EPILOGUE Wren
EPILOGUE
Wren
Six weeks later
THE ALCHEMY CONFLICT of the midrealms became known as the War of Silver and Smoke.
Just like the shadow war that had come before, it had left an indelible mark on the midrealms and its people.
Not a day went by that Wren didn’t think of it, but it was different this time.
Instead of mourning what she had lost, she was grateful for all that she had gained.
As she woke each morning, that was what she felt: gratitude. Gratitude for the opportunity to make Delmira something more, for the chances she’d been given, for the solid weight of the muscular arm tucked around her waist.
‘It’s too early to be thinking that hard, Embers,’ Torj’s husky voice murmured against her neck.
‘I was thinking how lucky I am to have you,’ she replied with a roll of her hips, feeling the hard length of him against her backside.
‘Is that so?’ he said gruffly, tugging her tighter against him. ‘Do you need a physical demonstration?’
She laughed. ‘What I need is to get up and get ready. You’re the one who insisted on this wedding party.’
‘I take it back.’ His words were still thick with sleep. ‘Don’t need it. Just need you. In bed. Now.’
‘I don’t think so, Bear Slayer,’ she said, batting his hands away and hauling herself from the warmth of their bed. ‘The next time you fuck me, I’ll be wearing your ring.’
A low rumble of need sounded behind her. ‘I do like the sound of that . . .’
Wren leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips, careful not to linger too long and allow herself to be dragged back to bed. ‘Until the altar, then.’
Wren found herself getting ready with Thea and Dessa in a small marquee they had set up for the occasion. Dessa lined her eyes with kohl and applied colour to her lips while they drank sparkling wine from the bottle and teased Wren about her beginnings with the Warsword.
‘Gods, when he was first assigned as your guard, you were livid,’ Thea recalled cheerfully. ‘Kipp and I had a bet going as to how long it would take you to poison him.’
‘I did no such thing,’ Wren said with a laugh.
‘That’s not entirely true,’ Dessa interjected with a grin. ‘Didn’t you prick him with your poisoned hairpin when you snuck out one night?’
‘That hardly counts,’ Wren argued as Dessa wove flowers through her hair.
Thea snorted. ‘Whatever you say, sister.’
The tent rustled and Kipp’s head appeared. ‘Are you ladies ready? There’s a feast to be had!’
‘There’s a ceremony first,’ Dessa reminded him with a laugh.
‘Yes, and then there’s a feast, so let’s hurry things along!’
‘I hope you’re not rushing the bride, Kristopher,’ came Farissa’s voice from outside.
‘I would never,’ Kipp replied with a wink.
But Wren was ready.
When she emerged from the marquee and saw Torj standing before the cottage with Wilder at his side, her breath caught.
The Bear Slayer was as magnificent as ever, his silver hair pulled back into a neat knot, a few unruly strands framing his face.
He wore simple warrior’s garb, and his hammer was strapped across his shoulders as always.
They had promised to be themselves and nothing more at their ceremony, and, looking at him now, all Wren wanted was the man waiting for her at the end of the rose-lined aisle.
She herself wore a simple gown, her belt of potions still fitted around her waist, though she’d allowed Dessa to braid a few sprigs of lavender through her hair.
She looped her arm through Kipp’s, her friend’s chest puffing out as he escorted her down the aisle.
As Wren walked, she saw the faces of everyone she cared for: Thea, Dessa, Zavier, Cal, Farissa, Audra, Talemir, Darian, along with the new friends she’d made over the past few weeks of building the academy.
When she reached Torj, she released Kipp and kissed him on both cheeks, the strategist looking suddenly misty-eyed as he took his place as celebrant.
Torj took her hands in his and she stood to face him before all their friends.
‘Welcome, one and all,’ Kipp said, his voice ringing out across the small crowd.
‘We are here to celebrate one of the greatest triumphs I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing . . . The official union between the Queen of Delmira, Elwren Embervale, and the Bear Slayer Warsword of Thezmarr, Torj Elderbrock.’
When Wren met Torj’s gaze and he smiled, the silver bond shone between them for all to see.
The wedding feast was in full swing, and Wren’s cheeks ached from grinning.
She couldn’t recall a time where she had been so happy.
She stood barefoot on the grass, having kicked off her uncomfortable shoes the moment the ceremony ended.
Torj was stealing glances at her from across the marquee, where he was speaking with Darian.
Wren smiled at him from afar. The lightning-kissed, storm-blessed Bear Slayer was her husband.
Husband and soul-bonded, and no words had ever felt more perfect.
The dancing had begun, with Kipp and Graves at the heart of the festivities. A towering presence emerged at Wren’s side, and she looked up to find Vernich the Bloodletter watching with narrowed eyes as the Son of the Fox danced with his daughter.
‘I’m going to kill him,’ the Warsword growled.
But Wren put a hand on his arm. ‘I think Graves is more than capable of doing that herself if she wants to, don’t you?’
‘If he does so much as lay a finger on her . . .’ Vernich grunted, shaking his head. ‘Where’s the fire extract?’
Wren pointed to the bar.
‘Then that’s where I’ll be,’ the warrior muttered and stalked away.
Wren held in a laugh, but her attention was snatched away by Torj, who tensed beside her. She turned to face him and saw why.
An older woman had appeared at the entrance to the marquee.
She was not the frail, elderly figure Wren had expected. Grandmother Vara was straight-backed and tall, impressively so. She strode towards Torj with the confidence of a general in an army. Only when she reached him did her expression falter, her eyes lining with silver.
‘Hello, my boy,’ she said. ‘I’ve missed you.’
As Torj blinked at his grandmother and then took her in his arms in what looked like a crushing embrace, Wren found Kipp, who was on the outskirts of the dance floor now.
Thank you, she mouthed to him.
The strategist offered a salute.
It wasn’t long before Torj introduced her to the woman who’d raised him, who’d set him on the path to being one of Thezmarr’s legendary warriors.
‘Vara, this is my wife, Elwren Embervale, Queen of Delmira,’ Torj said, pulling Wren to his side.
‘Call me Wren,’ she added, hoping that there would be no unnecessary formalities between family.
‘Well, Wren,’ Grandmother Vara said, ‘you’re the most persistent individual I’ve ever come across.’
Torj frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It was your wife here who tracked me down, with the help of a charming young fellow who kept offering me sour mead,’ Vara replied.
Torj turned to Wren, brows raised. ‘This is what you made a deal with Kipp for?’
Wren smiled. ‘Yes. We’ve been tracking Vara down since I started novice training at Drevenor.’
Grandmother Vara reached for Wren and pulled her into a warm embrace. ‘Thank you for reuniting us,’ she said, before turning back to Torj. ‘And imagine that . . . After all this time, you marry a healer. Your mother would be so proud.’
Wren’s chest swelled. It meant more than she could say. Not only that Vara would think Torj’s mother would be proud of who he’d chosen to marry, but that she had been called a healer, not a queen.
Grandmother Vara patted Torj’s arm with a warm smile. ‘There will be plenty of time for us tomorrow, grandson. But tonight is for you and your wife.’
As Vara peeled away, Wren felt Torj’s gaze on her. She looked up to find him drinking her in, his eyes tracing over her face, her body, as his fingers laced through hers. ‘Gods, I love you,’ he said fiercely.
‘And I love you,’ she replied, pushing up onto her tip-toes to brush a kiss to his lips.
Torj groaned, cupping the back of her head and deepening the kiss before breaking away. ‘Do you want to get out of here, wife?’
‘More than anything,’ she murmured.
They didn’t say farewell to their guests. Torj simply scooped her up in his arms and strode from the marquee, grinning at the cheers that echoed in their wake.
He didn’t take her to the cottage, as she expected; instead, he carried her into the forest, to where the silvertide roses had blossomed tenfold. There, lanterns lit the way to a beautiful canvas dome that awaited.
‘What is this?’ Wren asked as her Bear Slayer set her down on the ground.
Torj huffed a laugh. ‘The bridal suite.’
Wren answered with a wicked grin. ‘Is that so, husband? Are you going to ruin me?’
‘It’s you who’s ruined me, Embers. And you did that long ago.’
Inside, the tent had been adorned with cushions and throws and hanging lanterns. A small table to the side boasted a tray of fruit and cheese and a bottle of wine.
When they had settled inside, Wren reached for Torj, guiding his face to hers, claiming his mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. He moaned as she straddled his lap.
His husky voice skittered along her bones and lit her ablaze. ‘Tell me what you want, Embers . . .’
‘You,’ the Queen of Delmira told the Bear Slayer. ‘It’s always been you.’