Chapter Three #2
Wilder’s nostrils flared at the disrespect, but no one knew him here, and he wore no Warsword totem on his right arm. He was a nobody, and the man was just a drunk.
‘What you staring at?’ the man slurred, attempting to poke Wilder’s chest.
A drunk who didn’t know when to shut up.
Wilder snatched his finger in a bone-breaking grip.
‘I’m in no mood for horseshit like this tonight,’ he growled.
‘And it’s been a while since I broke a man’s nose.
I’m feeling that inclination more furiously all of a sudden.
’ His fingers itched for violence. It would offer an outlet for all that raged within him, and the prick deserved it, his eyes now bulging at Wilder.
‘Your drink, sir,’ the barkeep called with perfect timing.
Wilder dropped the patron’s finger and slid a coin across the countertop, nodding his thanks and turning back to the rest of the inn. Ignoring the spluttering apologies of the man, he glanced around until he spotted who he was looking for, and approached her table at the far end of the bar.
‘How long have you been here?’ he asked, voice low as he slid into the booth opposite the beautiful woman with long blonde hair.
The general of the fallen kingdom of Naarva’s guerrilla forces gave a pointed look to the several empty tankards in front of her. ‘A while.’
Wilder huffed a bitter laugh. ‘Glad you’ve been staying out of the cold and drinking your fill.’
‘Someone’s got to do their part for the midrealms,’ she replied, draining the last of her current drink and raising a single brow, amused. ‘No wine tonight?’
Wilder gave the filthy, raucous tavern a pointed look. ‘Read the room.’
This only seemed to amuse her. ‘You’re even moodier than I remember, Hawthorne.’
‘There’s a lot to be moody about these days, Adrienne,’ he retorted, tossing back his drink and reaching for the jug between them.
‘A lot to be grateful for as well, I’d say. Reunions with old friends, for one.’ She bumped her tankard against his.
‘We were hardly friends,’ he said flatly.
Adrienne laughed. ‘I was being polite, you sour bastard.’
‘Don’t remember you being that polite, either.’
She sat back and studied him. ‘Glad to know some things don’t change.’
Wilder shook his head. ‘What news do you have?’
‘You want the good or the bad?’
‘I didn’t realise there would be any good,’ he said gruffly.
‘The good news is that with Notos still rebuilding and recovering after the battle, there has been little to no talk among the rulers or remaining Warswords of hunting down supposed heirs to fallen kingdoms. The common folk have too many mouths to feed and are too busy boarding up their houses against howlers to go bounty hunting. Any talk of heirs that occurred before Tver almost fell to the reapers has died down… for now.’
‘And the bad news?’
‘Everything else.’
‘Care to be more specific?’ Wilder growled.
‘You’ve been travelling the same lands as I have, Hawthorne.
You’ve seen the darkening of the midrealms, same as me,’ she replied.
‘We’ve lost count of the tears in the Veil now.
Monsters of all kinds are creeping through, being found in the most unlikely of places, as though they’re being planted there… ’
‘ When the skies are blackened, in the end of days… The Veil will fall. The tide will turn when her blade is drawn… ’ Wilder murmured.
Adrienne passed a hand over her face with a grimace. ‘ A dawn of fire and blood ,’ she finished. ‘The prophecy is a fucking plague in itself.’
‘Something we agree on,’ Wilder replied.
‘I’m glad to hear it, because you won’t like what I ask next…’
Wilder nearly groaned. ‘Then don’t ask —’
‘How did it go with your storm wielder?’
He tensed, his grip tightening around his tankard. ‘She’s not mine.’
Adrienne rolled her eyes. ‘Could’ve fooled me, Warsword.’
‘I’m not a Warsword either. Not anymore.’
Adrienne simply waited, her arms folded over her chest expectantly. Wilder almost laughed. She hadn’t put up with his shit years ago either.
‘We’ve got a problem,’ he admitted.
‘Oh?’
Wilder glanced around the inn for prying eyes and eager ears. ‘It was as I suspected.’
‘You know this how?’
‘According to her friend, Thea hasn’t used her magic, not in a long while.’
Adrienne’s brows shot up. ‘How long’s a while?’
‘He didn’t say. But he seemed concerned.’ He loosed a breath. ‘ I’m concerned.’
Adrienne scanned the bar as well before lowering her voice. ‘Her magic is important. We’re going to need it in the war ahead.’
Wilder suppressed the urge to shift in his seat. The general didn’t know the half of it, didn’t know about the fate stone that hung between Thea’s breasts, her life ticking away before her eyes. But that was her secret, and Wilder would guard it with his life.
‘It’s not just her magic that’s important,’ he said instead. ‘It’s her. All of her.’
Adrienne scrutinised him. ‘Wasn’t she able to summon storms when she was with you?’
Wilder heaved a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘That was before.’
‘Before what?’
‘Before I betrayed her.’
Adrienne’s expression softened, and she reached across the table, covering his hand with hers. ‘That doesn’t mean all hope is lost.’
Wilder pulled his hands back sharply, out of her grasp. It had been a long time since anyone had offered him any sort of comfort or empathy. He didn’t deserve it.
But the general didn’t seem fazed. Instead, she pinned him with a determined gaze.
She was relentless. ‘Thea needs her magic, Hawthorne. She needs you. We all do.’ Adrienne sat back once more and topped up his tankard with the last of the ale.
‘It’s not like you to give up. Anya and the prince wouldn’t want —’
‘He’s not my prince.’
Wilder ran his fingers through his hair and rolled his shoulders, hoping to ease some of the tension that felt like solid stone down his back.
There was no relief to be had. He’d left Thea’s name day gift by her sleeping form, but upon recalling the sound of her discovering it, he suddenly doubted she would see it for what it truly was…
And if that was the case, what then? What else would be at stake? Her call to the Great Rite? Her life?
He glanced up to find Adrienne still watching him, always calculating.
‘Whatever’s going on in that head of yours, you’re asking yourself all the wrong questions,’ she said bluntly. ‘Instead of the only one that matters.’
Wilder’s jaw clenched involuntarily. ‘And what’s that, then?’
‘What are you going to do about it?’
Her words found their mark, sinking deep into him and fanning those embers within. He drained the tankard and got to his feet.
‘Meet me on the northern side of the mountain,’ he said.
‘And where are you going?’
Wilder met her gaze, hard and determined. ‘To get us a damn storm wielder.’