Chapter Three
WILDER
W ilder Hawthorne slipped back through the frozen forest like a ghost.
Forcing one foot in front of the other, he left Thea behind, an ache settling deep in his chest. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from watching her sleep, just for a few moments.
She’d been bundled in layers of furs and blankets against the icy night, so he had only glimpsed her face.
He had seen her sleeping countless times before, but what had struck him in the soft glow of her tent was that she looked different.
It had been a year. An entire year since he’d looked upon her closely.
Now, he noticed, the lines of her face didn’t soften in slumber, but somehow seemed sharper, as though she carried the anger of her waking hours into her dreams.
There was a time when Wilder would have slept beside her, held her in his arms until her body melted against his and her nightmares were kept at bay… but those days were long gone.
Snow crunched in front of him suddenly. Wilder’s hand flew to his sword —
Kipp held his hands up in surrender, his auburn hair flopping into his eyes. ‘I know you could kill me before I draw another breath.’
Wilder scanned the Guardian for weapons. Slowly, he removed his hand from the grip of his blade. ‘Don’t raise the alarm.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ Kipp replied, his long arms falling to his sides. ‘Did Thea see you?’
Wilder stiffened at the sound of her name on the lips of another. ‘No.’
‘So why the midnight visit?’
‘I had something important to give her.’
‘A traitor bearing name day gifts, how lovely,’ Kipp retorted.
Wilder bit back a growl. ‘There’s more to this than what you see.’
‘I should fucking hope so,’ the Guardian said boldly. ‘I wouldn’t have let you get into camp otherwise.’
Wilder swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘How is she?’
‘She wouldn’t want me talking to you, let alone about her.’
‘You’re loyal,’ Wilder observed. ‘Good. I’m glad she has that in her life.’
Kipp crossed his arms. ‘No thanks to you.’
‘No thanks to me,’ Wilder conceded, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Something unreadable flickered across Kipp’s face as he seemed to war with himself. Which meant now was the moment.
‘Why hasn’t she used her magic?’ Wilder asked bluntly. There was no way to sugar-coat it.
Kipp glanced back in the direction of the camp. ‘Who says she hasn’t?’
Wilder hesitated. When they’d been together, he’d been able to feel Thea’s power.
The hum of it called to him like a song across the seas…
but he hadn’t felt it for a long while now.
At first, he’d assumed it was because their connection had severed over the year of separation.
But the lines of worry gracing Kipp’s face now confirmed what he’d started to suspect, what he feared…
‘It’s gone?’ he asked.
‘Hawthorne, I can’t tell you —’
Wilder drew a sharp breath. ‘You just did.’
Kipp shook his head, looking lost. ‘She won’t talk about it, but —’ His expression twisted. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you anything.’
‘Why are you?’ Wilder asked.
‘Because I don’t believe everything they say about you… Perhaps that makes me a fool.’
‘Perhaps it does.’
Kipp kicked the snow. ‘I’m far too clever to be a fool.’
‘So I’ve heard. And your friends?’ Wilder pressed.
‘Cal’s following Torj’s orders. Thea’s too hurt to see that this is much bigger than you.’ His light tone changed to something sharper. ‘ You hurt her…’
Wilder didn’t respond. Neither man moved, the air growing colder around them by the second.
In the near distance, a shout pierced the night.
Thea had found his gift, it seemed. He had to get out of there, had to get back to his horse and on the road.
News of his findings needed to reach the right people, at the right time.
But Kipp was still staring at him, neither calling out to the others nor moving from his path. ‘You’re bleeding,’ the Guardian told him at last.
‘What?’
‘Your nose.’
Wilder’s brow furrowed as he lifted a hand to his nose, his gloved fingers coming away coated in red.
‘Here,’ Kipp said, holding out a kerchief.
Wilder accepted the scrap of fabric, blotting the blood from his face and cursing the lone howler that’d managed to get a blow in just before he’d been carved in two. Wilder made to pass the material back to Kipp, but the young man shook his head and finally stepped aside.
‘Keep it.’
‘A favour from the Son of the Fox?’ Wilder raised a brow. ‘I’m flattered.’
‘So you should be. You’ll be needing it before long, Warsword.’
Hearing the increased commotion from the camp, Wilder had no choice but to give Kipp a nod of thanks and push past him. There, he left his hunters to face the frostbitten dawn ahead.
The secret underground tunnels were hardly warmer than the icy climate of Aveum, but at least Wilder was out of the wind.
With his stallion, Biscuit, in tow, he travelled far, navigating the twists and turns of the passageways with ease.
It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d needed to utilise the network beneath the midrealms, and he’d wager it certainly wouldn’t be the last. He could do so just as well without the blazing torch he held before him, but after so much darkness, he had hoped the flames might offer a touch of comfort in the deep night.
They didn’t.
Thea had lost her magic.
There was no more lightning at her fingertips, no thunder in her heart. Wilder couldn’t imagine her without the chaos of magic in her celadon gaze, and yet, he knew it was true. He could sense its absence.
There was one less storm wielder in the wretched world, and it was a loss that would shape the war to come.
The weight that had been sitting on his chest like a boulder intensified at the thought of all the plans in motion, all the moving parts of the rebellion happening in the shadows, and how he was now a part of it.
Whether she liked it or not, Thea was too.
She had been since the very beginning, which made it all the more vital that he got to his destination.
Wilder kept guiding his horse through the passage.
The torchlight flickered, illuminating the rough-hewn walls and ceiling carved from the stone, a path travelled by many fugitives and misfits before him.
Around him, the air was damp and musty, an earthy scent permeating the passage.
The only sound was the soft nickering from Biscuit as they moved across the uneven terrain. It gave Wilder too much time to think.
He had been content once, slaying monsters across the midrealms and answering to no one. But now he mourned a different taste of life. True happiness had found him for a brief pocket of time.
Flashes of memory assaulted him, snatching the air from his lungs.
In the grand rooms of the Hailford palace, Thea, quaking beneath his touch. ‘I’ve got you,’ he whispered into her hair, holding her tight to his chest as a sob escaped her.
‘And I’ve got you,’ she said… lowering herself onto the length of him.
The hot springs on the outskirts of Notos, and Thea breathing hard before him. ‘A woman can do all of that?’
‘Not any woman. There is only one. There has only ever been one.’
Thea tracing the contours of his face, her lips teasing his. ‘Remind me that we’re alive. Promise me that as long as we’re together, and our friends are unharmed, that’s all that truly matters.’
Wilder rubbed at the ache in his chest. It had always been temporary. He’d known that from the start, but the knowledge hadn’t made it hurt any less. Fate was fickle like that.
Shaking the thoughts from his head, he turned another corner, willing the journey to be over soon.
He wanted to warm his feet by the fire, remove his ill-fitting armour and taste some decent wine, perhaps enough to forget for an hour or so.
He might even be spared a moment or two to write to Malik, as he had done every month over the past year.
Though, without Thea there to read to him, he wasn’t sure if Malik would understand his messages, and he’d had no replies.
Probably just as well. The last thing he wanted was to get his older brother caught up in his mess.
He’d done enough damage in that department as it was.
Hours passed, and at long last the terrain inclined, eventually leading to the surface, where a small inn and stables waited on the edge of the great frozen lake.
Tethering Biscuit to a post outside, Wilder pulled his hood up around his face and entered the inn, the door swinging closed loudly behind him.
Warmth from the roaring hearthfire wrapped around him like a welcome heavy blanket.
It was a rundown old place that only travellers and fugitives frequented – a stopover point between real destinations, a location most Aveum folk would happily avoid.
It suited Wilder perfectly. But as he entered, he realised it was much busier than usual, with every booth, every table full.
It was the fucking eclipse. People from all over the midrealms were flocking to the winter kingdom to bear witness to its greatness, hoping it would offer a glimpse of the Furies’ intentions of fighting against the impending darkness.
There was so much excitement and celebration that even the shithole inns in the middle of nowhere were fully booked.
Suddenly wary, Wilder knocked the snow from his boots on the doorframe and entered the bar, keeping his hood up, already on edge.
But no one paid him any heed. Here, he was just another patron looking to drink away the fear of darkness and find a warm body for the night.
That much was consistent about humanity, at least. Even in the face of death and destruction, they always turned to the same comforts and vices.
Pushing his way to the bar, he signalled to the man behind the counter, just as someone shoved into his side.
‘Watch where you’re standing,’ a ruddy-faced traveller barked at him.