Chapter Twenty-six
WILDER
W ilder and Thea stood waiting before the thrones on the dais in their blood-stained, travel-worn clothes.
‘Furies save us, what happened?’ King Artos exclaimed as he entered the throne room, taking in their ragged appearances.
But his green eyes lit up when they fell on Thea.
Wilder had heard that the King of Harenth had taken a special interest in his apprentice ever since the knife-throwing incident, when Thea had made her case to become a shieldbearer.
Wilder didn’t know how he felt about that.
He cleared his throat. ‘We were attacked upon entering the palace grounds, Your Majesty.’ He didn’t quite manage to keep the terse note from his tone.
‘On my grounds?’ Artos baulked. ‘In my kingdom?’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’ Wilder inhaled through his nose, trying to rein in his impatience. ‘But we can discuss that later. We have answered your summons to deal with the threat against the kingdom.’
‘But what of the perpetrators?’ the king demanded.
‘Twelve of them dealt with, Your Majesty.’ He gestured to Thea. ‘My apprentice here saw to that.’
Artos’ demeanour changed completely, to one of awe. ‘Is this true, Althea? You defeated twelve attackers?’
‘I had help, Your Majesty,’ Thea replied, cheeks tipping pink with pleasure. But she seemed to remember herself. ‘Your Grace, what of the threat to the kingdom? How can we help?’
This only seemed to make Artos happier. ‘We shall talk more of this incident after. For now, follow me.’ He didn’t wait; he was on his feet and moving.
Whatever Wilder had been expecting, it hadn’t been this – following King Artos and his guard through the lower levels of the palace, to the dungeons.
Wilder himself had been down here several times to deal with traitors to the midrealms before they were transported to the Scarlet Tower south of Naarva, but…
He’d never seen the cells so full before.
Thea, who he imagined had never stepped foot inside a dungeon, was doing a decent job of masking her emotions.
It wasn’t a pleasant place. To be locked in the royal dungeons, a serious crime needed to be committed, and when it came to serious crimes, King Artos was known for serious punishments.
Torches lined the stone walls, illuminating everything from the guard room and the singular cells to the torture chamber, which was thankfully empty.
The deeper they moved into the dungeon, the worse the smell became.
King Artos gracefully took a kerchief from his breast pocket and placed it over his nose and mouth.
If they were going this far down into the cursed place, whatever they were about to see… Wilder wished he could push Thea behind him, but knew she’d stand for none of that.
‘We found them on the outskirts of the city,’ King Artos said, stopping before the last cell in the row.
It took every ounce of Wilder’s discipline not to flinch at the sight before him.
A pair of half-wraiths lay limp on the stone floor behind the iron bars. Both bore the evidence of torture. Burns to their bodies and wings, the scent of singed flesh acrid in the air, blood trickling from open wounds.
One was more wraith than not, most of his human skin turned that same leathery texture as the many shadow wraiths Wilder had battled in his time.
His eyes were like black orbs; talons protruded from his broken fingers.
It wouldn’t be long until he was a full wraith with no memory of his human life, no proof he’d ever had one.
Wilder had seen the change himself, had seen men and women lost to the darkness.
But the other figure in the cell… A young human man, broken wings protruding from his back, small claws tipping his fingers… He wasn’t lost. Not yet.
‘Have you ever seen this before?’ King Artos turned to him, motioning to the poor creatures.
‘Once or twice,’ Wilder managed, still staring at the half-wraiths.
‘Why wasn’t I made aware this could happen?’ the king demanded. ‘And how is it that they’ve managed to infiltrate my kingdom?’
Wilder felt Thea’s eyes on him, but he kept his gaze on the king and chose his next words carefully.
‘I have only seen a few cases like this myself; the other Warswords not at all. To our knowledge they are an anomaly that occurs rarely and never this close to the remaining kingdoms of the midrealms. The reapers usually turn their victims fully. What did your questioning reveal?’
The king looked as though he were about to deny such treatment, but must have realised how pointless that was given the evidence before them. ‘That they are the servants of someone they call the Shadow Prince…’
Wilder’s stomach bottomed out. ‘I see.’
One of the king’s inquisitors stepped forward. His appearance – no, his jewellery – distracted Wilder for a moment. He had never seen a man in this line of work sporting a gemstone nasal piercing, or wearing a dozen bronze bangles on each wrist. ‘Have you heard of such a person, Warsword?’
Wilder tore his gaze away from the glittering pieces. ‘I imagine it refers to one of the reapers. Did they say anything else? Did they both talk?’
‘Only that one.’ The inquisitor pointed to the more human of the two, his bangles jangling with the movement. ‘And he only raved about this Shadow Prince and the Daughter of Darkness. She is on the hunt, apparently.’
‘Hunting for what?’ Wilder pressed.
But the inquisitor shrugged. ‘He passed out before I got it out of him. That’ll be our next little session.’ He kicked the bar of the cell menacingly and the poor creature within cowered.
Wilder drew himself up to his full height. ‘I’ll take it from here.’
‘We should kill them,’ Thea murmured beside him, not taking her eyes off the wraiths. ‘What if they can spread this curse like the reapers can?’
Wilder didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to the king. ‘Your Majesty, I think a more expert hand might be needed in this case. Permission to interrogate the prisoners myself?’
King Artos glanced from the monsters back to Wilder and nodded. ‘Yes. A more practised hand might yield better results. The chamber is at your disposal.’
‘You have my thanks, Your Grace, but I do not need its contraptions.’ Wilder laced his next words with malice. ‘I think these monsters will find that I’m more than enough to loosen their tongues.’
‘Very well.’ King Artos turned to his entourage. ‘Clear this level. Warsword Hawthorne has monsters to break.’
Wilder bowed his head. ‘Your Majesty.’
The king nodded. ‘I look forward to hearing the results. Give the keys to the Warsword,’ he ordered the bejewelled inquisitor, who did as he bid.
Within moments, the lower level of the dungeon was empty, save for Wilder, Thea and the two half-wraiths. But Wilder turned to Thea, his voice firm and unflinching, the voice of a mentor and master, not that of a friend, or anything else. ‘You can’t be here for this.’
‘I’m not going anywhere. If I’m going to be a Warsword, I need to be able to stomach —’
‘Have I not been true to my vow?’ he asked. ‘Have I not taught you what I know? Have I not answered your questions? Have I not allowed you to face perilous dangers alone?’
‘Yes, but —’
‘Then leave, Thea. I cannot be who I need to be for this with you here.’
‘Wilder —’
‘I’m not asking,’ he said.
Thea stared at him, and he could see that storm brewing once more behind her eyes. He expected her to keep arguing, to cling to her anger as she had many times before, but she didn’t. Instead, she eyed the creatures suspiciously before meeting his stare a final time.
‘Be safe,’ she said before she left.
Wilder palmed his dagger and fitted the key to the lock. ‘Alright,’ he said slowly. ‘Tell me what you know of this Shadow Prince.’
* * *
When he was done with his interrogation, Wilder found Thea waiting for him at the entrance to the dungeon, still in her filthy clothes.
Either King Artos’ hospitality was much exaggerated or Thea had refused to leave.
Wilder was willing to wager on the latter.
He noted that the cut on her left arm was still oozing blood where the stitches had torn, but one look at Thea’s face told him she hadn’t noticed.
‘What did they say?’ she asked, pushing off the wall.
Wilder raked his hair off his face and grimaced at how filthy he felt, not just from the road and the storehouse, but from what he had witnessed in that cell.
‘That the southern isle of Naarva is completely covered in impenetrable darkness. Where the kingdom was once a jungle swarming with wraiths, no one can even enter now. Courtesy of a Shadow Prince who rules there.’
‘And he is in league with the Daughter of Darkness?’
‘So it would seem.’
Thea studied him critically. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything?’
Because I’m not and you’re too smart for me , Wilder thought, but instead he sighed. ‘I tell you what I can,’ he told her. ‘But you are still an apprentice and I am still a Warsword.’
‘I’m also a Guardian of the midrealms. I, too, am tasked with defending it from evil,’ Thea argued. ‘What do I not understand about these half-wraiths, Wilder? What is coming for us that I am blind to?’
Wilder drew an exhausted breath, glancing around at the guards, who tried to hide their interest. ‘Not here.’
Thea looked like she meant to continue arguing, but his weariness must have shown, for she sighed. ‘Fine. The king has invited us to dine with him this evening. There’s to be an intimate gathering of nobility.’
Wilder didn’t hide his cringe. Gods, the last thing he felt like doing was entertaining the gaping stares and moronic questions of Harenth’s elite.
‘Warsword or not, I think it would be a mistake not to go,’ Thea ventured, seeming to read his mind.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘We’ll need to wash up and —’
‘King Artos offered us rooms,’ Thea said hopefully.
‘Did he now?’