Chapter Forty-five
THEA
‘W hat the fuck just happened?’ Torj said at her side, staring at the empty cage and empty clearing before them, the final wisps of shadow vanishing.
Thea lowered her bow, her whole body trembling. ‘He’s one of them…’ she heard herself croak. ‘He helped them escape. I saw it.’
Torj screwed his eyes shut before opening them again, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘As did I…’
‘What in the realms is going on?’ Osiris’ voice cut through the shocked silence. When he reached them, his gaze fell upon the empty cage and the discarded ropes on the forest floor. ‘Who did this?’ he demanded, his neck flushing.
‘Wilder Hawthorne,’ Thea told him, her heart shattering anew as she said his name.
She never wanted to utter it again. More than anything, she wanted to crumble.
She wanted to slip away and wake up from this nightmare.
Perhaps she’d find she was still on the battlefield, at the mercy of a reaper’s dark magic. She wished she was.
But the roar of rage that ripped from Osiris rid her of such notions.
This was happening. It was all real. Wilder had betrayed the guild, betrayed the midrealms, betrayed her .
‘We need to get this under control,’ Torj was saying to the Guild Master. ‘We can’t let word of this spread, not before we get a handle on it.’
The Warsword’s words spurred them into action, and before Thea knew it, she was at their side, heading towards the castle and the war room.
There was no trace of the victory they’d shared the night before as she was ushered into the chamber. A rich oak table stood at its centre, the rulers of the three kingdoms sitting at its head.
‘What is the meaning of this summons, Osiris?’ King Artos demanded as soon as the Guild Master sank into a chair.
Osiris didn’t answer immediately. The back of Thea’s neck prickled as he looked not to the king, but to her.
‘Althea?’ King Artos prompted, brow furrowed in confusion.
Heart seizing, Thea cleared her throat and rested her hand on the pommel of Malik’s dagger, trying to keep her head high as she spoke. The words on the tip of her tongue threatened to break her.
‘Wilder Hawthorne has deserted, Your Majesty.’
The king blinked. ‘Deserted?’
She drew a sharp breath. ‘Yes, sire. He committed treason of the highest order, releasing your half-wraith prisoners, along with the monsters’ leaders. He fled with them, wrapped in darkness, Your Grace.’
Her voice sounded like it belonged to a stranger, calm and detached, in stark contrast to the utter turmoil that raged within. She hadn’t taken note of who else stood in the room with her, but she could feel their stares boring into her, searing.
The world suddenly grew close and sharp as she relived her most intimate moments with Wilder in excruciating detail. His laugh and smile. Her name whispered against her skin. The feel of him inside her.
Thea swayed, suddenly nauseous. She forced herself to inhale steadily through her nose, ignoring the attention of those around the room and focusing solely on King Artos, using him as an anchor to the present.
Artos was conferring with Queen Reyna and King Leiko, all three of them wearing the same expression, a mixture of horror and dread.
At last King Artos looked up and addressed Osiris. ‘You saw his treason for yourself?’
‘Torj Elderbrock did, Your Majesty. I was there at the end. It was as Guardian Zoltaire said. He was right there in the shadows with them. It has also come to light that he attacked Guardian Sebastos Barlowe without provocation on the battlefield.’ Osiris’ voice was trembling with fury.
His lips had gone white. In all her years at Thezmarr, Thea had never seen the Guild Master so full of rage.
It was then that Seb limped forward, horrific violet bruising colouring his throat, his eyes blood-red. ‘He tried to kill me, sire,’ he rasped, his voice broken.
‘If he was trying to kill you, you’d be dead,’ Osiris said coldly. ‘But the fact remains… Hawthorne committed treason.’ His gaze fell to the three rulers. ‘Do I have your permission to deal with this?’
King Artos exchanged looks with Queen Reyna and King Leiko. The royals nodded in agreement and the King of Harenth turned back to Osiris.
‘You do,’ he said.
The Guild Master’s jaw clenched before he turned to face the rest of the war room.
It was only then that Thea scanned the faces around them.
Torj and Vernich stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces etched with fury of their own.
Beside the Warswords and Esyllt, Thea spotted Cal and Kipp.
Both of their expressions softened as she met their gazes.
Pity . They pitied her.
Thea didn’t blame them. She’d been a fool.
All this time she’d worried about Vernich and Seb being the treacherous warriors in their midst, the ones she would have to track down across the realms in the end.
But she’d been wrong. So completely and utterly wrong.
It had been the Warsword in her bed, the Warsword who’d burrowed into her heart.
More faces stared back at her: Farissa, Audra, Wren… All of them looking at her as though she was something fragile, as though she were about to break.
But no. This would not be the end of her.
She would make herself a legend from the ruins.
Osiris cleared his throat before he addressed the room.
‘It pains me to make this announcement on the heels of our victory, but it must be done…’ He seemed to gather himself.
‘From this day henceforth, Wilder Hawthorne of Thezmarr has been declared a fallen Warsword. Many of us bore witness to his betrayal. We watched as his Furies-given power corrupted him from within. As of now, the midrealms has two enemies. The forces of darkness who seek to wipe us from these realms, and the former Warsword who once swore to protect them.’
Angry murmurs broke out across the chamber. Thea could feel the rage in the air, washing over her like a wave.
‘We need to track him,’ Vernich growled. ‘Need to finish him before —’
‘He’s mine.’ The words left Thea’s mouth without her thinking, barely more than a whisper, but with enough weight and threat to silence the entire war room.
It was an echo of what they’d said to each other in the hot spring.
‘You’re mine?’ she’d asked.
‘Beyond reason.’
‘Then I’m yours.’
It meant something else now – something far darker, full of poison.
‘He’s mine,’ she said again, loud enough for all to hear, letting them see the rage churning beneath the surface.
She waited for the cries of outrage, for the men to object, for them to turn on her as they had at so many other points in her life.
But a silent deliberation seemed to course through the chamber before Torj and Vernich stepped forward.
‘If anyone can get to him…’ Vernich’s voice was like gravel. ‘It’s her.’
Torj’s face was grave. ‘She knows his weaknesses better than all of us,’ he added, giving Thea a sombre nod.
Osiris met her gaze across the table, his expression hardening. ‘You want him?’ he said, seething. ‘He’s yours. Hunt him down. Bring him Thezmarr’s justice.’ Each word was clipped and cold, sharp with fresh betrayal. ‘Do that, Althea Zoltaire, and his swords are yours.’