Chapter Thirty-nine #2
She turned back to her friend, wondering if he’d been forced to join their ranks, or if he’d wanted to come.
Chewing on her lower lip, she hoped someone had kept an eye on him throughout the ride, but one glance at his arms and she knew that he’d been left to fend for himself.
Dozens of little cuts littered his forearms, too precise to be scratches… No, a blade had done those.
‘Mal…’ she said slowly, her fists clenching at her sides.
But the Shieldbreaker didn’t look up from his task.
‘Not much of a talker, is he, stray?’
That familiar sneering voice ignited the pit of fury in Thea’s gut. Her fingers coiled around the grip of the dagger at her waist as she turned to face Seb Barlowe, who wore the same smug expression on his face as always.
‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ she asked. ‘How could you treat him like this?’ She gestured to the cuts on Malik’s arms. ‘I know it was you.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ But the gleam in his eyes said otherwise. Seb took a step towards her, darkness flashing in his gaze. ‘He’s a disgrace to Thezmarr. No wonder you spread your legs for the simple bastard – you’re a perfect match.’
Thea didn’t flinch, nor did she yield a step back. She’d fought monsters far bigger and stronger than Sebastos Barlowe. She’d carved them up, ended them. Seb was nothing. Less than nothing.
‘Did that single punch I landed over six years ago really damage your ego so thoroughly?’ she asked, rage flaring in her chest. She could feel that they’d drawn attention to themselves, but she kept her gaze trained on Seb.
‘You did no such thing,’ he said.
Thea laughed darkly. ‘Saying something doesn’t make it so,’ she replied. ‘And there are plenty of people left in Thezmarr who witnessed that little defeat of yours.’
He started to circle her, as though he were a predator and she were his prey. ‘I’m going to make you wish you’d stayed in that little workshop, mixing potions.’
Thea stood tall. She didn’t move an inch.
She was no one’s prey.
But nor was she about to start a brawl with another Warsword’s apprentice on the eve of battle… unless he swung first.
A long shadow cast across the golden grass, and Seb halted.
Wilder appeared, as if from nowhere, and came not to Thea’s side, but to Malik’s.
Wilder’s brother had frozen to the spot, staring at both apprentices, his hands trembling.
Wilder didn’t comfort him or even address him.
Instead, the Warsword leant against the cart, crossing his feet at the ankles and folding his arms over his chest, watching Seb with the promise of violence in his silver eyes.
Thea still didn’t move.
‘I was just teaching your apprentice a lesson,’ Seb had the gall to say, though there was a slight quake in his voice as he addressed Wilder.
‘My apprentice needs no lessons from you.’ He unsheathed one of his great swords and offered it to Thea. ‘Perhaps it’s time you showed this prick what you’ve learnt.’
Seb baulked at that, unable to hide his shock.
How many times had Wilder pulled her back from the brink of fighting him? How many times had Seb managed to get the better of the situation?
Thea’s fingers itched to close around the Naarvian weapon, to use it to drive Seb Barlowe into the ground so he never got back up.
But a glance at the sun creeping lower to the horizon told her that the real battle was nearly upon them, and bastard or not, Seb was one more soldier in their arsenal against a much greater threat.
Thea squared her shoulders and slowly pushed Wilder’s sword away. ‘I don’t need that,’ she said, raising her fists.
Surprise and approval flickered in Wilder’s gaze, and he sheathed his sword.
Seb’s nostrils flared. He didn’t lower his weapon. Instead, he gave a cry of outrage – a rookie mistake – before he lurched towards Thea, blade swinging.
But Thea had fought far worse opponents than the likes of him. She became the wind, her form blurring as she ducked and dodged Seb’s powerful strikes. He didn’t mean to humiliate her; he didn’t mean to put her in her place.
He meant to maim. To kill.
Unarmed by choice, Thea swept under his blows, pivoted around the bold thrusts of his sword.
She could have been playing Dancing Alchemists back at Thezmarr for all the fear she felt.
None. Just a thrill as the slash of the blade didn’t land, as Seb’s face grew redder and redder with his failed efforts.
‘Fight back, you bitch,’ he grunted, eyes wild with rage.
‘As you wish,’ Thea replied.
He didn’t see her fist coming.
One perfectly placed jab, her knuckles colliding with the bridge of his nose, a satisfying crack sounding.
A garbled noise escaped Seb as he staggered, dropping his sword to clutch his face, blood streaming.
Thea surveyed him dispassionately. ‘That shouldn’t stop you fighting. You’re needed in the battle.’
Spluttering, Seb lunged for his sword.
Only to have Wilder kick it out of reach.
The Warsword looked down on the pitiful sight and grabbed a fistful of the Guardian’s shirt, lifting him bodily from the ground.
‘When this skirmish is done, I’ll see to it that you don’t step foot back in Thezmarr,’ he growled. ‘Your days there are over.’
Seb’s legs kicked out in the air, his hand clawing at Wilder’s grip.
But Wilder held firm. ‘I dare you to lay another finger on my brother,’ he said, his voice deadly calm, in stark contrast to the violence of his actions and the threat gleaming in his eyes.
‘Your brother…?’ Seb faltered. ‘I didn’t know —’
‘Now you do.’ And Wilder flung Seb across the camp with his Furies-given strength, sending him sprawling in the mud with a loud slap.
That shattered the silence around the camp, the men breaking out into hushed whispers. No one tried to help the Guardian up.
Thea turned on her heel, already walking away, back towards the castle. She’d seen enough here.
Wilder was at her side in a matter of quick strides. ‘You… you did well,’ he told her, his words choked.
‘Did I?’
‘You controlled your temper, for once.’
‘Then I did better than you,’ she quipped.
Wilder huffed. ‘That was me controlling my temper.’
A smile tugged at Thea’s mouth. ‘I told him when I next fought him, he wouldn’t get back up,’ she said. ‘But I figured killing off our own warriors before a battle was probably a misstep.’
‘Very wise.’
‘That’s me.’ She rubbed her thumb over her tender knuckles. ‘Do you think Vernich will really give him up?’
‘He’d better.’
Thea sighed, knowing things were never that simple. ‘Seb’s got ties with the guild. An uncle, Cal told us.’
‘I don’t give a shit. He’s as good as gone.’
Thea huffed a laugh. ‘If you say so.’
When they reached the castle, Wren was waiting for Thea in the hall, her face a mixture of fear and excitement, her eyes trained on the rulers seated at a table on the dais.
‘What is it?’ Thea asked with trepidation. Usually when her sister wore an expression like that, it meant bad news for her.
Sure enough, Wren turned to her eagerly. ‘Thee…’ she said under her breath, staring at the kings and queen in awe. ‘If there were ever a time to announce yourself —’
‘Wren…’ Thea warned, glancing up at Wilder for backup, but he raised his hands in surrender and took a step back. She shot him a glare, but Wren was too impassioned to notice.
‘If there were ever a time to announce yourself as heir of Delmira, now would be it. In front of the existing rulers. It’s possible that they already sense your – our – magic…’
Thea touched her fate stone. ‘Not mine,’ she said, jaw clenching. ‘Please don’t do this now. The last thing anyone needs on the precipice of battle is another crown thrown into the ring.’
‘But Thea —’
‘Wren, why don’t you be the heir, then? I want to be a Warsword. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.’
‘It’s not always about what we want, Thee.’
‘Not always,’ she replied. ‘But this is. And I will be a Warsword before my time is done.’
Wren sighed. ‘I’m going to the Veil,’ she said quietly.
A fist closed over Thea’s heart and squeezed. ‘You’re what?’
‘Going to the Veil. When the battle starts and the enemy is engaged, Farissa and I will be rowed out to the Veil, where we’ll attempt to patch that tear.’
‘Not a chance,’ Thea hissed.
Her sister met her angry glare with one of her own. ‘Try and stop me,’ Wren challenged.
‘Wren, you’re not trained for battle. You’re not —’
‘I know I’m not. I am trained for something else entirely. Alchemy. Fixing the Veil is alchemy, Thea. Farissa and I are the only ones skilled enough to attempt it.’
‘But —’
‘Tell me, sister: why are your ambitions more important? More worthy?’
It was the age-old argument they’d always had. ‘I’m not saying that —’
‘Then you’ll watch me go, and do so with pride in your heart. As I do every time you go off to slay a monster.’
Thea faltered. And Wren took the advantage.
‘For so long you wanted to walk your own path… Let me walk mine.’
‘She has a point,’ Wilder’s voice sounded.
Thea whipped around. ‘So now you’re speaking?’
Wilder shrugged. ‘We all have a part to play.’
Thea turned back to her sister and saw victory in her eyes, though it did nothing to ease the tightness in her chest. For Wren to leave in the heart of a battle and go to the one place that might prove even more dangerous…
‘I don’t know if I can bear it,’ she croaked, gripping her sister’s hands.
Wren smiled and squeezed her fingers reassuringly. ‘You can. And you will.’ She winked, and patted the satchel hanging at her side. ‘Besides… I’m not without my own defences.’
Thea forced herself to take a breath, knowing the decision had already been made. ‘Then I pity whoever stands against you, man or monster.’
Wren wrapped her arms around her, and Thea held on to her sister, burying her face in Wren’s neck and steeling herself against the tears that threatened to spill.
‘Be safe,’ Wren murmured into her hair before pulling back.
‘And you,’ Thea told her, and watched her go.