Chapter Thirty-six

Wilder had never been more glad for a warm fire and the crisp taste of ale on his tongue. Everard had roped off an entire section for ‘Kipp's party' and had piled the tables high with food and drink.

Even with the bulk of their remaining forces having made their way into the surrounding town to utilise its supplies and resources, their unlikely company of leaders seemed to sprawl across the tavern. It was a strange sight to behold. It felt like both yesterday and years ago that they had all rallied here in secret, trying to forge the first semblance of an alliance between the shadow-touched and the midrealms. Since then, shadow-touched, Warswords and Guardians had faced the true enemy on the battlefield, and now stood side by side, breaking bread. It was history in the making.

And somewhere below the raucous rooms and toasts was King Artos, chained and under guard, awaiting their interrogation, if they hadn't already started up again. He deserved every ounce of pain they inflicted on him. Wilder had seen with his own eyes the cruelty he'd inflicted upon the shadow-touched captives, the burns and welts, the haunted look in their eyes, the children in cages. Yes, Artos deserved everything he got.

The anger and resentment faded as Wilder's gaze fell to Thea across the room. She was talking to Anya and Adrienne, flicking her braid over her shoulder and using her hands to explain something. For a moment, all he did was watch her. Warmth bloomed in his chest as she smiled, her eyes bright while Anya responded to whatever she'd said. Gods, he still couldn't believe she was his. He hadn't so much as dared to dream it when they'd first met, that one day he'd be able to make such a claim. He'd denied himself and his feelings for so long, convinced that she was better off without him, that they didn't need one another.

She'd proven him wrong, time and time again.

And here they were, together.

As though sensing his gaze on her, Thea glanced across the room, finding him instantly. The smile she offered him was a private one, a smile just for him.

Wilder was so entranced by her that he almost didn't see Kipp striding towards him, a big, eager grin on his face. Apparently not even an arachne fang to the heart would stop the strategist from having a good time.

‘I know you well enough now to recognise that look only means trouble,' Wilder said apprehensively.

‘I disagree,' Kipp replied, his grin widening further, if that was at all possible. ‘It means I've organised something you'll approve of greatly.'

‘Gods, do I want to know?'

‘Probably not,' Cal interjected, joining them at the table and swiping a chicken leg from the spread.

‘Of course you do.' Kipp dismissed his friend with a wave. ‘Head into the next room. Take your Warsword companions.'

Baffled and a little uneasy, Wilder motioned to Talemir across the room, setting his tankard down on a table.

‘What is it?' Tal said, brow furrowed in concern.

Wilder didn't blame him. ‘Kipp asked us to go in there.' He pointed to the doorway.

‘Since when do we just do what Guardians tell us?' Talemir quipped.

‘Times are changing, Tal.'

‘I'll say.' But he followed Wilder into the room all the same.

‘My good friends!' Marise the wine merchant exclaimed as they entered, rushing forward and embracing Wilder before he turned to Talemir, unabashed joy in his eyes. ‘The famous Prince of Hearts! We meet again at long last!'

Talemir's eyes bulged. ‘Marise? What the fuck are you doing here?'

‘I've been telling Wilder to come to my dead red event for years, and he's been hard to tie down —'

Wilder nearly choked on his ale.

‘So I brought the occasion to him!' With a flourish, the merchant whipped a cloth from the table behind him, revealing a significant line-up of wine bottles.

Wilder suppressed a laugh of disbelief. ‘How did you manage this? The world's on fucking fire and you find —'

‘A dead red event? Seriously?' Talemir groaned. ‘You're still doing those? I nearly died at the last one, Marise.'

Thea appeared in the doorway and, spotting Marise, waved enthusiastically. ‘What exactly is a dead red event? I've been wanting to know what it was since I met you. I thought it was something sinister…'

‘Sinister?' Marise looked shocked. ‘My good lady, a dead red event is —'

‘A celebration!' Kipp chimed in from the doorway.

‘Precisely.'

Thea folded her arms over her chest and waited. ‘Someone explain.'

‘Marise has a lot of older wine, wine that was designed for ageing,' Talemir explained. ‘So every few years he hosts what he dubbed the dead red event, wherein he and his friends all sift through their cellars for the oldest wine they have and bring it to his shop. The wine has either gone completely bad – dead – or it's the most incredible wine you've ever tasted. The only thing that's certain is that you won't remember leaving.'

‘If you leave at all,' Wilder mumbled.

‘That's one of two certain things,' Kipp said with a wink. ‘The second is that you'll have a spectacular time.'

‘How would you know?' Wilder gaped.

Kipp gave a smug grin. ‘The Son of the Fox never misses one.'

‘I've never seen you there —'

‘Haven't you?'

Wilder racked his brain for a memory of meeting Kipp long before he met Thea, for that was how many years it had been since he'd been to one of Marise's infamous events. He came up with nothing.

‘What are we waiting for?' he said instead. ‘Shall we start?'

‘Absolutely, my dear Warsword,' Marise beamed.

Kipp removed the cork from the first bottle with a pop, filling several glasses and handing them out. The room had filled and, bar Dratos and Vernich, the main company of rebels gathered around.

Once everyone held a glass of a richly deep red wine, Kipp raised his in tribute. ‘Though the battle for Aveum was hard-won,' he said, ‘we need to celebrate life —'

‘Your life, you mean,' Cal muttered from the sidelines.

A few people chuckled, but kept their glasses raised, waiting.

With a fleeting scowl in Cal's direction, Kipp cleared his throat. ‘Allow me to share a fitting toast to mark the occasion.' He tilted his goblet towards the gathered crowd in salute. ‘May you walk amid the gardens of the afterlife —'

At the back, Talemir burst out laughing. Wilder met his gaze and chuckled as well. The Son of the Fox was something else.

There was a resounding echo of ‘Cheers' all around the room, before Wren came forward. She looked fresh off the battlefield, still filthy from her time in the infirmary.

‘I would like to say something as well.'

The room quietened as she took Kipp's drink from him and raised it again.

‘I would like to make a toast to celebrate the name day of my formidable sister.'

Wilder's heart sank.

‘Thea's name day is tomorrow, and Anya's is just two months from now. My sisters and I… We have never been able to celebrate together, so I want to mark this as the first of these occasions we'll have as a family —'

And it'll be the last. Wilder's chest ached at the thought. His hand dropped to his side and, finding Thea's, he laced his fingers through hers. It wasn't fucking fair. He hated this damper on what should have been a celebration. He hated that the past months had flown by so quickly, and that her next name day was an even crueller reminder of the fate that awaited her: a life stolen out from under her.

‘To Anya and Thea!' Wren called, raising Kipp's glass to her lips and drinking deeply.

‘You can't commandeer my party,' Kipp objected at her side, swiping an empty goblet and filling it generously.

‘Watch us, Fox Boy.' Anya came forward and tapped her glass to his with a wicked grin. ‘Thanks, Wren,' she added, knocking her hip against her sister's.

Dread unfurled low in Wilder's gut, his conversation with Thea the night before bleeding like a fresh wound in his mind. But when he turned to her, expecting to see anguish and sorrow, his love was smiling warmly.

Thea touched her goblet against his. ‘To experiencing the world at its fullest,' she said.