms.’
‘Where? Why?’
‘To the points where the Veil is weakest. So they can get to the darkness on the other side.’
‘Where is it weakest?’ Thea pressed.
‘North of Delmira. South of Naarva. East of everything. Though with what’s happening lately, there are more and more tears. I have a map marked with them in my saddlebag.’
‘I want to see it.’
‘And I want a hot stone massage and a bottle of Valian wine,’ Wilder quipped. ‘Alas, we can’t always get what we want.’
Thea grinned, trying not to picture Wilder naked amid ribbons of steam, and herself tending to his aching muscles. ‘I’m sure some poor shieldbearer would happily oblige you.’
‘Hilarious,’ Wilder said flatly.
Thea tried again. ‘You’ve hunted a fallen Warsword down before, then?’
Wilder pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Once.’
‘And it wasn’t Talemir?’
‘I told you it wasn’t. Tal wasn’t like that.’
‘Then wh—’
‘Warswords know how to remain invisible and hidden when they want.’
‘But you found them – you brought them to justice. Didn’t you?’
He drew a sharp, impatient breath. ‘Because I think like a Warsword.’
‘Then teach me. Teach me how to think like a Warsword.’ She made a mental note to find that map he had mentioned.
They reached the spot Wilder had pointed to and he halted, turning to her in his saddle. ‘What in the realms do you think I’ve been doing?’
Thea laughed. ‘That remains to be seen.’
Wilder swung down from his horse effortlessly and retrieved his bow. He held it up to her. ‘Then in that case, you’re on hunting duty. Let’s see if I taught you well enough, Apprentice.’
* * *
When Thea returned carrying a dead pheasant, she nearly dropped it in the dirt. For Wilder stood with his back to her by the small stream, completely naked.
Thea’s mouth went dry.
Gods, he was glorious. Every inch of sun-kissed muscle on display, water sluicing down the planes of his mighty body as he washed himself, oblivious to her arrival.
Pact or no, arousal coursed through Thea at the sight of him. She remembered the first time she’d glimpsed his bare skin, in a similar situation on the way to Harenth. She’d been just as breathless, just as gobsmacked then, only now… now she knew what that body felt like, what it could do to her —
A stick snapped beneath her boot as she approached.
But Wilder didn’t jump. He’d known she was there. ‘We’re on dangerous ground here, Apprentice,’ he said, his voice low.
The deep resonance of the sound vibrated low in her belly and she clenched her thighs together.
‘Nothing I haven’t seen before,’ she forced out. ‘Besides, where’s your decency?’
He turned to her, holding his hands in front of his cock, but leaving the rest of himself bare, wet and gleaming in the final golden rays of sunlight.
‘Apparently non-existent,’ he said, his eyes bright with amusement as he took in her open mouth and the way her chest hitched.
‘To be fair, I thought you’d be longer.’
Thea licked her lips, trying to ignore the incessant pulse of desire between her legs. ‘Well, I’m an excellent shot.’
‘So I did teach you well.’
‘Apparently so.’
Thea turned on her heel and left before she did something stupid.
* * *
Later, when night had fallen and the pheasant was roasting over the fire, Wilder caught her eye over the flames. The energy between them was still charged, still full of unresolved want and unspoken words.
‘Tired?’ he asked lightly.
‘Never,’ she told him.
‘Then on your feet with your sword. I have an exercise for you.’ He pulled a small vial from his pocket.
‘What’s that?’
She didn’t miss the slight upward tug of his mouth, nor the hint of dimple the half-smile revealed as he uncorked the glass vessel and positioned a strange wire wand to his lips.
He blew.
A dozen or more bubbles danced between them.
Frowning, Thea popped a few with her index finger. ‘What are these for?’
‘Training,’ he said.
Thea understood immediately. Eagerly, she unsheathed her sword and —
He laughed. He actually laughed at her . ‘You’ll be surprised at how hard it is,’ he told her, seeming even more amused at the scowl she aimed at him. ‘But although it’s such a simple drill, it can dramatically increase your precision.’
Thea was already moving on her toes, thrusting her blade at the shining orbs floating around their campsite.
‘You did this?’ she asked. ‘When you were training?’
‘Many times. Talemir found it endlessly amusing. Now I see why.’
Thea rolled her shoulders to loosen her muscles and tried again as Wilder blew more bubbles from the vial.
‘It helps to hone your ability to block out details that will distract you or cause you to lose focus,’ he added thoughtfully, eyeing her critically as she moved.
‘Your lunges need to be more controlled. More control means you recover faster, and can strike again sooner.’
Thea listened, storing the information away in the recesses of her mind. She would take every kernel of wisdom he offered and treat it with reverence. For every piece had a part to play in her plan to become a Warsword of the midrealms. At long last, Wilder was doing exactly as he had promised.
He was training her.
* * *
Hours later, Wilder ordered a stop to her efforts.
Thea wanted to protest, to tell him that she could keep going, but he silenced her with a look.
And as her gaze met his, the exhaustion hit her, down to her very bones.
He knew her better than she knew herself, it seemed, and she found that the thought didn’t bother her half as much as it might have once.
Her whole body sagged as he went off to check the horses, leaving her to prepare for the night in privacy. At long last, she collapsed onto her bedroll and almost instantly sank into a deep sleep.
* * *
She stared at a familiar face.
Anya.
The girl was older this time, perhaps sixteen or so. She stood in a canvas tent before a mirror, parting her hair with her fingers, a bloody patch of her scalp showing through.
Someone had torn a chunk of her copper locks from her head.
Anya scowled at her reflection and adjusted the patch over her right eye before unsheathing a dagger from her belt. She grabbed a fistful of her hair and sawed through it, the unruly tresses floating down to the ground.
Thea watched as the strange girl cut her hair, the uneven lengths swinging by her jawline. Anya seemed removed from the whole process, her one-eyed stare glinting with purpose and determination.
When she was done, copper locks fanned out around her boots, but she stepped over them without a care, brushing any remaining loose strands from her shoulders with cold efficiency.
She stepped outside the tent – and Thea gasped in horror.
For beyond the canvas flaps was a temporary camp amid a rotting field.
And screams pierced the air.
Thea nearly gagged. On the far side of the rows of tents, several creatures were bound together by thick rope. Human bodies disfigured with wings and talons, darkness unfurling with their cries.
Anya strode towards them with an air of authority about her – surreal for someone so young, and in this situation. There were a dozen people being tortured before her and yet her expression was cold, impassive.
Wide eyes and shrieks begging for mercy didn’t move her.
Nothing did, it seemed.
Thea’s heart hammered in her chest, but she couldn’t look away. Someone had to witness their suffering; someone had to see them.
Faceless men surrounded Anya, but she continued to stare, drinking in the agony.
‘Should we —’ someone started.
But the girl raised her hand. ‘No. They need to feel it.’
And the screaming went on and on.