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‘Alternative?’ he prompted.

She thought aloud. ‘Rally the Guardians dispersed across the midrealms into a unified force?’

‘Might encounter the same problem…’

Thea sighed. ‘Perhaps the search for proof of Artos’ treachery? At least we could do that in the shadows.’

Wilder glanced at Anya, who was in deep conversation with Audra, Wren listening intently as well. ‘I don’t think we’ll be keeping to the shadows this time, Princess.’

Suddenly, Thea was on her feet, unable to remember making the decision to stand. Her chair scraped across the floor as she left the table, the room falling silent around her.

Wilder was at her side instantly, cupping her face in his large hands. ‘What is it?’

‘I have to leave,’ she insisted. The restlessness that had been simmering since the night before had grown all too much, utterly unbearable if she remained still. She surged for the door.

Wilder blocked it. ‘What’s happening, Thea?’ he asked, voice calm, but silver eyes aflame.

She paced erratically. ‘My magic,’ she murmured. ‘I’m not used to it. It’s tugging at me from inside, making me feel…’

Wilder’s hands came down on her shoulders this time, stilling her body but only fuelling her desire to move.

‘Tell me exactly what you feel,’ he commanded, his voice resonant with authority as he lifted her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. ‘Look at me, Thea. Tell me.’

Thea took a trembling breath. ‘It feels like I’m in the wrong place. It feels like something is pulling me away from here, like I should be somewhere else. Outside, somewhere.’ She looked at him, not bothering to hide her fear, her panic. ‘My magic… It’s out of control, isn’t it?’

For a moment she couldn’t understand the expression that passed over her Warsword’s face. Pain and pride, longing and fear, all in one beautiful, intense stare. He rested his forehead against hers for a moment.

‘That’s magic, alright,’ he said at last. ‘But it’s not yours.’

He took a deep breath of his own, as though he were steeling himself for what was to come.

‘It’s the magic of the Furies. What you’re feeling, Thea, is the call to the Great Rite.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

WILDER

Complete and utter silence descended on the tavern and Wilder watched Thea’s face change as the piece of the puzzle fell into place.

‘The Great Rite,’ she murmured, a note of disbelief lingering in her voice.

‘Yes,’ he told her, fighting to keep his own voice steady, to keep his terror at bay.

Wide-eyed, she looked to the table of rebels behind him. ‘This can’t be happening now. The war, the —’

‘It’s happening.’ Wilder remembered the feeling vividly, noting the shock, the fear and, slowly, the determination wash over his apprentice. ‘A storm-wielding Warsword is exactly what this fight needs.’

He looked to Anya in challenge, expecting her to object, to argue that a storm-wielding Guardian was better than a dead would-be Warsword. But to his surprise, she dipped her head in agreement.

‘Thea’s path is clear.’ The Daughter of Darkness touched three fingers to her left shoulder, as many did to show respect to a Warsword.

‘Then so is mine,’ Wilder said.

Thea’s attention snapped back to him. ‘You can’t —’

‘I’ll escort you there, wherever it opens for you. As my mentor did for me,’ he told her, no ounce of compromise in his voice, which he was still struggling to keep calm and even. But she need not know that.

‘Fuck…’ Kipp managed as he got to his feet, shaking his head in shock before squeezing between Wilder and Thea, wrapping his long arms around his friend. ‘Always knew you’d be first.’