CHAPTER 71 Wren
Wren
‘It is often written that sovereign magic is the most ancient in the history of the midrealms. It is not’
– The Midrealms Chronicles
WREN GASPED AS the lightning left her fingertips, not just with the force of her own power, but with the force of Torj’s. She had never felt anything like it as it surged through her entire being. Her Warsword had poured his Furies-given strength into their bond, into her.
For all these years, he had protected her, had kept her safe, and now he was showing her . . .
She was a reckoning all of her own.
She was the storm.
Alongside Torj’s power, Wren drew magic from the very heart of herself, old sovereign magic that had run through the veins of her ancestors, magic that the kingdom of Delmira itself recognized in her.
It was both within her and in the sky beyond, and she called it to her now in the ultimate warrior cry.
Her lightning tore the sky apart in a blaze of blinding white.
The dusk-kissed sky turned dark, heavy with thick clouds rolling in overhead, which broke apart at her command.
Delmira. Her kingdom. The land that had bloomed with silvertide – roses that could have purified the shadow alchemy wreaking havoc across the midrealms. Roses that Silas had burned to ash just days ago, destroying the one cure that could have saved thousands, that could have saved Torj.
Storm magic heightened with Warsword strength blasted through the air, and Wren struck Silas with bolt after bolt, fast enough that he didn’t have time to absorb it in the way he had before.
Pressure built behind her eyes and in her lungs.
Her whole body thrummed with power. Wren was stronger in her own kingdom, stronger than ever.
The storm was in her blood, in her bones.
She could feel Delmira calling her home, welcoming her with a tempest to rival all others.
The tether between her and Torj grew taut, and she distantly heard the gasps around them as the soul bond glimmered into being for all to see. A solid gold thread linking them, binding him to her.
Hold on, she called to him, the image of those arrows sticking out of his chest flashing in her mind.
The pain of them lanced through her own upper body, but their entwined magic kept her upright as she fought her way towards Silas.
His shadow alchemy gathered around him like a swarm, searching for power and strength to strip from hosts and feed back to him.
That was his endgame – not just to rule Delmira, but to consume the magic of every wielder in the midrealms. To become a living god, feeding off the power of others like a parasite.
It was why Queen Reyna and Regent Liora had allied with Wren despite any lingering misgivings between their kingdoms; perhaps it was why the Furies had soul-bonded her to Torj.
If Silas won today, no realm would be safe.
There was a cry as one of Audra’s Warswords faltered beneath his power, but Wren, barely aware of the ground under her feet or the shouts in the distance swallowed by thunder, wrenched the rain from the sky.
The downpour came in stinging sheets, a torrent she could hardly see through.
As the drops hit the vapour, the alchemy hissed again, retreating into the rubble.
But that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.
Wren needed to cleanse her kingdom of this poison.
She needed to flood its ruins and flush out the evil that had infiltrated her birthright.
Wren stood in the Delmirian soil, her rain flowing across the rubble, washing away the blood and debris.
Everything else faded away, becoming a blur as her power surged around her.
She could feel Thea’s magic too, steady and solid beside her own, remnants of Anya’s power echoing between them as well.
It was as though the three Embervale sisters fought together once more.
Silas’s scream of rage sounded, as did the cries of his men as they fell, but Wren didn’t stop.
In the distance, she felt Thea’s magic surging against the forces at the perimeter, heard the clash of steel once more as the battle raged on outside the would-be throne room. She flung out a hand, more lightning shooting from her palm this time, thunder clapping overhead—
Pain flared at her knees and she whirled around to see Torj keeled over in the ruins, broken stone and glass beneath him, his shoulders caving in. His pain. Wren forgot all else as she saw the laboured rise and fall of his chest.
She ceased her lightning assault, ducking and dodging several flying vials as she lunged for the Bear Slayer, her heart in her throat.
‘Torj,’ she panted, wrenching the arrows from him, trying to cauterize the wounds with her magic. ‘Don’t you dare—’
‘Embers,’ he murmured as the traces of lightning at her bloody fingertips kissed his skin.
‘Together.’ Wren held out her hand. ‘Let’s end him together.’
They locked eyes, and Wren’s breath caught in her throat as their fingers entwined and a bolt of energy burst through her. Through him.
‘Wren . . .’ Torj’s voice was weak, but full of wonder.
The gold thread of their bond flared between them, but its usual warm glow shifted . . . transmuting, like metal changing in a crucible.
A scream echoed across the battlefield. Wren looked up as something hurtled towards them – alchemy, full of shadow and darkness. She clutched Torj to her. If this was to be the end, then she could make her peace with dying at Torj Elderbrock’s side, with his hand in hers.
Glass exploded. Dark alchemy surged, and the scent of burnt hair filled her nostrils as she recognized the lashes of shadow from the previous war. The horrors of it began to flash before her, over and over again, the screams piercing enough to make ears bleed—
‘Embers . . .’ Torj’s voice brought her back, no longer shaky, but husky and rich. Momentarily blinded, her eyes stung as she blinked, tears spilling down her cheeks as the gold of their soul bond bled away . . .
Giving way to a pure, brilliant silver.
The soul bond pulsed at their joined hands, a cord stronger than ever, wrapping around them both in intricate swirls.
Wren could feel Torj’s strength flowing into her, not just the borrowed power of the Furies, but his very essence – his unwavering loyalty, his fierce protection, his absolute devotion.
She poured herself into the bond in return – not only her storm magic, but the love she had for him, the determination in her heart.
All the while, the bond bloomed around them.
Shadow alchemy collided with silver.
And shattered.
A choked sound escaped Silas. But understanding flooded through Wren.
Gold will turn to silver in a blaze of iron and embers . . . giving rise to ancient power long forgotten.
The prophecy that had haunted her since the last war. Not just the joining of power, but its transformation into something new, something good. The silver light pulsed between queen and Warsword, like a map of stars in the night sky.
The silver bond between them wasn’t just combining their powers – it was purifying them.
Like the most complex distillation she’d ever attempted, it burned away everything corrupt.
Wren could feel Torj’s heart beating in sync with hers, could feel his breath in her lungs and his strength in her bones.
‘How can this be?’ she murmured. ‘The silvertide roses are gone. There is no more cure . . .’
But what the roses would have done through slow healing, their bond was doing in an instant – transforming something rotten into something pure, shadow into light.
Torj was pulling her to her feet, strong and steady, which was more than she could say for herself. With his wounds magically healed, he pressed a hand to his chest in wonder, blinking slowly as he examined his other hand, which no longer shook.
‘The poison’s gone,’ he said, his gaze meeting hers once more, his sea-blue eyes bright. ‘The roses were never the cure. It was always you . . .’
The realization settled into her bones with the weight of ancient truth.
All this time searching for something external, when the answer had lived within her all along.
Not just her alchemy or her storm magic, but something deeper – the capacity to love fiercely enough to transform darkness itself.
A power older than kingdoms or wars. Wren felt both humbled and strengthened by the knowledge, even as the world around them continued to burn.
Projectiles of dark alchemy came for them and broke against the silver light of their bond, which engulfed them both completely now.
Wren could feel the wildness of her storms and Torj’s Furies-given strength reinforcing their silver shield, the light shimmering as the enemy’s attacks dissipated upon contact.
Around them, she saw the allies who’d rallied to her cause – Queen Reyna’s forces from Aveum, who’d braved a deadly snowstorm to cross the midrealms and fight; soldiers from Harenth, who had more reason than most to distrust a royal, whose towns and villages had been the targets of the People’s Vanguard campaigns; as well as the warriors of Thezmarr and Talemir’s shadow-touched, who had thought they’d seen their last war.
Everyone she cared for still fought in the heart of the fray, caked with blood and gore, never once wavering.
Silas’s voice drifted through the smoke.
‘You pretend you’re not like me. But you are – you’re exactly like me. We both know that true power is taken, that it requires sacrifice.’
As love for her friends, her family and for Torj filled Wren’s heart, the soul bond erupted outwards – not just in their defence, but in attack, moving like liquid, cutting through the tainted alchemy and magic surrounding them.
Wren’s hand remained firmly in Torj’s as she spoke. ‘Sacrifice, perhaps,’ she said. ‘But true power isn’t taken. It is given.’