Chapter Twenty-seven

Wilder was sick of the inside of the command tent. They had gone over every possible enemy manoeuvre, every feasible counterattack with their limited numbers and capability. He seemed to be the only one who knew they'd done all they could do, and that only dawn would tell how they'd fare against Artos' monsters and men now. However, Esyllt and Kipp were strategists through and through, and they pored over their maps and inventory as if charts and drawings would reveal the answers at the eleventh hour.

Torj worked with them, pacing around the table and offering suggestions, pointing out hazards in the terrain. The golden-haired Warsword looked as restless as Wilder felt, as was always the way when battle loomed. There would be no sleep for them tonight, no rest until —

The tent flap shifted and in strode Wren, who was clutching a piece of parchment in her fist, and, to Wilder's surprise, wearing armour.

The Bear Slayer didn't take his eyes off the younger Embervale sister, his gaze tracking the tight leathers that followed the curves of her body.

‘What in the midrealms…' he murmured, his mouth still agape, taking a step towards her —

Wilder thrust out his hand. ‘Watch out for the —'

A loud thud sounded as Torj walked right into the support pole of the tent.

Blushing furiously, he rubbed his forehead, where a red mark bloomed.

‘It's called armour,' Wren said pointedly. ‘I'd have thought a Warsword would be more than familiar with the concept.'

‘You… you look…' Torj stammered.

Stifling his laughter, Wilder tried to save Torj from himself by addressing Wren. ‘You look like a warrior,' he told her.

She lifted her chin. ‘I am.' Approaching Kipp and Esyllt, her gaze bright with determination, Wren handed over the piece of parchment. ‘Farissa asked me to give you this. It's all the alchemical weapons we have at our disposal, as well as where we think they might be deployed most effectively.'

‘Excellent,' Esyllt said.

Kipp winked. ‘You ever want to talk strategy, Wren, you always know where to find me.'

Wilder saw Torj tense.

But Wren laughed. ‘At the nearest tavern, ten pints deep?'

‘You know me so well.'

Wilder leant against the table, folding his arms over his chest and trying to hide his amusement as the alchemist and strategist chatted, and the Bear Slayer glowered in the background. He'd have to remember to tease Torj about it later. If there was a later.

The familiar scent of sea salt and bergamot wrapped around him, and he turned to find Thea at his side. ‘Do you have a moment?' she asked.

‘For you? Always.'

Smiling, she laced her fingers through his and pulled him towards the tent flap. ‘Come with me. There's something I want to show you.'

As they made their way through the camp towards their own tent, there was no mistaking the kiss of dawn on the horizon.

‘As much as I'd like to fuck you senseless right now,' Wilder said, ‘I think we'd best be getting ready —'

Thea gave a soft laugh and pulled him inside their tent. ‘Here.'

Momentarily confused, Wilder looked at her. His storm-wielding Warsword, strength and power radiating from her. Strands of bronze-and-gold hair had come loose from her braid, framing her beautiful face. Emotion threatened to overwhelm him as he pictured her spying on him, Torj and Vernich on Thezmarr's clifftops, peering through the bramble with wide eyes. She'd been a girl fighting to become a shieldbearer then. Now she was a Warsword, the woman he loved with every fibre of his being.

‘Maybe if we're quick,' he murmured, reaching for her.

Thea batted his hands away with another laugh. ‘I didn't bring you here for that,' she told him, gripping him by the arms and turning him to face the back of the tent. ‘I brought you here for that.'

Instantly, his gaze fell on the mannequin in the far corner.

Upon it was the finest suit of armour Wilder had ever seen.

Warsword armour.

‘How…?' he murmured, approaching the mannequin and studying the set, tracing the interlocking metal rings that covered the torso and arms – a chainmail hauberk. It was incredible, a seamless blend of the unyielding strength of iron and leather, offering both protection and mobility.

‘I found the designs in the Dorinth armoury in Delmira, after we were attacked in the ruins,' Thea replied, watching him as he marvelled at the masterpiece. ‘Are you going to stare at it all day or are you going to put it on?'

His hands shook as he pulled his shirt off and reached for the armour. Since passing the Great Rite, he'd worn imitation armour, which rubbed him raw and left him vulnerable – he had the scar through his shoulder to prove it. But this… He slipped the chainmail over his head, the mesh-like fabric fitting him like a glove and moving with him smoothly. This was everything he'd ever imagined his armour to be.

Warmth bloomed in his chest as he fitted the bracers to his forearms and the greaves to his legs. He secured each piece in place with the leather straps and buckles, feeling Thea's gaze on him with each added layer.

When at last he'd fastened his belt and scabbards in place, he looked up. ‘It's perfect,' he told her.

‘As it should be.' Thea began strapping on her own armour – the same set of boiled leather plates he'd had Audra alter for her back in Thezmarr. He'd had to help her into it the first time, lacing the pieces in place as he knelt before her. Now, she dressed for war herself, quickly and efficiently.

‘What about yours?' he asked. ‘You need Warsword armour too.'

‘There were only enough materials for one set,' she said with a shrug. ‘I figured you'd waited long enough.'

Wilder closed the gap between them, pulling her hard to his armoured chest. ‘Thank you.' He kissed her, groaning with need as her mouth opened beneath his and allowed his tongue to sweep in.

For a moment, their kiss was all there was. Deeply passionate, a claiming of one another on the precipice of battle, a promise.

Reluctantly, Wilder broke away, breathless.

But Thea fixed him with a hard stare. ‘When the battle is won, I'll be peeling this armour off piece by piece, and worshipping what I find beneath,' she told him.

His lips quirked into a smile. ‘Is that a bribe to stay alive, Princess?'

‘Yes.'

He laughed. ‘Good. I think you'll find it very effective. Never underestimate how badly I want to bury my cock inside you.'

She strapped her sword in place and checked her daggers, and winked. ‘Oh, I never do.'

Outside, a horn sounded.

Three short blasts.

A warning.

With a final lingering look at one another, Wilder and Thea left their tent, and went to face Artos on the battlefield.