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She waited, knowing he was trying to get the words out, knowing she could never understand that torment. Her own throat tightened, wishing there was something she could do.

Malik shook his head, as though he had read her thoughts.

Thea pushed the loose hair off her face and sighed, her own words tumbling out of her. ‘I lost it,’ she confessed, tapping her ankle where Malik knew she kept his dagger. ‘I lost it in the Bloodwoods and I’m sorry,’ she told him.

Of all the things,thisMalik smiled at? But with an unsteady hand, he motioned for her to leave.

Regret left a bitter taste in Thea’s mouth. She had lost the only remnant of who Malik had been before his injury, the thing he had trusted her to keep and keep well. He had survived all that he had, only to have her lose the blade he had earned with his own blood and sweat and sacrifice.

No, she wouldn’t stand for it. Closing the former Warsword’s door behind her, Thea set out, not towards Audra’s waiting orders, but back to the Bloodwoods.

Outside, the day was grey, but not dark enough to move freely through the fortress and beyond the walls. Still, Thea had her ways. During her short-lived fling with Evander, she had learned some of the least guarded spots of Thezmarr, some of the lesser known paths through the outerwoods. In that regard, the relationship hadn’t been acompletewaste of her time.

It wasn’t long before she was once more surrounded by the bleeding trees of the forest, the rich, damp scent of looming rain heavy in the air. She found her trail from the night before and was sure to cover her tracks. The last thing she needed was some curious shieldbearer on her heels. She also wouldn’t put it past Seb to send out some lackeys seeking revenge on his behalf. She hoped he was still in the infirmary, scratching his balls like some flea-ridden animal.

Soon Thea reached the clearing from yesterday. She’d know the place in her sleep, but with the arrow embedded in the tree, there was no mistaking it. Distracted, she ran her scarred fingers through its fletching, the feathers soft against her skin, in such contrast to the deadly tip buried in the trunk.

Whoever had shot it had almost impeccable aim; were it not for her quick reflexes, thanks to a lifetime of Dancing Alchemists, it would have found its mark.

But that was not why she was here.

Where did I drop it?Thea crouched in the leaves and skimmed her palms across the ground. She retraced hermovements… She knew she had been holding it right until the arrow came flying at her. She berated herself. Dropping things when surprised was not the trait of a formidable warrior.

Thea circled the entire arrow-speared tree, sifting through the leaf litter, convinced that the dagger had to be somewhere nearby, even if she had kicked it during her getaway. It couldn’t have gone far.

But as she searched, a roiling sensation built in her stomach.

She scoured the forest floor more frantically, tracing her steps further back than she truly thought realistic. Her chest grew heavy and at last she fell to her knees on the damp earth.

‘Fuck,’ she murmured, staring at her empty hands.

A chill crept along her skin and her scalp prickled, forcing her to look up.

Her throat seized.

For leaning against a tree, clad in his black warrior leathers, was Wilder Hawthorne, twirling her dagger between his long, tattooed fingers.

‘Looking for this?’ he said.

CHAPTER FIVE

Every part of Thea shrieked at her to flee, but she was rooted to the spot, still on her knees in the dirt.

Hawthorne’s silver gaze pierced hers and he took a powerful step towards her, a towering wall of muscle. ‘Not going to deny it?’ His voice was deep and husky, his words seeming to reverberate along her bones.

Thea scrambled to her feet, her heart racing to the point of pain, her mouth welded shut.

‘Do you even know what this is? What it means?’ He twirled the dagger again. His tone gave away nothing, but Thea didn’t miss the muscle twitch in his jaw. Up close, he appeared even fiercer than he had up on the cliffs and in the hall. His face was all unforgiving lines and the promise of violence, his square jaw sharpened by his dark beard and his eyes brimmed with an unbroken storm beneath long black lashes.

Again, she chose not to speak. For what could she say that he would believe, that he would understand? She was an alchemist, a poor one at that. She had broken the guild’s laws and, as Seb had put it, she was an insult to Thezmarr. She had no business with any dagger, let alone… She glanced around them at the empty forest, and for a split second, considered —

‘You can try to run if you like,’ he said, a cruel glimmer of amusement in his eyes, almost a dare. ‘But you forget what I am.’

Thea struggled to swallow the lump in her throat, her fingers numb at her sides. No matter how hard she had trained in secret, no matter how well she had learned the mysteries of the Bloodwoods, before her stood a Warsword of Thezmarr. There was no way out.

Hawthorne sheathed her dagger at his belt, watching each realisation as they dawned on her face. ‘Are you going to come to the fortress willingly? Or would you prefer to suffer the indignity of me throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you?’

At that, Thea lifted her chin, resenting the subtle note of enjoyment in his tone. ‘I’ll walk.’