Chapter Thirteen
WILDER
A s they rode towards the capital, Wilder couldn’t blame Thea.
It had taken him years to accept what he now knew about the shadow-touched folk, years to pull the pieces into place about what had been transpiring in the midrealms for all this time.
But what he could not accept was that Thea didn’t believe him .
He had thought they were stronger than that, that she understood what he felt for her, that it was more powerful than any darkness descending upon them.
But he also knew the power of the guild, the sense of duty that came with being anointed a Guardian of the midrealms, let alone one who wished to undertake the Great Rite. And that was all she had ever wanted, until him.
He’d broken her trust and then underestimated how hard it would be to forge it anew.
He could sense her resolve wavering, could practically hear the questions on the tip of her tongue, and although he wanted to keep talking, keep explaining, he knew that time had passed. Thea needed to see it for herself.
As they rocked in the saddle together, drawing closer and closer to the city, her voice echoed in his mind.
I hate you.
Her words had said one thing, but her body had said another.
His Thea was somewhere in there. There was hope yet.
It wasn’t long before they were passing through the outer villages of Vios.
They always reminded him of his hometown, Kilgrave, with buildings made of stone and timber, their roofs heavy with snow.
The streets were narrow and winding, not quite built to accommodate a royal carriage and a Thezmarrian escort, but the company made do.
The deeper into the capital they got, the more shops and stalls spilt out into the streets, selling all manner of goods, from warm fur hats and gloves to steaming cups of spiced wine.
The aroma of meat roasting on spits wafted through the crisp air, and the sound of laughter and music drifted from the taverns that lined the side alleys.
There was a sense of celebration so poignant it was hard to reconcile that only a few hours ago, the road they were on had been doused in shadow and violence. It was surreal.
In front of him, Thea took it all in, her attention lingering on a quartet of performers juggling flaming torches on the street corner.
Though Wilder couldn’t see her face, he recognised the tension in her shoulders.
She knew it wasn’t right to be walking amid such festivities when the midrealms were on the brink of destruction.
All the same, she urged Biscuit forward through the crowds.
Who was this woman? Where was the Thea who questioned everything?
The young shieldbearer and then Guardian who had challenged him at every turn? Where was she?
As though sensing the source of his anguish, Thea shifted slightly in the saddle, her focus trained all too hard on the heart of the city ahead.
Vios was nestled in a valley on the banks of a glacier-fed river, overlooking the frozen lake.
The palace was traditional only in name, consisting of three floating domes that hovered above the ground, bathed in a wintry, ethereal glow.
It was Wilder’s favourite of the three remaining kingdoms of the midrealms, and as such, he’d spent a lot of time here, particularly in his younger days, always captivated by the magic of the domes.
The first was adorned with intricate crystals of ice, housing Aveum’s library and renowned university.
The second, resplendent in swirling mist, housed the royal family, along with the throne and ballrooms. Wilder had never entered the third, but it was known as the arts centre of the kingdom, housing a famous opera theatre in which the Aveum orchestra often performed.
Wilder wondered if it would still be standing at the end of all this.
Before he knew it, their company had reached the official gates to the inner city, halting as a unit of mounted guards approached, dressed in Harenth’s colours, not Aveum’s.
‘Princess Jasira?’ Wilder recognised the leader who greeted their party, his brow furrowed in confusion at the sight of Thezmarrians rather than his own men.
The princess pulled back the curtain and peered out. ‘I’m glad to see you, Captain Barker,’ she said. The relief on her face was plain.
‘Trouble on the road, Highness?’ Barker asked, looking concerned.
‘A conversation for behind closed doors,’ Thea interjected, urging the stallion forward to position herself between the guard and the princess.
Wilder wasn’t surprised to see the whole unit bow their heads in deference to the woman seated before him, some of them even touching three fingers to their shoulders in respect, as though she were already a Warsword.
It wasn’t the first time he’d seen soldiers of the midrealms offer Thea such a tribute. She’d saved many lives in Tver.
‘Of course, Guardian Zoltaire,’ Captain Barker said, before his eyes widened at the sight of Wilder at her back.
Wilder noticed the bob of his throat and the paling of his complexion before he cleared his throat.
‘We’ll escort Princess Jasira to her father right away.
’ He addressed the princess next. ‘His Majesty was worried sick about your delay.’
‘He will be put at ease soon enough, Captain. Thanks to Thea and her companions here.’ Princess Jasira scanned the three Guardians. ‘This debt will not be forgotten. My father shall know of my saviours.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ Cal said. ‘You are safe, and that’s all that matters to us.’
The princess rewarded him with a warm smile. ‘All the same.’ Then she turned to Thea. ‘I will send for you when everyone is settled.’
‘Of course, Your Highness.’ Thea bowed her head.
The guards of Harenth surrounded the carriage and escorted the princess through the royal gates.
Wilder had the distant realisation that Thea should have been escorted through alongside her, as a fellow royal of the midrealms. And yet she shared his saddle, covered in wraith blood just as he was, clad in armour and weapons, the echo of violence still singing at her fingertips.
Cal and Kipp looked to her with reproach.
‘Let’s find somewhere to talk,’ Kipp suggested. ‘Before we go in…’
To Wilder’s surprise, Thea nodded, guiding Biscuit after the two men.
They found themselves at the noblemen’s stables and Wilder reluctantly removed his arms from around Thea, letting her dismount, his front suddenly cold without the press of her body against his.
He leapt down from Biscuit’s back and eyed the trio warily. But Cal and Kipp pulled Thea aside, into an empty stall. They weren’t out of earshot, though. Cal’s voice was clear.
‘I don’t like this. Something doesn’t feel right.’
Kipp made a noise of agreement. ‘You can’t deny it, Thea. He’s acted like anything but a fallen Warsword.’
Ah, so they were to decide his fate in the stables, a mere few feet away from the halls of Vios where his judges awaited.
‘We know he lied, Thea,’ Cal pressed. ‘We know he hurt you and betrayed the midrealms during the battle of Tver, but…’
‘But what?’ Thea bit back. ‘We’ve gotten him this far. Justice awaits beyond those walls —’
‘Are you sure?’ Cal asked.
Kipp chimed in, ‘We have to question what’s happening when everything points to something strange beneath the surface. You know what his fate could be.’
Wilder listened intently. It was a conversation he’d had both with others and himself throughout his years of service to the midrealms. What was blind loyalty? What was duty amid a system of corruption?
‘But it’s all just words,’ Thea murmured. ‘This is what he did before…’ Her voice wavered. ‘He wears many faces, masks that we have all fallen for at one time or another. He made me fall once… I won’t do so again. He can’t be trusted.’
Wilder’s heart ached, but he remained rooted to the ground.
‘Is that what you truly believe?’ Kipp asked quietly.
‘I…’ Thea drew a strained breath, and for the first time Wilder heard the fear, the uncertainty in her voice. ‘I don’t know what to believe anymore.’
All reason left him. All he knew was that were he to face whatever came next, he would not regret one last moment with her. Wilder didn’t even realise he was moving, but in an instant he stood at the stall’s gate, his heart thundering.
Cal and Kipp startled, before glancing between him and Thea and exchanging a look. Silence stretched between them all. Then, without a word, the Guardians left to tend to their horses, leaving Wilder and Thea alone.
‘If you need something to believe,’ he said, his blood heating as he closed the gap between them and hauled her body to his, ‘then believe this.’
He kissed her.
It was the kiss he’d been dying to give her, the kiss that fractured every doubt between them and reforged the cracks with something golden. She tasted just as he remembered, like hope and salvation, like home and his .
Thea’s mouth opened for him, her hands closing around the back of his neck as his tongue brushed hers. Her lips were warm and lush against his own, her body melting into his, sending bolts of longing straight to his hard, aching cock.
He devoured her, his urgency dark, frenzied and unchecked as his hands roved across her curves, curves he’d dreamt of worshipping again for so long.
Her body answered his kiss in kind, grinding against him, seeking that all-consuming friction between them. Her palms drifted down across the broad expanse of his chest, and she moaned against his lips, the sound nearly undoing him where he stood.
White-hot need blazed through him and everything else fell away but for the woman growing molten beneath his touch. She met every sweep of his tongue, every scrape of his teeth with her own, only harder and fiercer.
‘Thea…’ he murmured, unable to stand the feverishness of his own skin, needing to rid them of the layers between them —
She broke their kiss, panting, pulling back from him with one hand clutching the leather string that held both her fate stone and the key to his irons. Her eyes were lined with tears.
‘I can’t…’ Her voice broke then, along with Wilder’s heart.
It took all his Furies-given strength not to fall to his knees. ‘For whatever it’s worth,’ he told her hoarsely, ‘I’ll never stop being yours.’
‘Wilder, I —’
But her words were cut off by the distinct rattling of armour, and within moments, the Aveum Kingsguard darkened the doorway of the stall.
‘Guardian Zoltaire,’ the commander addressed Thea, bowing his head in respect. ‘We were informed of your arrival, and your great victory in capturing the fugitive, Wilder Hawthorne.’
He looked momentarily perturbed by the single set of manacles around Wilder’s wrists, but he gave a firm nod to his men. Half a dozen guards surged forward, roughly taking Wilder into custody.
Irons were clamped around his ankles. Thick, alchemy-treated chains were fastened around his torso, trapping his arms at his sides. As each link locked in place, Wilder felt more and more of his strength dampening. Wren had shared her concoction with the rulers, it seemed.
Thea watched on, not wiping the expression of horror from her face.
‘Worry not, Guardian Zoltaire,’ the commander reassured her. ‘There’s no escaping justice for him this time. We’ll take it from here.’
She schooled her features into something that resembled indifference and gave the man a nod.
‘You’re invited to meet with the rulers in the throne room,’ he added, before shoving Wilder towards the door.
Even with his strength diminished, it took all six men to escort him away from Thea. For the first time since they’d found one another again, she looked unsure.
Good , he thought. Then this was all worth it.
He lifted his chin as they led him not to the rulers of the midrealms, but to the ice dungeons deep below the frozen earth. There was to be no trial, no reckoning today.
As he was forced into a freezing cell and the icy air hit his lungs, Wilder closed his eyes. He had done all he could.
It was up to Thea now.