CHAPTER 75 Torj
Torj
‘What a storm breaks apart, it also clears away. The chaos is simply a prelude to what comes after’
– Bear Slayer, Warsword of Thezmarr
THE FIRST FEW weeks following the battle were hard. They camped among the ruins, living off rations and hunting game. Torj could see how tired Wren was, how much of herself she was giving to ensure that her kingdom was moving in the right direction.
Darian was instrumental in the initial planning; having been a part of the restoration of Tver all those years ago, he knew more than anyone what was required.
King Leiko was nowhere to be found, leaving yet another kingdom in shambles, but Torj tried not to concern himself with that.
They could only deal with one problem at a time, and it was his duty to look after Wren before all else.
Which was why he suggested they relocate to the cottage while the city was being rebuilt.
It would mean a proper bed and some privacy, and Wren could also be closer to the plans that were unfolding for the new Drevenor Academy, which was where her passion lay.
There, she could get her hands back into the soil; there, she could thrive in the wake of the war.
Darian had argued against it, saying that a cottage in the middle of nowhere wasn’t the place for a queen, but Wren had silenced him with a withering glare and the words, ‘That’s two wars I’ve fought in now.
Men lost the right long ago to have any say in my place in the world. ’
Torj chuckled at the memory as he scoured their campsite in Dorinth to make sure they hadn’t left anything of value behind before the move. He was nudging rocks and debris with the toe of his boot when he heard it.
A faint mewing noise coming from a pile of rubble.
Crouching in the dirt, Torj peered between the rocks to find a pair of green eyes staring back at him.
‘What in the midrealms . . .?’ he muttered, reaching into the small space.
A loud hiss sounded, and he snatched his hand back to see three scratches welling with blood.
‘You little monster,’ he cursed, reaching in again. His fingers made contact with soft fur, and he ignored the swiping claws. With a grunt, he pulled the little creature from the rubble by the scruff of its neck.
The fluffball continued to hiss, and Torj held it at arm’s length with a scowl, trying to get a good look at its wriggling form. It was a kitten. Black fur. Green eyes. With a bit of a vicious streak.
‘You coming, Bear Slayer?’ Wilder shouted from where he was hauling the last of the supplies onto the wagon.
‘Just getting one last thing,’ Torj called back, staring at the kitten. The little beast glared back at him, and he laughed. ‘You’re the one.’
At long last, the cottage came into view.
Around it, structures were being built for the new academy, but it was a damn sight better than the chaos of Dorinth.
It was made better still by the sight of Wren emerging from the nearby forest, a basket hanging from the crook of her elbow, full of silvertide roses.
Sensing him, she looked up, a broad smile breaking across her face.
You’re home, she murmured into his mind as he jumped down from his saddle and strode towards her.
‘I’m home,’ he said aloud, crushing his mouth to hers.
There was a loud meow of protest as she sagged against him, and Wren jumped back in surprise. ‘What was that?’
Torj shook his head, loosening the buttons of his jerkin, where a furry black head peeked out. ‘I brought you something.’
The kitten leapt from his chest and landed gracefully on the grass, instantly winding itself around Wren’s ankles.
She stared at it. ‘I thought you didn’t like cats?’ she breathed, crouching down and scratching it behind the ears. The damn thing purred.
‘I like anything that makes you happy, Embers,’ Torj replied, drinking in the unbridled joy on her face.
‘What’s his name?’ she asked.
Torj laughed. ‘Trouble. Monster. Menace. Mini Bloodletter . . . Take your pick. Though he seems to love you already.’
Gods, she was so beautiful, so fierce. Standing, Wren cocked a brow at him. ‘Any more surprises?’
‘Just one,’ Torj replied, dropping to a knee.
Wren’s hand went to her chest, her eyes widening as he took the ring from the chain around his neck, where he’d kept it for all this time. His mother’s ring.
‘Elwren Embervale . . .’ he said, his voice low.
‘I know we said our vows to each other aboard The Furies’ Will, but I want to say them for all the world to hear.
I don’t want to spend another moment without the midrealms knowing that you are my wife.
So I’m asking . . .’ He drew a trembling breath. ‘Will you marry me again, Embers?’