C H A P T E R T W E NT Y-T H R E E
he Warsword caught her as her legs finally gave out and she slid to the floor.T ‘Who did this?’ he demanded again, his firm hands circling her waist. His silver eyes surveyed her with a fiery expression.
His words sent a crackle of fire through Thea, but she gritted her teeth.
Hawthorne’s hand brushed her side. ‘You truly won’t tell me who did that to you?’ Thea’s lungs rattled. ‘No.’ It wasn’t his fight, it was hers. ‘I could easily find out,’ he warned. ‘I could punish them in ways you couldn’t even imagine.’ For a brief second Thea pictured Seb strung up and bleeding, all manner of horrors inflicted upon him. But she shook her head. ‘You could, but you won’t,’ she replied, her voice raw.
‘Won’t I?’ ‘No. You wouldn’t take that from me.’ ‘What is it I wouldn’t take?’ This time, the question seemed loaded.
But Thea met his stare, coming back to herself. ‘Vengeance,’ she said.
The Warsword’s nostrils flared, but his intense expression softened after a moment. ‘No,’ he agreed slowly. ‘I wouldn’t take that from you.’ Thea felt suddenly cold and confused; she became aware of the tiny, cramped space and how close the warrior seemed. ‘Where are we?’ she managed, her eyes heavy. ‘A broom closet,’ Hawthorne answered as he tore her shirt down the middle and studied the wound.
Up top, Thea wore a tight band of material around her breasts and her fate stone, but nothing more. She was too dazed to feel embarrassed as he peeled the rest of the fabric away from her battered body.
He swore softly at the state of her. ‘It’s deep,’ he murmured.
Everything was spinning and Thea felt completely untethered from herself. ‘Why?’ she mumbled. ‘Why what?’ His hands were hot on her cold, clammy skin as he pressed his fingers around the puncture.
She inhaled sharply through her teeth at the pain. ‘Why are we in a broom closet?’ ‘Don’t ask me. I followed the trail of blood here.’ ‘I… I was trying to find my sister. She… she can help.’ Hawthorne was tearing her shirt into strips now. ‘We have to stop the bleeding first.’ His
fingertips brushed her skin as he wrapped the lengths of linen around her. ‘This is going to hurt.’ Thea didn’t register what he was doing until the strips tightened at her middle, crushing her tender abdomen and pressing painfully against her stab wound. Agony lanced through her and a strained gasp escaped, her hand shooting out, gripping his forearm, finding the strength there comforting.
He let her hold on to him as he reached for something with his other hand. From a pouch at his belt, he produced a dried leaf and held it to her mouth. ‘Chew on this,’ he ordered.
Thea’s lips touched his skin as she did as she was told, the plant bitter on her tongue. ‘It should make you more alert, keep you from falling unconscious,’ he told her, checking the makeshift bandage at her side. ‘I need you to stay with me, alright?’ Thea swallowed the herb with a grimace and almost instantly, she felt her senses prickle back to life. The first thing she noticed was that she was still touching Hawthorne, her hand wrapped around the corded bulk of his forearm. The second thing was that his hand was resting against the curve of her bare waist. Warmth radiated from his skin and she had to fight the instinct to lean in and savour his scent.
He went taut, as though he, too, had noticed where their bodies met. ‘Whatever it is you’re thinking, we can’t,’ he growled. ‘You’re half-dead, Alchemist.’
‘I didn’t say anything.’ ‘You didn’t need to.’ ‘My mind isn’t the only one that went there, Warsword.’ She could see his jaw working where he ground his teeth. ‘How did this happen?’ he asked instead, motioning to her injuries. ‘Can you tell me that at least?’ Thea’s side throbbed terribly and an icy shiver raked across her skin, but neither sensation was enough to distract her from him. ‘Training,’ she managed. ‘You’re not using steel yet. How?’ Wincing as she steadied herself, Thea gritted out: ‘There were punishments to oversee, apparently.’ Fire blazed in that icy stare; the only sign that he’d heard her. For a moment, he was unnaturally still before he spoke again. ‘Do you think you can stand?’ he said softly. ‘Thea?’ he prompted, when she didn’t respond straight away.
He’d used her name. Not ‘Alchemist’, not even Althea, but Thea… She found her voice hoarse when she spoke. ‘I think so.’ Slowly, he helped her to her feet, her whole body trembling with the effort. He draped his cloak around her bare shoulders, pulling it closed across her banded chest at the front.
He can probably feel my thundering heart, she thought, glancing down at where his knuckles brushed her skin, where they lingered.
And there, in the dim light of the cramped closet, for a moment she forgot about the pulsing pain at her side and her maimed abdomen, she forgot about Seb and Vernich and their cruelty entirely… Instead, she focused on the subtle hum of Hawthorne’s body. Her eyes caught his, and they simply stared at one another before his gaze dropped to her lips.
Am I delirious? she wondered, warmth flooding her. ‘You could have died in here,’ he said, something unrecognisable in his tone before strained lightness sounded. ‘Some legend you would have been then… The alchemist who keeled over in a broom closet.’ Thea’s heart raced, her fingers itching to hold her fate stone, to press it into his warm palm and
tell him what it meant, what it truly meant. Enovius wouldn’t take her, not yet.
Instead, she shook her head and stepped away from the Warsword, opening the door. ‘No,’ she told him. ‘I couldn’t have.’ Torchlight from the corridor flooded the tiny closet and as soon as she was outside, she inhaled the cold air, instantly missing the closeness of his body, her skin still tingling.
Hawthorne still looked tense. ‘If you’re going to be a warrior of Thezmarr,’ he said. ‘You need to learn more than fighting.’ ‘More wisdom for me today?’ She sounded weak. ‘You will need friends in this fortress, you will need a team. You need to learn to tend to wounds.
You’ll have plenty of them. As will your friends. So if not for your own sake, learn for theirs.’ Thea thought of Wren and Ida and Sam, then Cal and Kipp as well. Sometimes she tried to convince herself she didn’t need them, that they were better off without her, a young woman with one foot already in her grave… ‘I haven’t noticed you with any friends.’ Thea hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but it was too late to take it back.
Hawthorne gave her a piercing look and ignored her comment. ‘Every discipline this fortress offers has a vital part to play. You should respect them all. You should master them all. There is more to this guild than blades and fists.’ ‘So my sister tells me,’ Thea heard herself say. ‘And you should listen. She knows what she’s talking about.’ Hawthorne supported her all the way to Wren’s rooms, where the door flew open upon their approach.
Her sister’s eyes were wild with panic and she was instantly at Thea’s side, looping Thea’s arm over her shoulder, taking her weight from Hawthorne. ‘I’ll take it from here,’ Wren told him.
The Warsword hesitated in the doorway. ‘Thank you for helping my sister,’ she said rather tersely, before closing the door in his face.
Thea was too exhausted to protest her sister’s rudeness, or voice that she wanted him to stay.
Wren helped her inside and gently lowered her onto the bed. ‘Callahan has all the alchemists out looking for you. He told us what happened. Gods, Thea. Why didn’t you send for me? You know I would have —’ Her words came out in a terrified flurry and her voice broke at the end. ‘No matter what shit was happening between us, you’re my sister.’ ‘I know,’ Thea managed. ‘I was coming to find you.’ ‘Then where in the midrealms were you?’ Wren exclaimed, pulling back the heavy cloak to get a look at the bloodstained linen binding her midsection. Then she froze, noticing the dark wool between her fingers. ‘This is the Warsword’s cloak,’ she said.
Thea gave a nod of confirmation, and she watched her sister stiffen. ‘The Hand of Death himself gave you his cloak?’ Wren asked. When Thea didn’t bother confirming this, she weighed her words, chewing the inside of her cheek before meeting Thea’s questioning gaze. ‘I…’ she struggled. ‘I don’t like him.’ ‘Since when do you have strong opinions about any Warsword?’ Her breath whistled between her teeth as Wren examined her injuries. ‘I have strong opinions about everyone, thank you very much.’ Wren sighed again. ‘Since one seems to trail my sister.’
Thea laughed and then gasped at the sharp pain that lanced through her. ‘He does not,’ she wheezed.
Wren perched on the edge of the bed, no amusement there. ‘Stay away from him, Thee… He’s the worst one. I know you think they’re noble —’ ‘Some of them,’ Thea muttered, clutching her side. ‘But the stories I’ve heard about Wilder Hawthorne…’ Wren continued carefully. ‘They’d make even your stomach turn. He’s dangerous.’ ‘Of course he’s dangerous. He’s called the Hand of Death, for fuck’s sake. They’re all dangerous, that’s sort of the point, isn’t it?’ Wren was shaking her head. ‘People talk, Thea. He’s a monster, more so than those he slays. He brings back the hearts of the creatures he kills… Trophies. That’s what the fortress staff say.’ ‘Gossip,’ Thea retorted. ‘Bored, nosy —’ ‘Listen to me for once,’ Wren hissed. ‘I’ve seen it. I’ve had to take… supplies to him. I saw those bleeding black hearts for myself.’ Thea’s own heart stuttered, a memory suddenly coming back to her. Hadn’t she seen Hawthorne enter Thezmarr on the night of his initial return, a sack dripping with blood in his hands?
But Thea shook her head. ‘He helped me. He stopped the bleeding. Gave me some leaf to chew.’
Wren looked up, alarmed. ‘What was it?’ ‘Uhhh…’ ‘Oh, for Furies’ sake, Thea. You did alchemy for over a decade, you don’t know what he gave you?’ ‘It was a dried herb,’ Thea said defensively. ‘Tasted bitter. He told me it would stop me from losing consciousness.’ ‘Oh,’ Wren sighed with relief. ‘That’s just iruseed.’ ‘Why the concern?’ ‘Warswords have all sorts of strange drugs on them. I thought for a moment he’d given you a particular stimulant they use.’ ‘I was halfway to Enovius, Wren. It wouldn’t have mattered what he gave me.’ Her sister snorted, the tension dissipating. ‘Here I was thinking you couldn’t die… Lie back and stop fidgeting.’ Wren carefully removed the bloody linen strips and brewed some sort of terrible smelling tincture as she cleaned the wound thoroughly.
Thea grit her teeth through the pain. The open gash stung terribly through her sister’s ministrations.
She grimaced. ‘Can you open the window? That stuff you’re brewing stinks.’ Wren did as she asked and then went to the small cauldron to stir whatever nightmare concoction she was making. Her brow furrowed as she worked, and Thea knew that to mean her mind was on
something else entirely. ‘Wren?’ she said, trying to sit up. ‘Don’t!’ her sister cried. ‘You’ll open that wound back up. You should have had stitches.’ ‘I was just going to say… I’m sorry,’ Thea told her. ‘For the other day. For what I said. It’s not what I meant. You know I care —’ ‘Oh shut up,’ Wren cut in, waving her off. ‘I know all that.’ ‘Then what are you thinking?’ A flash of anger crossed Wren’s face, her celadon eyes narrowing. ‘You were stabbed, Althea…’ ‘I’m aware.’ ‘Your way of besting that bastard, Seb Barlowe, was to allow him to beat you half to death and
stick a blade between your ribs?’ Wren took the cauldron off the small stove and poured the steaming liquid into a bowl.
The smell of it made Thea’s eyes water. ‘I didn’t say it was the perfect plan. But it’s about the long game, Wren.’ Wren faced her, her hands on her hips. ‘Oh? Since when? I’ve never known you to strategise past your next meal.’ Thea gave her sister a slow smile. ‘Since I realised legends aren’t forged overnight.’
Thea spent the night in her sister’s rooms, where Wren watched her like a hawk. As the hours passed, her abdomen became a patchwork of purple that Wren insisted on poking and monitoring, going so far as to trace the outline of bruising with ink. Thea was too tired to argue with her and it was a relief to not have to be on her guard. She would have even preferred the broom closet to going through this in her own dormitory, so Wren’s cosy quarters were an improvement indeed.
At some point in the night, there was a soft knock at the door and Thea heard low voices outside, but she couldn’t focus on what they were saying and soon drifted back to sleep.
Thea dreamt of the seer and the fate stone, the jade as green as ever against the pale skin of her palm. ‘Remember me,’ the words came as they always did, laced with magic and mystery and the promise of death. She remembered the relief in Hawthorne’s voice when she’d told him it didn’t belong to her. What would he say if he knew the truth? And why, in the name of all the gods, did she care? She’d lived with the knowledge since she was an infant, why the need to share it now?
In the early hours of the morning, Wren woke her to check she was still alive, which seemed ridiculous to Thea. But again, she didn’t argue, merely surrendered to her sister’s interrogation and examination. She demanded to know about tingling sensations in her hands and feet, or if Thea was experiencing shortness of breath or pain.
All of those things, Thea had muttered.
And Wren had sworn, banging about her room to make more terrible smelling poultices and tonics while Thea sweated through the sheets. Either her sister had a real grasp of the healing art, or she simply enjoyed torturing Thea.
When dawn filtered through the grimy window, Thea opened her eyes a crack to find Wren asleep in the chair beside the bed, a bowl of bloodied fabric at her feet. Her hair was dishevelled, she still wore the same clothes from yesterday, and she had dark smudges of exhaustion beneath her eyes.
Thea hated to wake her, but she knew her sister would murder her if she allowed her to miss one of her beloved shifts. ‘You’ll hurt your neck like that,’ she said quietly.
Wren stirred slowly, her hands moving to rub her temples. ‘Gods,’ she muttered. ‘I feel like I drank a barrel of wine.’ She pulled a disgusted face as she wiped her mouth. ‘I taste like it too.’ ‘Might have been all those delicious fumes wafting around here last night.’ ‘That’s the thanks I get?’ she grumbled, rubbing the back of her neck with a grimace. ‘How are you feeling?’ Thea winced as she ever so slowly sat up. ‘Like I got pummelled and stabbed by a savage.’ ‘Good to know he didn’t beat the humour out of you.’ Wren got to her feet and stretched. ‘You can
stay here for the day to recover.’ ‘No, can’t do that,’ Thea told her.
Wren turned to her, hands on hips. ‘Don’t you dare, Althea. Not after I’ve stayed up all night worrying about you and treating you. Don’t you dare go back out and get yourself —’ ‘I thought I’d come with you today.’ Thea suppressed a smile. Everyone always thought she was the hot-headed one, but Wren could give her a run for her coin when she wanted to. ‘With me?’ Wren baulked. ‘What? To alchemy? To the healer’s studio? To —’ Thea waved her off. ‘Yes, yes. To all the above.’ ‘But…’ ‘There’s more to being a Thezmarrian warrior than fighting,’ she said, her cheeks heating at the thought of the Warsword who’d shared that very sentiment with her.
The look of shock on her sister’s face told Thea just how single-minded she had been in the past.
No longer, she vowed. If she was going to be a warrior, a legend of the guild, then she needed to get her head out of her arse. She was in no condition to train today and she let go of that furious pride that told her she needed to show her face. Standing around to prove to Seb that he hadn’t broken her was not a clever use of her time and with only eight weeks standing between her and the initiation test, she needed to be clever with her time now more than ever.
Wren was standing in the doorway waiting for her. ‘You’re really coming?’ ‘Yes.’ Slowly drawing her legs over the side of the bed and planting her feet on the ground, Thea tested her ability to hold her own weight. ‘You really should rest today,’ but Wren had said it weakly, knowing that once her mind was made up, there was no changing it. ‘Do you have a staff or… something I can use to support myself?’ Thea was wobbly and she was already short of breath, but the last thing she wanted was to delay Wren. She was a master’s apprentice now. She had duties and responsibilities beyond showing up for work at the Alchemy workshop.
Wren scanned her cluttered room. ‘Will this do?’ She pulled several empty pots hanging from a rod by the window and gave it to Thea, who tested it tentatively. ‘It’s fine, thank you.’ Wren gave her a strange look that Thea couldn’t read. Unless… Was it a surprise? Had she not voiced her gratitude before? Thea opened her mouth to say more, but her sister was already bustling about the room, collecting things and forcing another horrible tonic down Thea’s throat.
Coughing and spluttering, Thea did everything she was told without complaint and when at last they were ready, she followed her into the corridor, shuffling along with her makeshift staff. ‘If that wound starts bleeding again, you tell me immediately,’ Wren ordered. ‘We will not be testing the fates today.’ Thea gave her a salute and a smile. ‘As you say.’ ‘Why aren’t you like this all the time?’ Wren muttered as they made their way to the workshop. ‘You’re far more agreeable.’ ‘Someone has to keep you on your toes, sister.’ Wren rolled her eyes.
When they entered the Alchemy workshop, the chatter fell silent as all eyes went to Thea.
She spotted Ida and Sam at their usual table, their grins faltering as they took in her staff and sickly pallor. Thea tried to give them a reassuring wave. ‘What’s this?’ Farissa said from the front of the room. ‘A lost lamb returned to the herd?’ ‘Only for a little while, Farissa,’ Thea replied. ‘If you’ll have me.’ The older woman smiled. ‘There’s always a place for you here, Althea.’
Thea nodded in thanks and shuffled towards her old place at her sister’s side. When she reached the workbench, she was drenched in sweat and panting. Thankfully, her sister had procured a stool for her and she sat down with a grateful grimace. ‘So,’ she rasped. ‘How’s the Ladies’ Luncheon design coming along?’ Wren beamed. ‘I’ll show you.’ Thea spent the next hour or so listening to her sister intently. She had always known Wren was brilliant, but this… The quaint teapot, complete with its floral embellishments and delicate features, was a weapon. How had it taken Thea so long to realise that Wren was just as much a Thezmarrian warrior as the rest? That she was creating devices to dispatch poison to their enemies, that the guild was relying on her for the subtle art of chemical warfare?
Thea drank in every word and followed every instruction, fascinated by Wren’s mind and her cunning nature. Where the Warswords were the face of Thezmarr, the Alchemists were the silent killers, the shadows in the night. Thea’s chest swelled with pride; she had no doubt that one day Wren would run this place.
When the shift was finished, she told Wren she wanted to visit Kipp and, to her surprise, her sister insisted on accompanying her.
The infirmary was in the lower levels of the southwest tower and took up an entire floor. Once upon a time it had been used with far more frequency than it was now, when Thezmarr’s warriors were returning from battle wounded in droves. Despite her many injuries over the years, the only time Thea had stepped foot in the infirmary was when she had tried to return Malik’s dagger to him… As she and Wren passed the rows of empty, narrow beds, she felt a pang at its loss. ‘I’ve only met these men in passing,’ Wren was saying. ‘It’s about time I got to know who’s living with my only sister, day in, day out.’ The chuckle on Thea’s lips died when they entered the far side of the healer's wing and found Kipp lying in one of the beds. Half his face was swollen beyond recognition.
Thea rushed to his side. ‘Gods, Kipp… Look what he did to you…’ He blinked at her with his good eye. ‘Fractured cheekbone, fractured eye socket…’ he said hoarsely. ‘So I’m told. They’re keeping me here under observation, lest I have damage to my brain. I told them I’m always like this, though.’ A strangled laugh escaped Thea, though her heart ached for him. ‘Worth it,’ he told her as he tried to sit up.
Thea gaped at him. ‘How so?’ ‘Well, you brought your lovely sister to sit by my bedside…’ Thea slapped his arm lightly, perching herself on the side of his bed. ‘You’re shameless.’ She beckoned Wren forward. ‘Wren, this is my friend Kipp, Kipp, this is my sister Elwren.’ ‘I’m thrilled to officially meet you, Elwren Zoltaire, sister of the unbreakable Thea,’ Kipp said with as much of a grin as his facial swelling would allow. ‘I assure you, I’m usually a lot more handsome.’ Wren laughed. ‘I saw you before the injuries, Kipp.’ He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offence. ‘Brutal as well as beautiful. I like you.’ Thea shook her head, throwing her sister a silent apology for her friend. ‘Good to know you’re still in there, Kipp.’ ‘Oh, you know it’d take more than a Warsword’s swinging fists to rattle the spark from me. I think he was trying to knock some sense into me, alas, he failed miserably. Did I tell you about the time I got so drunk at the Laughing Fox I tried to arm wrestle a soldier from Battalon?’
Thea snorted. ‘Was that before or after the raven-haired beauty?’ ‘Who could say, Thea? Who could say,’ Kipp murmured before surveying her with a critical eye. ‘How are you?’ ‘Better than you, by the look of things.’
‘That’s debatable.’ ‘I’m fine.’ She heard Wren’s irritated huff before she spoke. ‘You’re decidedly not fine,’ her sister snapped. ‘You were stabbed and you have internal injuries to your abdomen. If you weren’t such a stubborn fool, you’d be in the bed alongside your friend here.’ Thea gave Kipp a conspirator’s grin. ‘Unfortunately, just as there’s no beating the spark from Kipp, there’s no beating the stubborn from me.’ ‘I know that, or I would have tried already,’ Wren told them.
Kipp gave a pained chuckle. ‘That I’d pay to see.’ Smiling, Thea squeezed Kipp’s hand, finding it cold and clammy. ‘Where’s Cal?’ ‘Training,’ Kipp replied. ‘At least he’d better be. Someone needs to represent our misfit trio.’ Thea didn’t miss the wince as he spoke. ‘Are you alright?’ His breathing became more laboured. ‘The headaches come and go… Some are worse than others.’ Wren stepped in. ‘He needs rest, Thea,’ she said gently. ‘Is there anything we can bring you, Kipp?’ ‘A growler of sour mead from the Laughing Fox wouldn’t go astray…’ he replied weakly.
Thea laughed. ‘When you’re better, we’ll get you back there. Maybe even find that girl you’re always on about.’ Kipp gave a weary smile before he fell back into his pillow, his good eye closed and his chest rose and fell steadily in sleep. ‘Come, Thea,’ her sister whispered. ‘Let him rest.’ Thea wasn’t prepared for the swell of emotion rising in her chest to her throat. ‘Do you think he’ll be okay?’ ‘With time,’ Wren said, gently pulling her towards the door.
But Thea yanked her out of the way – her wound screaming as two figures staggered into the infirmary.
Esyllt was crumbling beneath the weight of Vernich the Bloodletter, whose face was a patchwork of swelling and bruising, not dissimilar to Kipp’s. The two men shoved right past Thea and Wren, deep in conversation. ‘The man is unhinged.’ Vernich was saying through gritted, blood-streaked teeth. ‘Far be it from me to interfere with Warsword business —’ ‘Then don’t.’ ‘But I’ve never known Hawthorne to strike without reason.’ Vernich shoved Esyllt away. ‘You think this savagery was justified?’ Blood sprayed from his mouth.
Esyllt merely shrugged. ‘An interesting question coming from you. We all thought you revered
lessons instilled with violence.’ ‘Fuck off, Esyllt.’ ‘With pleasure,’ the weapons master retorted, sweeping from the room without another word, leaving Thea and Wren staring after the bloodied Warsword in shock.
