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‘Good.’

They didn’t speak as they trekked through the Bloodwoods, but Thea kept glancing at her dagger in his belt, cursing herself for her own stupidity. Her prized possession had been taken from her and she was on her way to face the punishment she had long feared but never imagined would come to pass. Had she been that naïve? As reckless and foolish as Wren so often told her?

Apparently so.

As she walked at the Warsword’s side, his commanding figure cast long shadows before them across the ground. Effortless power thrummed from him and she couldn’t help the charged energy that simmered in her veins, or the fluttering sensation in her chest when she looked at him. As cold and unflinching as he appeared, swords strapped to his back and jaw set, something about him heated her blood, even now.

His silver eyes slid to her, as though he could sense her body’s traitorous response to him.

‘Is there something you need to say?’ he growled.

Thea cursed herself. Her future at Thezmarr was at stake and she was ogling the very Warsword who might end it all?

‘No,’ she told him, eyeing her dagger now sheathed at his waist.

‘Good,’ he said again.

And so, in the shadow of a mighty Warsword, Althea Zoltaire walked to her doom.

They reached the Guild Master’s residences and, as Hawthorne’s fist closed and pounded on the door, Thea realised just how terrified she was. Her tunic was damp with sweat and it was taking all her willpower to keep her breathing even. She tensed as she heard the footsteps on the other side, her legs weak beneath her.

The door was thrown open and Thea stared into the discerning face of Osiris.

‘Hawthorne, what is it?’ he said, frowning at the Warsword looming over the pitiful sight of a dishevelled alchemist.

‘Found her with a weapon, amongst other offences,’ Hawthorne replied, not even looking at her.

‘A weapon?’ Osiris blinked.

‘A dagger, out in the Bloodwoods. OfNaarvian steel.’ Hawthorne’s voice was clipped, as though he were impatient to get to the heart of the matter and be on his way, as though deciding Thea’s fate was beneath him.

But Osiris’ gaze pierced her, his mouth twisting into an ugly expression, his contempt almost palpable. He didn’t deign to address her.

‘Take her to the council room and wait for me.’

An icy shiver crept down Thea’s spine as the door closed in their faces, and Hawthorne motioned for her to keep moving down the corridor.

The council room.Was there to be some sort of trial? Thea glanced up at the Warsword to her right, trying to gauge any clues as to what awaited her.

But Hawthorne’s expression was unreadable. The only tiny detail Thea noticed was that his hand kept drifting to her dagger at his belt and a muscle beneath his dark stubble jumped.

The dagger means something to him, she decided.But what?It had been in her possession for the last six years and before that, it had belonged to Malik. She knew for a fact that Hawthorne hadn’t even been in the territory when she’d found it.

At the council room doors Thea suppressed the urge to dig her heels into the ground and refuse to enter.

‘What’s going to happen?’ she asked.

The Warsword didn’t even look at her, just pushed the doors open and waited for her to go inside, anger rolling off him.

The room was a dimly lit, narrow rectangle with a rich mahogany table running down its centre, six high-backed chairs surrounding it. Hawthorne moved to gather several maps that were spread out, rolling them up and placing them on a nearby shelf that was otherwise rammed with books. Heavy crimson curtains covered what Thea guessed to be a window, and a trolley of decanters stood in the far corner.

‘You’ll be wanting to sit for this.’ Hawthorne’s deep voice startled her.

‘I’ll stand.’ Thea rubbed her arms as a draught swept through the room. She looked around for the hearth, but there was none.

The Warsword was watching her, noting her every movement.

She didn’t like being assessed. ‘What are you going to do with my dagger?’ she ventured.