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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.

WILDER HAWTHORNE

Someone had hurt her.Badly. Whatever codes of duty and honour Wilder was bound by, they splintered in the face of that.

His hands were still stained with her blood.

That alone was enough to undo him. He wasn’t sure when he had crossed the line, or at what point the infuriating alchemist had become someone he’d break rules for…

And break rules for her he had, for it was not just her blood on his hands, not now that he’d delivered swift and brutal justice to Vernich Warner. As his fists had collided with his fellow Warsword’s face, splitting skin, fracturing bone, Wilder knew it was reckless, as reckless as the alchemist was… But he didn’t care. Vernich deserved what he got.

He scoffed at the notion of that bastard as someone’s mentor, then at the image ofhimselfas a mentor. It was yet another reason Wilder was against the whole idea of masters and apprentices. Warswords were inherently selfish, the lot of them. And one way or another, they always let you down.

And Althea had been let down in the most violent way.

Though, if the state of Vernich’s face was anything to go by, that wouldn’t be happening again.

Wilder longed to deliver the same savagery to that prick, Sebastos Barlowe. It had only taken one look at the smug shieldbearer’s face to know he’d been responsible for the stab wound to Thea’s ribs. And that nepotism alone had allowed him to go unpunished. But she had been right. He wouldn’t take her vengeance from her, and her vengeance would come eventually, he’d make sure of it.

With the fire crackling heartily in the living room, Wilder stood at the basin in his cabin, scrubbing the blood from his hands with soapy water. As he worked, he tried not to relive how Thea had fallen into his arms, her face drained of colour, her body limp, almost lifeless. The fear that had gripped him, that still sat like a stone in the pit of his gut, was unlike anything he had felt before; a desperate beast clawing him raw from within.

When he’d treated her wound and given her the dried iruseed, that terror had ebbed away for a moment, replaced by something similarly primal. In the dark recess of that broom cupboard, his body had come alive in her presence, and he’d wanted nothing more than to care for her, to protect her.

Muttering a curse to himself, he took a hard brush to his fingernails, scrubbing roughly to get rid of the blood beneath them, taking no care for his split, bruised knuckles.

A heavy knock sounded at the door, sparing him from his thoughts.

‘Heard you gave our Bloodletter a beating and a half,’ Torj Elderbrock said, pushing past Wilder into the cabin and settling into one of the armchairs.

‘Make yourself at home,’ Wilder muttered, closing the door behind him.

‘I come bearing gifts at least,’ Torj replied, waving a dark bottle at him from his seat.