Chapter Seven

Still clutching his swords, Wilder watched in awe and reverence as his love took on the world for him. A deafening crack echoed through the night as a white bolt struck the spire in a blinding flash. The entire tower groaned, its ancient stones falling away with the force of the impact – impact that vibrated through the earth, through Wilder's bones.

Time seemed to slow, caught in the breathless moment between disbelief and inevitability. With a cataclysmic crescendo of lightning, Thea shattered the Scarlet Tower into two halves, its black heart exposed to the realms as it broke apart. For a second the pieces teetered on the brink of ruin, before succumbing to the unforgiving embrace of gravity. The horrific interior of cells and torture chambers was wrenched apart, destroyed in thick clouds of dust and flame as whatever concoctions stored there were detonated. The remains were sent hurtling towards the ground below.

Together, Wilder and Thea watched the tower collapse, chains and charred stone cascading in a dance of total decimation, laying bare the underbelly of the prison.

Only when the Scarlet Tower lay in ruins upon the storm-and battle-scarred land did Thea stop. Her hands fell to her sides, tendrils of smoke drifting from her fingers.

Wilder wanted nothing more than to gather her in his arms, to breathe in her sea-salt-and-bergamot scent and hold her close, but something snagged his attention —

Movement on the ground.

As more smoke and shadows dissipated, he saw Aemund.

The man's lower half was crushed beneath a pile of debris, blood pouring from the wound. His eyes were wide, his face pale and sweaty, but he made no sound despite his clear agony. Instead, his gaze seemed to implore Wilder.

Thea seemed to understand before he did, handing him her dagger wordlessly.

Inhaling deeply, trying to steady himself, Wilder crouched at Aemund's side, resting a hand on his shoulder.

‘I'm glad you destroyed it,' Aemund rasped. ‘Glad it's been wiped from the world.'

Wilder didn't have the energy to mask his pity. He had only spent two weeks inside the tower, but Aemund… Aemund had been subject to its torture for years.

‘Please,' Aemund said. ‘End it.'

Wilder lowered his voice. ‘We can try to get you out of here.'

Aemund attempted to shake his head. ‘I thought for a time that perhaps I could have a life beyond this place, but… No. I don't want it.' He took another rattling gasp. ‘The darkness will follow me always. Please, do me this kindness.'

A lump forming in his throat, Wilder nodded. ‘Go in peace, my friend,' he told him. And then he slipped Malik's dagger between Aemund's ribs, right into his heart.

Aemund's eyes went wide, his expression morphing into one of pure relief before he took his final breath. Wilder's body sagged as he removed the blade, and he felt Thea beside him.

‘It was what he wanted,' she said quietly.

‘I know,' he croaked.

For a moment he stayed like that, on his knees in the dirt by the corpse of a man he hardly knew, as fragments of shadow fell around them like ash in the wind. He barely registered Thea looping his arm around her shoulders and hauling him to his feet.

‘I've got you,' she murmured.

He leant into her. Beneath the sweat, grime and blood, she smelt of home. He paused, drawing her face to his so that he could kiss her —

Power surged around them; strangely familiar, but not belonging to Thea.

The earth shuddered beneath them as something – someone – landed in front of them.

With his arm still slung around Thea, Wilder could only stare at the winged figure before him.

The man hadn't changed, not in all the years that had passed, but for the dusting of silver through the dark golden-brown hair that was swept back in the same knot he'd always worn. He was as broad and tall as ever as he tucked his wings behind his back and sheathed his swords at his hips, his plain black armour shining with wraith blood.

‘Hello, Apprentice,' said the familiar rich, warm voice.

Wilder blinked, not quite believing it, his knees threatening to buckle. ‘Tal…?'

Talemir Starling smiled broadly, his hazel eyes bright as his shadows danced around them. ‘Told you there'd come a day when you'd need us…'

He came forward, and were it not for the hand that grasped Wilder's shoulder, he would have sworn the winged Warsword was a figment of his imagination, a ghost from a distant past.

But Talemir's grip was firm and solid. ‘It's good to see you, Wilder,' he said earnestly, his gaze brimming with emotion.

At Wilder's side, Thea made a noise of frustration. ‘You took your time.'

Talemir's hand dropped from Wilder's shoulder and he gave her a grin. ‘Seemed like you wanted to make a statement.'

Wilder knew he was gawking as he watched the surreal exchange unfold. Thea was here, with Talemir… They had worked together to save him from the Scarlet Tower and the terrible fate that had awaited him there. How? It was taking every ounce of his willpower to remain upright, to hide the tremor in his hands.

‘We should get out of here,' Talemir said, gesturing to the smouldering ruins. ‘It won't be long until word spreads of this. They'll send more —'

‘Can you carry us both?' Thea asked.

‘Not all the way to headquarters.' Talemir stretched his wings with a grimace, his shadows unfurling around him. ‘But I wouldn't take you there straight away even if I could. There's a chance there'll be wraiths on our tail, and I don't want to lead them to our doorstep. But I know a place I can leave you while I check for breaches and get help.'

Wilder was rigid beside Thea. He felt untethered from himself, from the situation unfolding before him. He had kept the feeling at bay for weeks in the cells and violent pits of the tower, but here, surrounded by people he knew, and loved, his armour was starting to crack.

‘Preferably somewhere with liquor,' he heard himself say hoarsely.

Talemir barked a laugh. ‘I'll see what I can do.'

Then, without warning, shadows swept in. Not the shadows of evil and tyranny, but another kind: warmer, protective. Shadows that Wilder himself knew from long ago. Talemir's power.

He heard the beat of Tal's wings, and felt the pull of his magic, wrapping around him and Thea and launching them skyward.

Wilder had only experienced it a handful of times before, once with Talemir himself, the other times with Anya and Dratos. He would never get used to it – a surreal backward freefall, wind whipping all around him.

Thea's hand in his anchored him as space and time seemed to warp around them, toying with each of his senses. He knew they weren't simply flying, that Talemir was transporting them with shadow magic. Wilder didn't care, so long as it stopped soon. He'd never liked the sensation —

Solid ground met his ill-fitting boots and he staggered forward. Only when he was steady on his feet did Talemir's shadows retreat, revealing a familiar place.

A pale stream of moonlight illuminated the white stones and wooden beams of a large building. A rustic sign swung outside the door.

Wilder stared. ‘You've got to be joking.'

Talemir gave a roguish grin and reached for the heavy wooden door. ‘You said somewhere with liquor, Apprentice.'

Wilder glanced at Thea, who was staring at the sign, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘Kipp is going to have a fit.'

The door creaked loudly as Talemir pushed it open and waited for Wilder. ‘Welcome back to the Dancing Badger.'

Dazed, Wilder stepped inside, Thea close behind. Talemir lit several candles before he disappeared behind the bar, giving them a moment to look around the tavern.

It was as though no time had passed. Dark timber beams adorned the ceilings, along with iron chandeliers that hung low over the long tables. A great hearth lay at the centre, cold and unused, the corners of the space furnished with generous cushioned booths. Someone had cleared away the discarded plates, cups and empty bottles that had been strewn about the last time he was here, but other than that… The portraits lining the walls were the same, even including the face of Albert, the owner of the Laughing Fox in Harenth, and the man he now recognised as Everard, the owner of the Singing Hare in Aveum. He could only imagine how irritated Marise would be to learn his likeness wasn't included in the drinkers and thinkers' hall of fame…

Wilder hesitated. It was too good to be true, too real.

Feeling a tremor take hold in his little finger, he backed away, his heart in his throat. It was the tower's most visceral illusion yet, and he'd fallen for it. He'd wanted so desperately to believe that it was over, that they had triumphed over the dark, that he'd let his mind be taken. This was a warped fragment of memory, of two parts of his life colliding, and they were using it against him with elaborate cruelty —

Thea squeezed his hand firmly, hard enough to force his gaze to hers.

‘It's real,' she told him, seemingly understanding where his mind had gone. ‘I'm real. You're here. With us.'

Talemir appeared again and pressed a glass bottle into his hand. ‘Drink that,' his former mentor told him. ‘If you're in some sort of dream, it'll taste like that fine wine you love so much.'

Wilder pulled the cork out with his teeth and put the bottle to his lips, taking a generous swig. The liquor washed over his tongue and burned down his throat with a familiar ferocity.

Wilder coughed, eyes streaming. ‘Fucking fire extract,' he rasped. ‘Still tastes like death —'

‘Guess you're not dreaming, then,' Tal said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Wilder took another, deeper drink this time before passing the bottle to Thea. ‘Guess not.'

He watched as Thea took a swig without so much as a grimace, her eyes never leaving him.

‘I'm alright,' he murmured, pulling her closer to his side before he looked back to Talemir.

It had been a long time since he'd stood on Naarvian soil, and suddenly, the most vivid memory came crashing back into him.

‘Not all is as it seems at Thezmarr. You know this in your bones…' Talemir had told him. ‘Keep the current state of this kingdom a secret. To the outside world, Naarva should appear as it has for the last year or so: an overgrown ghost kingdom but for its forge.'

‘I take no orders from you. You're no longer a Warsword, no longer a brother of mine.'

‘Your anger with me will fade in time, Wilder. But for now, you need to go on. You need to hunt the reapers…'

‘Fuck you, Tal.'

Wilder came back to himself, watching as his former mentor spoke in hushed tones with Thea. It was as though they had only seen each other yesterday. Tal moved with the same commanding grace as he always had, and gestured with the same ease, as though he'd known Thea his whole life, as though they were friends.

Wilder sucked in a breath. There was so much he wanted to say. He opened his mouth to do so, only for Tal to wave him off.

‘There'll be enough time for that later,' he said. ‘I have to return to headquarters and brief the others, secure the perimeter before we come back and get you.' He made for the door. ‘The tavern is safe, as are the grounds with the well out back. But don't stray far. I won't be long.'

‘Thank you,' Thea said, seeing him out.

Talemir nodded. ‘Rest. Recover. You'll need all your strength for what's ahead.'

Wilder knew he wasn't talking to Thea, but she nodded all the same.

The door clicked closed behind him, and suddenly, Wilder found himself alone with Thea.

At long last, he allowed himself to look at her, not in the blaze of battle or in the eye of one of her storms, but properly. She stood before him, covered in grime and blood, but proud, and he drank in the sight of her like a parched man in a desert. Her bronze-and-gold-streaked hair was matted, but braided down the side as it always was, some tendrils loose and framing her dirt-smudged face. She wore fitted leather pants and a shirt that might have once been white, the sleeves rolled to the elbow.

He took a step towards her, his breath catching at the Furies-gifted totem around her right arm. It was just like the one he had once possessed, its steel shining in the glow of the candlelight: two crossed swords, a third cutting down the middle, only… behind the three blades were streaks of lightning.

Pride swelled in his chest. The Furies had marked Thea's totem differently, for the exception that she was.

Next, Wilder looked to the blade of Naarvian steel at her belt. He had seen her wield it at the tower, but to see it here, as a permanent part of her…

‘You're a Warsword,' he murmured at last, his voice thick with emotion.

‘I am,' she said softly, letting him observe her without a word as his gaze fell to the mangled scar around her left wrist. He froze. When he'd emerged from the Rite, all the scars he'd earnt had vanished, but this scar seemed different – more vicious, as though her whole hand had been severed at the joint —

He didn't even realise he was reaching for it until Thea flinched.

She pulled her sleeve down, covering the ragged skin there, but the hurt must have shown in his face because she said, ‘I'm sorry. I'm just… I'm not used to it yet.'

‘You have nothing to be sorry for,' Wilder told her. Instead, he reached for those loose strands of hair in her eyes and tucked them gently behind her ears, relieved to find her leaning into his touch.

‘Did you go to Tver to get your stallion?' he asked, closing the little distance between them, wondering once more if this was a trick of his mind, if the Archmage of Chains had broken into his dreams again.

Thea raised her brows. ‘There was something a little more pressing to attend to first, Warsword.'

‘I can't imagine what…' Wilder's gaze dropped to her lips.

‘Besides, I thought you might want to be there with me. You did threaten to name my stallion Pancake, after all…' Thea's warm hands trailed up his torso, and he was surprised to find that he was still bare-chested. One less thing to remove, he thought distantly, leaning in.

Thea threaded her fingers through his hair, a sigh escaping her, as though she'd been holding it in all this time. But there was something he had to know, something that would define them from here on.

‘Did they grant it to you?' he whispered, as his mouth almost brushed hers. ‘Immortality?'

Thea drew back, only slightly, and shook her head. ‘No,' she answered, briefly hesitating. ‘You never told me what you asked… What you asked instead?'

Tension rolled through Wilder as he pressed his brow to hers, trying to contain the ache in his chest. The grains in the hourglass moved against them at breakneck speed now. Less than a year… That was what they had left together, and that was if they survived the war to come.

‘Wilder?' Thea pressed.

‘I asked them if I'd regret it… not seeking immortal life.' He met her celadon gaze, memorising every one of her features anew. ‘They told me that I'd never regret it. That while my life would hold much pain, it would also hold more love than I could ever imagine.'

Thea's stormy eyes lined with tears. ‘Fuck,' she muttered, looking down. ‘I told myself I wouldn't —'

But Wilder gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing her face up to his once more. ‘You never have to hide your tears from me.'

Thea's hand slipped from his hair and cupped the side of his face, her expression softening. ‘I love you,' she said, her voice cracking.

Wilder's legs threatened to give way beneath him. She had spoken those words amid the carnage of the Scarlet Tower, and they had uttered them to one another before in Tver… In the hot springs, on the eve of battle, afterwards as well… But Thea had never been the one to say it first, and he'd told himself he understood, that it didn't matter. He would take whatever she gave him and be fucking grateful. And then everything had changed. The Great Rite had called her and he'd stopped her from saying it. In the dank cells of the prison, it had mattered, and in his darkest moments, he'd feared he might never again hear those words from her lips.

‘Say it again,' he murmured, his heart racing, his grip tightening on her chin.

Thea traced the lines of his face with reverence. ‘I love you.'

A shuddering breath escaped Wilder. He didn't trust himself to speak.

Thea peered into his eyes. ‘I have never been so scared in my life, never —'

‘I know.' His voice threatened to falter. ‘Me either.'

‘There is so much I want to tell you, so much I want to —'

‘Later,' Wilder said, and kissed her.

He kissed her to close the distance he felt between them, the distance created not by time and space, but by each not knowing what the other had been through. His lips ghosted over Thea's and her mouth opened for him, his tongue brushing hers.

She drew him tighter to her and moaned, the sound vibrating down into his chest, into his soul.

‘I love you,' he whispered, breaking away for just a moment. ‘I love you so fucking much.' And then he deepened the kiss, claiming her fiercely, dragging his hands over her body as though he could imprint the shape of her onto his palms.

As her mouth moved over his and her hand rested against his heart, he wondered abstractly if it was another dream.

If it is, he thought, his blood heating as he pushed Thea against a table and she wrapped her legs around him, I'll stay here forever.