Chapter 15

L eaving Torin's room alone was like someone else had taken over her body and was somehow controlling her, like a wayward spirit had possessed her mind and was pushing everything into slow motion.

She was a puppet in the strings of fear.

Emara felt numb. Sick. Frantic.

But she couldn't let the detachment of her mind cloud her next steps.

It was inevitable. His mind was made up. She could see there was no changing that.

A coldness spread across her skin, and she wasn't sure if it was her clothes, still damp from last night's rain, or the fact that she had left Torin to prepare himself for battle. She couldn't even use her fire to heat her bones right now as she walked back to her room, too numb to summon anything.

As she entered her chambers, the light from the dawn was lazily pouring through the windowsill, sending a glow up her walls. Specks of dust shone through the beams. She focused on that for Gods knew how long and then she let out a breath as the door to her room closed behind her. Emara placed her head against the wood, shutting her eyes for a moment.

The Gods had a plan for her. Rhiannon had a path for her.

And it couldn't only be sorrow and heartbreak.

They had a plan for everyone.

She placed her palms together and whispered endless prayers up to the Light Gods. She asked Rhiannon, Goddess of the Moon and Dreams, to make her dreams come true. She begged Uttara of the Stars and Dawn to let Torin see another sunrise. She prayed to Vanadey of Life and Beauty to let Torin stay by her side. And she pleaded with Thorin, God of the Sun and War, that there would be no more deaths. Please. Not him.

Of course, there would be more deaths; that was also an inevitability. But, please, not Torin. He was her protector. He was who she was truly meant to meet in this life. He was her best friend. Her heart. He was the person her soul sang for.

Just as the walls of her room heard the end of her prayers, a rustling came from the direction of her bed, followed by a few curse words.

Emara's head swung up from the door, her hands now parted. But she wasn't armed, so magic would need to be her aid. She supposed that was a good thing about being a witch; she was almost always armed.

Just as she gathered a ball of air in her hand, ready to strike the intruder, Artem Stryker appeared from around the wall panelling that kept her bed hidden from the small hallway she had taken a moment to pray in. He had a guard tunic on his top half, but it seemed that he had lost his leathers, only sporting his undergarments. His russet hair was pulled in every direction, and it was the first time she had ever seen it untidy.

"For the love of Rhiannon," Emara breathed, dissolving the element that was ready to strike. "I almost blasted you with air." Her eyes roamed over him again. "Do I even want to know why you are half naked in my room?"

He grinned bashfully and covered his private area with his large tattooed hands. "Er…I…"

Emara heard another hiss, and a curse came from behind the wall.

Emara took one more look at Artem Stryker and curled her lip. "You didn't."

"I can explain—"

Emara walked forward, summoning that ball of air that she had banished as she sucked in the air of the room. "Is this the part where you tell me you didn't just have sex in my room?" she roared. "My bed?"

"I—"

Wind blew into a ball, ready to blast from her hands. "Tell me I am wrong, Stryker! Today is not the day to lie to me."

"Oh fuck." Artem's eyes lit up a flare of worry as she released the air ball and it flew towards his face. He dodged it. "I am sorry. I truly am. If you could keep your balls of air to yourself and let me explain—"

"If I could keep my balls of air to myself?" she screamed. "How about you keep your balls to yourself, you absolute animal!"

"Can you calm down?" he yelled back, still trying to cover his manhood. "Let's talk it through like the good friends we are—"

"You really think that we are good friends?" Emara hissed. "You have just defiled my space. My room. I could kill you right now."

"Please don't do that." Breighly Baxgroll, sporting the same bedhead as Artem, trailed out from behind the wall with an embarrassed look on her face. "Please don't blame him. It was my…fault." She squared her shoulders and held a tunic against her body. She threw Artem his leathers, and he caught them with one hand. Artem looked at her like she had said something in the tongue of the underworld as he speedily jumped into them.

Oh, for the love of Rhiannon, she didn't need this right now.

"I can see you have finally made it into your uniform." Emara glanced at Breighly, and uncharacteristically, the wolf's lips slammed shut. Her eyes darted to Artem. "When I asked you to wait outside for Breighly to show her the ropes of the Tower, I didn't mean in my bed."

Emara probably shouldn't have said that. But maybe her crippling anxiety was coming out in ways that she didn't understand.

"Please…" Artem turned to Emara. "Please accept my sincerest apologies; it wasn't Breighly's fault. It was mine. I cannot help myself when I am around her." A small moment of silence calmed the tension in the room. "Breighly arrived just after you left for the rooftop. I came to look for you to let you know that she was here, but you weren't there." He shrugged. "I saw a beaten-up punching bag and a trail of rain that led down the steps, so I put two and two together. I went to Torin's room. And that's when I heard—"

"Stop. Stop!" Emara lowered her hand. "There is no need for you to report what you heard."

A mutual understanding of what Artem had heard coming from Torin's room, set Emara's cheeks on fire. He nodded, his head bowing low, his golden glare looking anywhere but her face.

Breighly's shimmering brown eyes met her own. "Emara, I give you my word that this will never happen again."

She saw a bob in Artem's throat, and some of that golden flare diminished in his eyes.

Breighly walked towards her. "I am a fool for getting distracted whilst you were gone, and I have discredited my position and everything you fought for yesterday. Please, I will never make that mistake again. We got carried away."

Artem straightened behind the wolf, shoulders back and raising his chin like he had taken a hit to the gut with her words.

Emara looked at their shameful faces. Had she not had the heaviness of what today would bring resting on her shoulders, she would have probably laughed it off.

It's not every day you find a wolf and a warrior of Thorin in your bed.

She sighed, releasing some of the pent-up energy she had been holding in. "I am not as high as the Gods to judge when desire for one person takes over." She nodded towards Breighly. "Perhaps I understand it a little too well." She met Artem's gaze for a solitary second before finding Breighly's again. "I will not mention this again, as I am sure you will both forget it happened."

"Absolutely." Breighly nodded. And it was peculiar to see something like her position as a guard mean more to her than her pride. "You have my word, my oath. Anything."

"You can count on it," Artem said dryly. "It won't happen again."

She walked over and placed her hand against the mantle of the fireplace. Letting out a curse, she ran a hand through her hair and dipped her chin low. "I need you both ready as soon as you can be."

"Are you okay? Emara, what is going on?"

As she listened to the magic of the embers burning gold and vibrant below her, she tried not to think about how her whole world could fall apart again. She swallowed her fear that the Gods might not have put Torin in her path for happiness, but heartbreak.

Breighly shuffled forward. "Emara, you don't look so good. Are you okay?"

A tear tracked down Emara's cheeks, and a broken sob left her throat.

"Shit." Artem moved towards her. "Do you need me to call on your empress maids? Do you need anything?" He placed a hand on her shoulder and lowered himself so that he could look at her fully.

She raised her chin and said, "You better get ready for today." They both paled. "Because there is going to be an uprooting of everything you know about the current Blacksteel Clan."

Artem's concerned features pulled in tight, making him look murderous. "What do you mean? What happened this morning?"

She placed a hand to her mouth and another to her stomach as she said, "If Viktir doesn't agree to change the treaty by revoking my marriage to Gideon"—her voice wavered, but she fought through her emotion—"Torin is going to challenge the commander today. He is finally bringing the war he promised his father."

"He's what?" Breighly's mouth fell open, her eyes clouding.

"And I am fighting the sickness in my stomach at the thought of it because this is all because of his affections for me." Emara grabbed the damp material around her stomach and clutched hard, almost tearing the material. "It's my fault." She took another breath that didn't quite reach her lungs. "I wanted him to fight for me, but not to the death. I thought we would have found another way."

Artem ran a hand over his face. "Torin was never going to be diplomatic, Emara. It was a matter of time," he said lowly, a huff of air coming from his chest. "It was a matter of time before this happened. It is not your fault. Torin Blacksteel wasn't born into this world to be second-in-command to anyone." Artem ran an inked hand over his head and cursed.

Emara turned to him, acknowledging that Artem knew Torin better than anyone. "I asked him to speak to the prime; I said that we could plead our case. All we need is a little more time." Emara's breath caught in her throat. "When I asked him to fight for us, I didn't mean literally. I didn't mean his father. This is all my fault—oh my Gods." She found her legs betraying her, and she almost ended up on the ground.

Artem caught her. "Look at me," he said in the way a commander would. "This isn't just because of you. Yes, he is using your relationship as a catalyst for the event, but that's not the only reason he wants to fight for commandership. He wants to fight for you, for him, his brothers, freedom, and for Naya." Artem made sure Emara was listening by moving into her eyeline again. "Torin has been keeping notes on Viktir for a long time. He doesn't agree with how some things have been handled. He doesn't trust him." His grip on Emara's arms grew lighter, and her leg muscles locked in strong. "This has been coming since Torin was born. You don't name your son after the God of War and not expect him to rise to the challenge."

Emara let out a breath.

"But that doesn't mean you should just challenge your commander. You of all people should know that," Breighly pointed out, and Emara noted the concern in her eyes. She had grown up with the Blacksteels, she knew what it meant to challenge the commander.

"Oh, I know more ins and outs of commandership than you both can imagine. My father is the chief. There was no pissing about when it came to commandership in my home." He looked back at Emara. "What I mean to say is when a good hunter sees something wrong in his clan, he has every right to voice his opinion. Call it out."

"Voicing his opinion and challenging his commander are two different things," Breighly batted back.

"And challenging your alpha isn't the same?" He folded his arms over his chest in a way that indicated he knew he had the winning blow. "Are you not now shaping different paths for female wolves because you went against your alpha at one point?"

Breighly's lips shut tight, the first time Emara had ever seen Breighly lose in an argument. It was kind of staggering.

She jumped in before it got hostile. "I fear that I have pushed him to this," Emara announced, placing a hand on her forehead. "I just know what my heart wants, and it's him."

"Push Torin Blacksteel to do anything?" Artem let out a loud laugh. "There is no such thing. It's a miracle of Thorin that the guy made it this long without challenging any of the commanders in rank. He has come close to it before, I know that for certain. And I think you forget that I spent years with him in the Selection; I have seen his hatred for obedience on a different scale. I have seen how much he has challenged the system before and how much they had to break him into who he is. Blacksteel is a natural-born leader. He may make a few mistakes from time to time, but he's a man. That doesn't make him unworthy." He turned his gaze to Breighly, who was now looking at the embers in the fireplace. "What can you do when you are born to be at the front of the pack?"

Breighly glanced towards the inked warrior.

Artem stepped forward again and reached out for Emara's hand. "If he was going to challenge Viktir on any of the stupid calls he has made before, why shouldn't it be the one that means most? Why wouldn't it be the one thing that actually means something to him? Why shouldn't he fight for this?"

Emara looked up into the golden gaze of the guard she now called a friend. "I am so terrified for him."

Artem rolled his lips before he said, "Don't be. Torin Blacksteel doesn't lose."

Emara couldn't help it when she wrapped her arms around her guard's neck. "Who knew you could be the voice of reason?"

Artem let out a snigger. "I have many talents, witchy. Just call me Artem of all trades. Man of the Gods. Voice of the people."

"Okay, that's enough." Emara pulled back, and Artem offered her a boyish grin.

Artem looked to Breighly and then back to Emara as he crossed his arms over his huge chest. "We've got you, Empress of Unfortunate Luck . Now go and get your battle paint on. We have a summit to attend."