Chapter Forty-four
THEA
T hea’s heart threatened to burst from her chest. Whatever was happening was wrong, incredibly wrong. Why was Artos’ army camped on the outskirts of these forests? Why was Torj calling Wilder a traitor again? Where was he?
But she found herself nodding, her instincts kicking in. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.
King Artos pushed Torj aside and pulled her into a long, hard embrace like a long-lost daughter. ‘My dear Althea. How you have triumphed time and time again! I am so proud.’
Thea remembered a distant time where those words would have warmed her heart, the same way in which Artos’ empath ability attempted to breach her exterior now in a bloom of heat.
But Thea was a Warsword now. And she knew him for the treasonous bastard he truly was.
Twice she had saved his wretched life, and the damage he’d done with those chances was reprehensible.
A lesson from long ago came back to her then. ‘The first lesson of being a warrior of Thezmarr,’ Wilder had told her, ‘is this: know that your actions have consequences. Some more than others. And you will carry those with you for the rest of your life. Do you understand me?’
She understood, alright. Artos Fairmoore had taken her gifts of life and spat in the face of all she had once believed. Thea knew she did not have long left in the world, but she would end him before her time was done.
Still, she pasted a smile on her face. ‘All by the grace of your faith in me, sire,’ she said calmly.
Behind Artos, she saw Torj relax. Later , he mouthed.
Artos clapped her on the back before pulling away to look at her again. ‘Jasira is going to be thrilled. You have made history, Althea. Your name will live on throughout the ages – the first woman Warsword since the original Furies themselves.’
‘A victory for the women of the midrealms, Your Majesty,’ Thea told him, pressing a hand over her heart and bowing. ‘Let us hope Thezmarr allows any girl of the three kingdoms to take up arms as a shieldbearer from now on.’
‘Indeed, indeed,’ he said, though his attention seemed to be drawn elsewhere.
‘Forgive me, sire – time is not the same within the Great Rite. Might you tell me… How long since you arrived?’
The king’s face pulled with sympathy. ‘I can only imagine the terrors you faced, my dear. It has been five days since we set up camp here.’
It took all of Thea’s training and willpower to remain impassive. ‘Thank you.’
‘Of course.’
Her stomach churned at the sickly-sweet note in his voice. ‘And what of my prisoner? Has the date for his trial been set?’
King Artos looked surprised. ‘Trial?’ he asked. ‘My dear, after the horrifying events at the Moonfire Eclipse, the rulers decided there will be no trial.’
Thea fought the urge to double over as the wind was knocked out of her. ‘No trial?’ she managed.
‘Absolutely not. He was sent to the Scarlet Tower as soon as we found him.’
Thea did stumble then, her whole body crumbling under the weight of her enemy’s words.
‘What do you know of the Scarlet Tower?’
‘Enough… Enough to know that I, too, would have chosen death.’
It had been one of the earlier conversations she’d shared with Wilder, where he’d been all thorns and arrogance. To think of him there —
‘Sire, might I suggest we allow Warsword Zoltaire to retire?’ Torj interjected, his stoic presence grounding Thea, reminding her to keep it together. ‘The Great Rite… It asks much of its contenders. She will need to recover —’
‘Of course, of course.’ King Artos waved him off before addressing Thea directly. ‘You have our deepest gratitude, Althea. The traitor is where he belongs, thanks to you.’
Thea tensed. ‘You have my word as a Warsword, sire: justice will be served.’
‘Oh, I have no doubt.’ King Artos beamed. ‘You will find appropriate accommodations —’
‘I’m afraid I cannot stay, Your Majesty,’ she cut him off, steeling herself from within.
The king blinked at her. ‘But you must rest! Elderbrock here —’
‘I was advised to make haste to Tver, sire, to capture a stallion. I will need one for the war to come.’
The king looked as though he wanted to argue, but something stopped him. ‘If that is the will of the Furies, then I cannot fault it.’
‘It is, Your Majesty.’ Thea bowed her head.
‘Very well, Althea. Take one of our finest geldings. I insist. Do send word once you have secured your warhorse. The midrealms will have need of you yet.’
‘Of course, sire. I am here to serve.’ Thea dipped her head a final time before leaving the dark king of the midrealms in her wake, silent promises of vengeance on her lips.
First, she found a gelding, saddled and ready. Then, Thea sought Torj.
‘Warsword Elderbrock, perhaps you might tell me the lay of the land for the Tverrian herds?’
Torj nodded, taking her lead and walking well away from the war camp, back to the side of the road, her gelding in tow.
‘What the fuck happened?’ she demanded as soon as they were out of earshot.
‘He was injured —’
‘Injured? He was whole when I left him.’
‘Arachne venom. Rendered him completely incapacitated by the end.’
Thea could hardly breathe. ‘But he’s alive?’
‘He’s alive…’ Torj replied slowly, but the pain on his face told her enough of the fate that awaited her Warsword. ‘By the time Dax came and got me, Artos already had him.’
‘Dax?’
‘He’s how we’ve been communicating between the different groups, and Terrence too. Dax brought me here. But as I said, it was already too late.’
‘That place is every imaginable horror incarnate,’ Wilder had told her and the others aboard The Furies’ Will in another lifetime . ‘A sane man would wish for death before he set foot on that island.’
‘Has anyone ever returned from there?’ Kipp had asked.
‘No,’ Wilder had answered.
Thea couldn’t quell the hammering in her chest, nor the urge to call a storm down on them all as she looked upon the Bear Slayer. ‘You were the one to find him here?’
Torj shook his head. ‘They had already taken him.’ He moved a couple paces before pointing to a wide oak trunk. ‘He’d chained himself there. Must have seen them coming. Made it look like you’d captured him before the Great Rite.’
Thea fought against the sob that rose up in her throat as she crouched before the oak, noting the scuff of bootprints in the dirt. But something else caught her eye.
She shifted closer to the tree, her heart catching at what she saw there, carved into the trunk.
A message just for her.
A lightning bolt.
Grasping the grips of her new sword and Malik’s dagger, the subtle hum of Naarvian steel the only comfort the Furies could offer her, Thea got to her feet. She clung to the thunder rumbling in her chest and the storm magic rushing through her veins as she turned to Torj.
‘Well?’ she prompted, her voice hard as iron.
Torj handed her a pack of supplies and pointed to the road. ‘If you follow this trail till tomorrow’s dawn, you’ll come to a fork in the road. The first path will take you to Tver. There you’ll come upon the valleys where the stallions rule.’
‘And the second path?’
‘It’ll take you west, far west, until you meet the seas.’
Thea nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘I can accompany you —’
Thea shook her head, her course crystal-clear before her. ‘If not at Thezmarr, your place is by the dark king’s side. We need to keep someone close. We will need your intel when the time comes.’
‘And what will you do?’ Torj asked, something wary in his gaze.
‘I’ll do my duty to the midrealms,’ Thea replied, fitting her boot to the stirrup and mounting her horse.
‘Then I wish you well, Warsword.’
‘And you, Bear Slayer,’ she replied, squeezing her gelding’s sides with her heels.
Leaving a spray of snow in her wake, Thea didn’t look back as her horse surged into a canter. She pressed her body close to the gelding’s mane, holding on tight as the icy wind whipped around them. She kept her eyes on the road ahead, eager for tomorrow’s dawn.
As Althea Embervale rode across the midrealms, the passing lands a mere blur, she felt the Furies-given strength in her body and in her heart. She felt the ever-present crackle of storm magic too, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed upon her enemies.
She rode relentlessly through ice and snow. The hours meant nothing to her, only that they were hours that Wilder Hawthorne might be suffering. She tried to keep such thoughts at bay, but there was no stopping them.
The only distraction was the occasional flap of wings from above, where the hawk, Terrence, had appeared, soaring in the moonlight. Thea found a small sense of comfort in his silent presence.
Not soon enough, it seemed, dawn arrived.
A blood-red orb rose on the horizon, spilling wildfire hues across the sky as Thea reached the fork in the road.
A lifetime ago, she had ridden through the valleys of Tver with Wilder at her side.
‘When you pass the Great Rite, you come here immediately… You come to claim your stallion straight away. The horses will sense the Rite on you. They will feel the call of the Furies. Remember that.’
His words reverberated through her like an echo, and she could almost scent him on the wind. She looked to the first fork in the road, where in the distance, the golden hills of Tver and a Warsword stallion of her own awaited her. Thea took a breath.
There are times in life to listen to your mentor , she thought, before turning to the second fork. And there are times to forge your own path.
But as she started down the road that led west to the seas, and beyond that, the isles that housed the Scarlet Tower, a beat of wings sounded.
Thea whirled around, seeing nothing.
The wings sounded again, and this time she realised they were not those of the hawk.
Something much larger blocked out the rising sun.
Shadows and darkness, and a pair of great membranous wings.
The ground shook violently as something – someone – landed before her.
Thea drew her sword, her gelding rearing up in fright.
She managed to stay on, to control the horse with the Furies-given strength of her legs as the shadows faded and a towering figure emerged from the obsidian mist, twin swords of Naarvian steel swinging at his hips, red-and-black wings outstretched at his back.
Thea didn’t lower her sword, but instead, narrowed her eyes as she studied the shadow-touched warrior before her. His dark hair, streaked with silver, was tied up in a knot at the back of his head. Olive skin peeked out from beneath his black armour – Delmirian, if she wasn’t mistaken.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded, noting the wisps of shadows still dancing behind him.
‘Someone who cares for Wilder as much as you do.’ A determined gleam shone in the stranger’s hazel eyes.
Thea twirled her blade, her gaze narrowing in suspicion. ‘Is that so?’
‘I’m the one they call the Shadow Prince,’ he told her, his dark power thrumming in emphasis.
Thea blanched. This was who her friends had spoken of? This was the man who was meant to be guarding the most valuable asset in Naarva?
Thea dropped down from her horse and took a dazed step towards the huge man before her.
‘What are you doing on these roads?’ he asked, yet to draw his weapon, but poised for battle nonetheless.
‘I’m going to the Scarlet Tower. I’m going to save Wilder,’ Thea replied evenly. ‘And no one’s going to stop me.’
‘Are you sure you’re up for that?’ the shadow-touched prince challenged.
For the first time in her life, Thea let the leash she held on herself fall away, her magic surging forth.
She embraced it with her whole heart. Lightning danced across her skin and travelled the length of her sword, sparking brilliant white bolts to life.
Above her, ominous clouds rolled in, and the crack of thunder echoed across the lands.
She levelled the stranger with a stare. ‘What do you think?’
The winged man gave a wicked smile at the sight of her gathered power. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Because I want to save my apprentice, and I can’t do it alone.’
Thea blinked, again noting the dual swords and a Warsword totem strapped to his muscular right arm…
He offered her his calloused palm and a roguish grin. ‘Talemir Starling at your service, Warsword Zoltaire.’
Thea looked from his roughened, dirt-lined skin to his square jaw and clear eyes. The dual wielding champion. The Prince of Hearts. The legend of Thezmarr.
She came back to herself, letting her magic dissipate as she took his hand and shook it firmly. ‘You’re truly here to help me break Wilder out of the Scarlet Tower?’
‘As I said, I can’t do it alone. And nor can you.’
Thea dropped his hand and, sheathing her sword, met his hazel eyes with a determined gaze of her own. ‘So be it.’
‘So be it.’ Talemir’s wings flared at his back, onyx ribbons of power multiplying around them, bleeding across the golden rays of dawn. ‘It’s time to take a walk on the dark side.’
Thea watched as obsidian swallowed the world around her, the light growing fainter, the gust of wind from his beating wings coaxing her forward, her storm magic answering in kind. In the near distance, the crack of thunder echoed across the midrealms as a bolt of lightning split the world in two.
For all the uncertainty and danger that lay ahead, Thea knew three things.
First: that she loved Wilder Hawthorne with every fibre of her being.
Second: she would do whatever it took to get him back.
And third…
No one, neither man nor monster, was going to stop her.
‘I am the storm,’ she vowed.
And so, freshly forged with blood and steel, Warsword Althea Embervale, the Shadow of Death, stepped into the darkness to rescue her love.
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