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So there was a tear in the Veil to the south of Naarva, and now another to the north of Delmira. One threat after another, there was no limit to the horrors that could be unleashed upon the midrealms. And not enough Warswords in the realms to protect the people of the three remaining kingdoms.

The wraith hearts knocked against the side of his saddle, the putrid stench of burnt hair leaking from the blood-soaked bags. As always, he’d hand them over to Farissa to see if anything could be learnt about the creatures’ make-up and weaknesses.

Pain tugged at the flesh between his shoulder and his chest as he rode. There was a deep gash there. Not for the first time, he cursed his unfortunate timing of undertaking the Great Rite when Delmira had already fallen and their supplies of Warsword armour had been used. Where his shitty imitation armour left him vulnerable, one of the creatures had got a decent swipe in, it seemed.

He glanced down, the wound hot with a looming infection. Reluctantly, he poured some of his liquor on the cut, swearing as his skin blazed. This was exactly the sort of injury one might usetheir vial of springwater from Aveum on. It was the purest of all the lands, boasting healing properties lusted after by many. But Wilder had suffered wounds far worse than this, never deeming them worthy of the vial’s use. No, he’d manage just fine, as he had all the times before.

Both Talemir and Malik had used their vials too soon, so that when the dire hours came, they had nothing left. And by the time Wilder had got to them, it had been too late for him to use his. He wouldn’t make their mistake. He’d save his until the most grim circumstances gave him no other choice.

A scratch wasn’t reason enough. He only wished they’d slain that final piece of filth before it escaped out to sea. Who knew how many wraiths would have disintegrated upon their sire’s death? It had been a missed opportunity.

He took another drink of fire extract and winced as the movement pulled at the gash. Still, he could not let go of the nagging sensation. Arheguld reaperhad singled Thea out.

Ignoring the pain, Wilder urged his stallion into a gallop. He needed to get back to the fortress. He needed answers.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Hollow cheers sounded upon their return. Caked in blood and dirt, with the bodies of their fallen in tow, the Thezmarrian forces felt anything but victorious. They entered the courtyard, a heavy sombreness cloaking them as they went about returning their horses to the stables, many of them dazed. The horror they’d witnessed was unequalled in scale and violence, and of the two hundred Thezmarrians who fought amidst the ruins of Delmira, six had lost their lives. Including Lachin.

None, however, had been claimed by the dark curse therheguld reapersbore. None had been turned into monsters of shadow. That was a small comfort.

A deep sense of unease still permeated throughout the cohort.

‘They kept the hearts…’ Kipp ventured slowly as they entered the Great Hall.

Cal rubbed his temples, looking as weary as Thea felt. ‘What are they going to do with them? They hold dark magic… There’s a reason they didn’t burn them and cast them into the seas.’

‘They bloody should have,’ an older warrior muttered behind them. ‘Bad luck to keep cursed things like that.’

Cal and Kipp murmured their agreement.

But Thea stayed silent. As the shieldbearers trudged numbly to their quarters and bathing chambers, she peeled away from the group. Ignoring the exhaustion screaming in her bones, and the filth that covered her, she shouldered Wren’s near-empty satchel and trekked up the endless stairs, to the only place that might hold answers for her.

A crackling fire blazed in the hearth and a familiar form took up the entirety of one of the armchairs, a furry mass at his feet.

‘Malik,’ Thea sighed. She was glad he was there.

Slowly, he turned in his seat, for once not transfixed by the flickering flames. Upon seeing her, he was on his feet faster than Thea had ever seen him move. Dax let out a bark for being disturbed.

But Malik’s grey eyes were filled with alarm and at the sight of his concern, Thea was suddenly raw, fragile even, something she hadn’t felt or allowed herself to feel in a long time.

Malik froze in place.

‘I’m alright,’ she croaked. ‘I’m not hurt.’

But her voice broke as she spoke the words. All at once, it was too much. She didn’t even know what she was looking for; she didn’t know where to start. The thought of searching the shelves for a clue to something she was well beyond understanding was overwhelming in the face of all that had happened at the Ruins of Delmira, and soon, her gasps were coming in hard and fast. She couldn’t get enough air —

A large, gentle hand closed over her arm.

Disorientated, she allowed Malik to lead her to the spare armchair, which he carefully pushed her down into.

Thea couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat in something other than a saddle. Her chest caught with emotion as she leaned back into the cushions.

‘I’m alright,’ she told him, toldherself. ‘I’m alright.’

He clearly didn’t believe it, and Thea couldn’t blame him for that. She could only imagine what she looked like; the chaotic, bloody state of her.

But Malik didn’t step away. He waited.