Chapter Twenty-four
WILDER
D awn came too soon for Wilder’s liking. When he sat up, he spotted Thea stirring something over the fire, her other hand toying with her fate stone absentmindedly. Gods, he hated that thing. More so, he hated that she clearly hadn’t slept. They needed to do something about that.
She seemed deep in thought, and so Wilder left to see to his needs and check on the horses. When he returned, Thea’s eyes were on the horizon.
‘That’s not your friend’s hawk…’ she said, sounding wary, pointing with her good arm.
Wilder squinted into the sky. ‘No,’ he murmured, spotting the wings beating in the sky. ‘That’s a raven.’
The bird made right for them, landing by Thea on the edge of the fountain with a squawk, a scroll tied to its leg.
‘It’s one of Artos’,’ Wilder said as he removed the message, recognising the metal ring around the raven’s other leg. Frowning, he unrolled the parchment and read the script written in the royal scribe’s hand.
Warsword Hawthorne,
You are hereby summoned to Hailford.
Your presence is required immediately to handle a threat to the kingdom.
Make haste.
His Majesty, the King of Harenth,
Artos Fairmoore
Thea was peering around his arm, so he handed her the message. She took it eagerly and he watched her scan the note’s contents.
‘A threat to Harenth?’ she murmured, brows knitting together.
Wilder nodded. ‘Looks like our time in Delmira is at an end. We need to go.’
But Thea was frowning. ‘How did he know we were here?’
‘Someone would have passed our plans on from Thezmarr.’
Thea was still staring at the message. ‘Do you think he called for aid from the others as well?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. Now get dressed. We ride out in five.’
* * *
They rode south at once, and as they did, Wilder pondered.
He didn’t know what to make of Artos’ summons.
In his mind, Harenth was the least likely of the three remaining kingdoms to be attacked by the forces from beyond the Veil.
It was the most protected with its inland location and distance from the Veil, and also because it bordered Thezmarr.
Riders could be dispatched and there within three days, as opposed to the far lengthier journeys to Tver or Aveum.
But then… there was no predicting the whims of monsters.
He glanced at Thea, who rode beside him, her determined gaze trained straight ahead.
Her torn, blood-stained shirt billowed in the wind behind her, her braid dancing in her wake.
The rhythm of constant questions he’d come to expect from her on the road didn’t come, nor did she track his every movement as he’d caught her doing before.
Instead, she seemed closed off, distant.
He didn’t like it.
But perhaps she needed the space to process everything.
And so they rode in silence.
* * *
It was six days’ hard ride to Harenth and each one passed in a blur.
By day they covered as much ground as they could, and during the evenings and early mornings, Wilder trained Thea.
She hid her exhaustion beneath the ironclad armour of her determination, and he didn’t insult her by trying to insist she take a night off.
He showed her everything he knew – how to gut a man with dagger and sword, how to end a man with her bare hands.
He taught her how to feint and strike with the utmost precision.
He taught her how to care for a Naarvian steel blade and how to dry out damp boots.
Anything she asked, he answered with the full, unflinching knowledge of a Warsword.
Something had shifted, though. Thea had turned inward. She didn’t try to rile him up; she didn’t rise to his bait, either. No matter how many times he called her Princess , she didn’t bite. She simply looked to the horizon, as though she knew there was something out there, waiting for her.
Despite her unnervingly quiet demeanour, one thing Wilder refused to compromise on was her wellbeing.
He practically force-fed her second helpings of everything they ate and pressed steaming cups of peppermint tea into her cold hands.
He was also sure to check her stitches multiple times throughout the days.
There was nothing like the sweat and grime of a long ride to make a wound fester.
Thea accepted his fussing in silence, which only served to worry him further. And on the final leg of their journey, Wilder could stand it no longer.
‘Thea…’ he started, reaching across for her reins and bringing her horse to a halt in the middle of a field.
She looked almost startled to find him there.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked gently. ‘You’ve been… Not yourself since Delmira.’
He sensed her walls coming up instantly.
‘It’s nothing,’ she told him.
‘I can’t train you if I don’t know what’s going on up here,’ he said, tapping his temple.
Thea took a breath and looked away. ‘It’s not my head that’s the problem.’
But before he could answer, she tugged her reins from his grasp and rode on.
* * *
Wilder hated the sinking feeling in his chest, the feeling that told him Thea was drifting away, that he was losing her. She rode as though she were running from something, from him, and it cut deeper than he cared to admit.
It was Thea who set the brutal pace across the last stretch of land, and it was Thea who refused to stop to rest. ‘Monsters wait for no one,’ she claimed.
When at long last, the palace, the Heart of Harenth, glimmered in the distance, Wilder didn’t know what he had been expecting. But there were no shadow wraiths circling the spires, no clouds of darkness looming over the kingdom…
One glance at Thea told him she was scrutinising the same thing. Her gaze flicked to his, sensing his attention. She simply raised a brow as if to say, Well?
And so they rode into Harenth.
The capital city of Hailford sat atop a great hill, overlooking its sprawling region.
There was no doubt that Artos’ kingdom was the most prosperous of the remaining three.
As they entered through the grand gates, the guards all acknowledged Wilder with reverence, pressing three fingers to their shoulders in respect.
He nodded in thanks and continued past the elaborate water fountain that boasted a sculpted mountain drake atop a jagged peak.
Several commoners surrounded it, tossing in coins for luck, offerings to the water goddess Lamaka and her daughters, Dresmis and Thera.
He’d seen it many times before: the public prayers of those desperate for kind seas and gentle rains.
Again, he glanced at Thea, wondering if she knew that she could master such things. But Thea only had eyes for the palace atop the hill, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword as they started the ascent to the king’s residence.
Warsword and apprentice leapt from their horses when they reached the gates, handing them off to the waiting stable hands.
Thea made to surge for the grand stairs to the palace, but Wilder grabbed her good arm and dragged her into an alcove just off the guardhouse.
He couldn’t stand it another second, and he sure as fuck couldn’t fight with all this worry tugging at his chest.
‘What are you playing at?’ Thea hissed. ‘We need to get to the king —’
‘You need to tell me what’s going on with you,’ he demanded. ‘Right now.’
‘I told you —’
‘Tell me “nothing” again and I’ll —’
‘You’ll what , Hawthorne?’ she challenged, eyes bright with anger.
‘I need to know,’ he said slowly, more softly this time. ‘I can’t allow you to throw yourself into harm’s way if your head’s not right. It’s a sure way to get —’
‘Killed?’ She laughed darkly.
Wilder’s throat grew tight and he struggled to swallow. ‘Thea,’ he pleaded. ‘ Talk to me. Don’t hold back, not with me…’
He felt unhinged, untethered from the fearless warrior he’d carved himself into, so far from the Hand of Death he hardly knew himself. Wilder Hawthorne had never begged for anything in his life, but for her… For her he would beg. He needed her not to disappear into herself. He needed… her .
With her back to the wall, Thea was tense before him, so tense her body quaked. But something in her challenging stare softened as he held her gaze.
Slowly, Wilder reached for her, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
He heard her breathing hitch, her chest rising sharply at his touch, her pupils dilating.
‘You and I…’ he breathed, his gaze dipping to the soft curve of her lips as his hand traced the sharp line of her jaw. ‘You and I are a team now. What hurts you, hurts me. And we’ll take it on together. Do you understand?’
‘Wilder…’ Her voice broke as her hand came up to cup his.
‘Tell me you understand, Thea,’ he urged her, gripping her chin gently and tilting her face to his. Apprentice, friend, lover… The titles didn’t matter. Only the tether between them did, drawing them back to one another, over and over again.
‘I…’ She drew a trembling breath. ‘I understand,’ she whispered, clutching a fistful of the front of his shirt, pulling him to her.
Wilder’s whole body caved as he brushed his lips against hers, a surge of need crashing through his entire being.
Gods, this woman… She was intoxicating. Even as he breathed her in, it wasn’t enough.
Whatever darkness loomed ahead mattered not in this moment, and when it came for them, he knew Thea would light up the sky with her storms.
He was so fixated on her, on the taste of her, on the relief he felt at the warmth of her body and every part of them touching, that he didn’t hear the scrape of boots on stone; didn’t notice the dart whistling through the air until it pierced the soft skin of his neck.
He jolted back, just as another dart hit him.
With a hand already on his sword, he heard Thea slump to the ground, her own weapon clattering across the cobbles.
His Naarvian steel sang as he unsheathed it, but a wave of nausea rolled through him and his vision blurred.
Wilder staggered one step, then two.
He crashed against the wall and slid down it, his extremities numb.
Thea’s unconscious body was the last thing he saw before all went black.