Chapter Eight #2
They walked through the tunnel in silence while Wilder waited for her questions to come.
He knew she was turning things over in her mind, putting the pieces of the puzzle together – the messages from Dratos, how he’d corrected her on the cliffs of Thezmarr when she’d called the shadow-touched man caught in the vine blight it instead of he .
How he’d put King Artos’ prisoners out of their misery and prevented another from being questioned by Torj.
And then the cage of shadow-touched people in Tver… She would see. She had to.
‘But it didn’t all start with Talemir…’ Thea said slowly.
Wilder glanced across at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He wasn’t the first half-wraith,’ she ventured.
‘Well, I don’t think we can ever know who was the first .’
‘But we know there was at least one before him.’
The realisation barrelled into Wilder like a wave. ‘Anya.’
A muscle in Thea’s jaw tensed. ‘Anya.’
‘I didn’t know…’ Wilder heard himself saying. ‘I didn’t know who she was to you.’
‘Who she is to me hardly matters. It’s who she is to the midrealms that will count. They were right about the Embervales… Power-hungry, shadow-wielding royals…’
‘That’s not —’
‘Then what is it?’ she challenged.
Wilder shook his head. ‘The shadow-touched are innocent. And there are forces out there taking them, torturing them… Murdering children.’
‘Children?’ Thea scoffed. ‘The only one I’ve seen torturing anyone is Anya. I’ve seen her camps. I’ve heard the screams. She’s the monster.’
‘It’s not Anya.’
‘If not the Daughter of Darkness, then who?’
‘It’s Artos, Thea.’
A beat of silence pulsed between them before Thea burst into a dark laugh. ‘Of course you think the man who has called for your capture is the enemy.’
Wilder had to stop himself throwing his hands up in exasperation. ‘ Artos is responsible for the blight upon the midrealms. He’s the one letting the reapers and monsters through the Veil.’
‘What a load of horseshit.’
She charged ahead, as though she couldn’t stand his presence a moment longer, and for a minute, Wilder stared after her.
‘Where did you go, Thea?’ he whispered into the dark.
A cold knot of dread settled in Wilder’s gut as he led Thea through the mountain passageway.
He had known, deep down, that it would take more than words to sway her.
He’d broken something between them, something he wasn’t sure he could mend.
It was this crack in their foundation that was blinding her to the truth.
He would have to find a way to show her, to pull her from the darkness into the light.
The silence between them was festering. She hadn’t said a word in – what, an hour? He simply couldn’t – wouldn’t – bear it any longer. He turned to her, ready to implore her, ready to —
Even in the torchlight he could see that her face was colourless.
Her whole body was wracked with tremors.
He thought he had slowed the pace, but in reality… She was barely shuffling beside him.
‘Thea?’
She didn’t look at him, her expression unchanged, like she hadn’t even heard him.
He reached across, his hand closing over her arm. Her cloak was wet and freezing cold.
‘Fuck,’ he muttered, drawing her to a stop and scanning her face.
Her lips were blue.
‘Furies save me, why didn’t you say something?’ He patted her clothing, finding it all soaked. Had it been like that since he’d brought down the entrance to the cave? Panic seized his chest in a tight fist as she stared at him with a vacant expression, her teeth barely chattering any more.
‘Thea…’ He uttered her name in a plea. ‘We’ve got to get you warm.’
Wilder tried to shut down his fear for her as he surveyed the desolate cave floor for something he could use as fuel for a fire.
There was hardly anything. A few twigs and leaves that had been blown in by the wind at some point, and gathering them would be a challenge with his wrists bound in chains. But he wouldn’t let her freeze.
Torches. There had to be more torches lining the walls. That was how the tunnels were set up, so that if an entire unit passed through, they could illuminate the whole passageway.
Thea didn’t protest as he sat her down on a nearby rock. That fact alone was concerning enough. It spurred Wilder into action. He raced down the tunnel, scouring the walls for sconces and unlit torches, snatching up any he could find. But he couldn’t leave Thea alone for too long.
When he returned, she was rocking where she sat, her gaze distant.
‘Gods,’ Wilder muttered, throwing the torches to the ground and making quick work of layering the kindling he’d gathered. He cursed his manacles for slowing his movements before touching his lit torch to the pile. It wasn’t the blazing fire she needed, but it was better than nothing.
Wilder gathered her in his arms and placed her by the flames, holding her hands to the heat for her.
He waited a few moments, but her state remained unchanged.
‘It’s these fucking clothes,’ he said, rubbing the end of one sodden sleeve between his fingers. He ran a hand through his hair, manacles clanking. ‘As if you didn’t hate me enough already…’
He reached for the buttons of her cloak.
‘I have to get these off,’ he told her, though he doubted his words even registered at this point.
‘We have to get you warm. Now. Tell me this is okay,’ he pleaded.
If he didn’t do this, there was a real chance that she would die.
He’d seen it happen countless times before.
He knew she’d argue that there was no way she could die, because of the fate stone that hung around her neck, but Wilder refused to risk her life based on some superstitious gem.
She didn’t argue, didn’t bat his hands away, but that wasn’t enough, not for him.
‘Thea, tell me you understand. Tell me I have permission to take these wet clothes off. Please. Your life is at stake.’
He waited, growing more panicked by the second.
Until a rattling wheeze sounded. ‘I understand,’ she croaked, her eyes now closed. ‘Take them.’
He had her permission, her consent, but it didn’t stop the regret weighing down every movement as he pushed her cloak from her shoulders and started on the laces of her shirt.
Of all the ways he’d imagined undressing Thea for the first time after everything…
this hadn’t been one. He tried to avert his gaze where he could, but there was no missing the weight she’d lost in the last year, how much of her softness had hardened. And scars. So many new scars.
There was a soft thud as a tattered pack of cards tumbled from one of her pockets.
Thea didn’t play cards. Not that he knew of.
He caught a glimpse of the text on one card, which was barely legible: strong of mind, strong of body, strong of heart .
The words sent a shiver down his spine. There was something strangely familiar about them, something that made the hair at his nape stand on end.
But with Enovius, the god of death, waiting in the wings for Thea, a deck of cards was the least of Wilder’s concerns.
Finding the key to his manacles in one of her pockets, he undid his irons and spread his cloak down on the cave floor.
Then, he removed his own clothing. Leaving only his undershorts on, he created a bed of insulation with his still-warm layers.
Laying Thea down, facing the fire, he settled behind her, wincing as her icy skin pressed against him.
But he would give her all his warmth, everything he had in a heartbeat.
Ignoring the damp press of her undergarments, he wrapped himself around her and covered them with his cloak, willing the heat of his body to soak into her.
He clung to her, pulling her as close as possible. ‘I wish we had stayed in those hot springs in the forest,’ he told her, pressing a kiss to her hair. ‘I wish that every day.’
Thea didn’t reply.