Chapter Fifty-two

The weeks after the battle for Thezmarr were long and gruelling, but there was nothing Thea was dreading more than the meeting due to start at any moment. She'd already put it off for as long as she could.

Ironically, the war council chamber was one of the largely untouched remnants of the fortress, the room unchanged but for the boarded-up window behind the thick curtains that were now in tatters. It had always been dimly lit, though someone had recently added more candles so it wasn't as dark. Their flickering light illuminated the mahogany table running down the room's centre. Six high-backed chairs surrounded it, along with several other mismatched seats that had been crammed in at the last minute. With the nearby shelf overflowing with books and the trolley of decanters in the far corner, Thea wasn't sure how they would all fit, but to her dismay, they managed.

Soon, she found herself seated at the head of the table, with Wilder to her right and Audra to her left. Something was different about her former warden. She wore her spectacles again, and her usual stern expression, but…

‘Your daggers,' Thea blurted. She had returned the one in her possession only days before. ‘Where are your daggers?' The jewelled weapons had been a part of Audra for as long as Thea could remember. She was never seen without them strapped to her belt.

‘I had to give them back sometime,' Audra replied, with a note of amusement.

‘Back to who?' Thea blinked. ‘Weren't they yours?'

‘More of a long-term loan…' Audra's eyes twinkled. ‘From Iseldra, Morwynn and Valdara.'

‘The daggers belong to the Furies?'

‘What did I tell you, Thea? The smallest blade can make the biggest difference.'

Gobsmacked, Thea opened her mouth – to say what, she didn't know – but the rest of the room had now filled with familiar faces: Wren, Cal and Kipp, Torj, Vernich, Adrienne, Esyllt and Farissa. It felt strange to be there without Talemir and Drue, and even more surreal when Thea sought out Anya at the other end of the table, and she wasn't there. As the others settled into their seats, she kept waiting for Anya's patience to wear thin, for her to silence them with a snappy remark or sarcastic comment. Neither ever came, and it made her chest ache.

‘Still no word from Dratos?' Adrienne asked, glancing around the room.

Thea shook her head. ‘Not yet… but give him time.'

Adrienne merely nodded and sat back in her chair.

‘Well.' Vernich's gravelly voice cut across the table. ‘Who called this damn meeting?'

Thea suppressed the urge to groan and pinch the bridge of her nose. Instead, she thrust her chin at Esyllt. ‘He did.'

Esyllt threw her a sharp look before addressing the company. ‘It was high time we discussed the state of the midrealms and the plans we've put in motion to get the kingdoms back on their feet. First… the original fallen kingdoms.'

Thea steeled herself. ‘It was agreed that we'll leave Talemir and Drue to decide how Naarva moves forward now that the shadows have receded from its lands. They'll advise us in due course what their intentions are for the kingdom and its capital.'

‘And Delmira?' Torj asked.

Thea swallowed. ‘I have never had any interest in being a princess or queen. That has not changed. Wren?'

Wren looked up, the movement revealing the fresh scar down her throat. ‘I see no reason to raise Delmira from its ruins any time soon. It can house no displaced people, its lands are barren, and its restoration is not paramount to the tasks we find ourselves facing with the rest of the midrealms. We go where we are needed first. We do what we can. With so many of Thezmarr's great alchemists gone, that is where I mean to start.'

Thea's heart ached, both for Wren and for the loss of Sam and Ida. Wren's voice hadn't faltered, her shoulders hadn't caved, but Thea could see the tapestry of sorrow in her eyes.

‘And what of Tver, Aveum and Harenth?' Adrienne asked. ‘There have already been reports of riots in Hailford, and —'

‘We've taken care of it,' Audra cut in. ‘The beloved sister of King Artos' wife, the late Queen Maelyn, has been temporarily granted regency. The people of Harenth loved Maelyn, so the appointment has been welcomed warmly, particularly by the common folk.'

Esyllt spoke next. ‘Thankfully Queen Reyna is much recovered since the battle for Aveum. It was with the help of her visions that we were able to track down King Leiko of Tver. He was under the empath control of Princess Jasira, forced to do her bidding. Upon the princess' death, that fugue state seems to have lifted, and though he is weak, with the help of Thezmarr, he will be able to rule Tver once more.'

‘Is Thezmarr in a position to offer help?' Wilder asked bluntly. ‘I don't mean to detract from the good work we've done here, but —'

‘It's a shithole,' Torj finished for him. ‘And we have no Guild Master. Our resources are limited.'

‘Then let's talk about the Guild Master,' Esyllt said, turning to Thea, determination blazing in his eyes in a way that made the hair on her nape stand up.

‘What?' she blurted.

‘It's yours,' Esyllt said. ‘The Guild Master title.'

Thea couldn't help herself; she laughed. ‘You're joking?'

‘I wasn't, no…' Esyllt replied, frowning.

‘All I ever wanted was to be a Warsword. Not a princess, not a Guild Master: a Warsword.'

Esyllt blinked at her as though she'd just spoken in the ancient tongue of the Furies.

‘There is a person far more suited to such a role,' she countered, swinging her gaze to Audra. ‘You, Audra. I can think of no one better. Take Thezmarr. You and the women it belonged to long ago. Take it back and make it your own.'

Something sparked in the librarian's eyes. ‘Oh?'

‘Forget the part about it being a shithole,' Thea forged on. ‘Rebuild it. Forge it into what it was meant to be. The next world is what we make it, right?' She echoed Audra's own words back to her.

The corner of Audra's mouth twitched as she turned her attention to the other Warswords. ‘And no one would have an issue with this?'

Wilder and Torj both shook their heads, while Vernich snorted. ‘I'm retiring. Do whatever the fuck you want.'

Thea grinned at her former warden. ‘Congratulations, Guild Master.'

Audra didn't quite return her grin, but the glint in her eye said just as much.

‘What of our prisoner?' Adrienne asked, refocusing them on the task at hand, ever the general. ‘What is to become of the former Guild Master?'

‘Death,' Thea replied. ‘We agreed that for his crimes, he is to be sentenced to death.'

They had laboured long and hard over that decision, debating as to how it reflected the new world they wanted to create. But in the end, it was the only justice for someone of his station who'd sold them out to monsters, who'd assisted Artos in framing a child for the evils that cursed Thezmarr long ago.

‘Where is he now?' Wren asked.

‘He's being held in one of the old alchemy workshops, guarded by several of Audra's best warriors,' Esyllt said.

Wren nodded. ‘Good.'

Audra cleared her throat, looking to the Warswords and Adrienne. ‘What news of the Veil? What consequences have arisen in the wake of its fall?'

‘None,' Wilder said at Thea's side. ‘By all accounts so far, it was not the barrier of protection we were told it was. It doesn't – nor did it ever – harness a world of darkness beyond… But you already know that.'

‘Many suspected,' Audra admitted. ‘A secret kept for millennia, its origins unknown. I always knew there were realms and kingdoms beyond it.'

‘That's where your warriors were all this time?' Thea asked.

Audra looked amused. ‘That's not my tale to tell.'

‘What happens now that the Veil is no more?' Cal asked. ‘Do we send scouts?'

‘We might have to,' Esyllt replied. ‘While we destroyed a great many wraiths and reapers, a handful escaped. They're our responsibility to hunt down, before they wreak this kind of horror on another realm.'

Thea's gaze flicked to Wilder. The hint of his dimple showed beneath his beard, but his eyes were trained on Esyllt.

The weapons master brought his hands together on top of the table. ‘Now, onto the matter of —'

‘Where's Wren?' Torj asked suddenly.

Frowning, Thea looked to the seat Wren had occupied only moments ago.

It was empty.

‘Shit,' Torj said, already on his feet. ‘Osiris.'

He bolted from the room, and Thea found herself sprinting after him through the fortress, Wilder close behind. She wasn't sure she understood what the Bear Slayer was so panicked about, but it was enough to spike fear in her own chest.

They skidded to a stop before one of the old alchemy workshops, the door guarded by two of Audra's warriors.

‘Is someone in there with him?' Torj demanded. ‘Is someone in there with Osiris?'

The women eyed him suspiciously. ‘Four of our sisters keep watch inside.'

‘And?' Thea pressed, her heart racing.

‘And the alchemist. She came just moments ago.'

‘Did you search her?' Wilder asked. ‘Did she have any weapons?'

‘Wren needs no weapons,' Torj muttered, forcing his way between the guards and using his shoulder to cave the door in.

They barged inside, startling the guards stationed around the perimeter of the room, to find Wren seated at a workbench with the former Guild Master of Thezmarr, a pot of tea between them.

Thea heard the others from the meeting fill the room behind her while Wren sipped daintily from her cup, not in the least surprised by their dramatic entrance.

‘W-What's going on?' Osiris stammered, placing his own cup back down on the bench. His face still bore the scabbed-over cuts from Anya's scythe, but he hadn't been harmed further in their custody.

‘You left our meeting to have tea with our prisoner?' Esyllt barked from the door.

Tea. The word reverberated through Thea as her gaze dropped to the seemingly innocent pot.

But there was nothing innocent about it. It was Wren's own invention.

The Ladies' Luncheon.

Esyllt's harsh tone didn't faze Wren. Instead, she took another sip and looked to Osiris, who was growing paler by the second.

He covered his mouth to cough. Once, then twice, before he drank from his teacup again.

Suddenly, his eyes bulged, and his hands flew to his throat as he gasped for air. The ceramic cup shattered into a hundred pieces as it hit the ground.

‘Good gods,' someone muttered behind Thea, but she was transfixed by the purpling of Osiris' face. Coughing and spluttering violently, the former Guild Master fell from his stool onto his knees, his hands clawing at his throat.

White spittle foamed at the corners of his mouth as he wheezed, crawling to Wren, tugging on the hem of her skirt. The alchemist drank her tea as she watched on.

Crimson lined his teeth.

Blood clotted in the corners of his eyes.

‘Help me,' he choked, dribble running down his chin.

When Osiris had rasped his final breath, Wren pushed him from her skirts with the tip of her boot in disgust.

He fell back, slumping to the floor, dead.

‘Elwren…' Farissa murmured, pushing to the front of the crowd, her mouth agape at her apprentice.

‘We sentenced him to death,' Wren said calmly. ‘I wanted to be the one to do it. The man who helped seal Anya's fate, the man who took so much from Thezmarr and the midrealms…' She surveyed the shocked expressions around the room, including Thea's. ‘Did you think I'd have no stomach for what needs to be done? When it's deserved, it's an easy choice.'

Thea stared at her sister. ‘Is it always so… brutal?'

‘Only if you make it so.'

It was Kipp who came forward and marvelled at the Ladies' Luncheon teapot. ‘I think I love you,' he told the alchemist.

Adrienne shook her head in disbelief as she approached Wren, clapping her on the shoulder. ‘Killed by a teapot… I'll have to tell Drue and Tal about this.'

Hours later, when the shock of Wren's actions had worn off, Thea slipped away to the Bloodwoods. She needed silence, she needed space, she needed the comfort of the bleeding trunks and the crisp air. Only when the forest enveloped her and the canopy blocked out the afternoon sun did she breathe more easily.

She hadn't ventured through the glades since they'd marched on the fortress. Now, the shadows and vine blights had gone, leaving the forest to recover, the scent of damp earth filling Thea's nostrils once more. She inhaled it, grateful that the trees still stood, that the midrealms remained. It was surreal to think of what the world had been like only weeks before.

Thea wove through the dense trunks as she had years ago, staying off the main trail out of habit. The memory of Esyllt's voice rang out through the trees.

‘A month ago you were mere students, boys whose purpose did not extend beyond the ordinary… Today, you are shieldbearers of Thezmarr and you have come here to the Bloodwoods hoping to be something far greater.'

Goosebumps rushed across Thea's skin as she reached the familiar clearing. It seemed smaller somehow. Rolling her shoulders, she reached for the throwing stars in her boot and widened her stance.

Slowly, Thea lost herself to the rhythm of old training drills and target practice. As she flicked her wrist and aimed her silver stars at a distant tree trunk, she paid tribute to Sam and Ida, who would never again play Dancing Alchemists. And Anya, who had lost and given so much. The thoughts awakened the dull ache that so often kept her company.

Next, she twirled Malik's dagger of Naarvian steel between her fingers and threw it with flawless precision, embedding it right in the centre of the stars in the tree. The sight pleased her, making her glad she hadn't lost her touch in the weeks of negotiating and planning rather than training.

Finally, she unsheathed her Warsword blade, revelling in the comfort of its perfectly balanced weight. She closed her eyes for a moment, listening to her breathing, channelling that kernel of magic to the surface, letting it dance with her Furies-given strength and agility. Then, she launched herself into a series of manoeuvres, feeling the tension ease from her body as she practised each slice, each parry, every twirl of her blade.

Princess of Delmira. Guild Master…She wanted none of it. All she'd ever wanted was this. The song of steel in her hand, the wind on her face —

A twig snapped close by, and Thea whirled around, scanning the forest.

Her gaze fell upon the tree, her silver stars gleaming there, only… her dagger was missing from the centre of the target.

‘Looking for this?' came a deep, familiar voice.

Thea's heart stuttered at the sight of him.

Leaning against a tree, clad in his black armour, was the love of her life, twirling her dagger between his long, tattooed fingers. ‘I know a Warsword who still needs a Tverrian stallion…'