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Thea’s thundersnow wiped away the final traces of darkness, of blood, of pain, and shook the very foundations of the mountain upon which she stood.

For she was back where this had all begun, back on the Furies’ mountain.

And she was alone.

Wilder, Wren, Cal, Kipp and Malik were gone.

Thea was resolute in her fortress of ice and power, channelling the very essence of the storm raging above her. She let her magic rage and clash, leaving a trail of frozen devastation in its wake.

She was unwavering, immovable – even as three cloaked figures emerged from the blizzard before her.

Thea gave the storm pause as each woman lowered her hood.

She knew them in her heart.

The original Warswords themselves.

The Furies.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

THEA

‘You carry yourself like a queen, Althea Embervale,’ the first Fury said, her expression unreadable.

The three goddesses were fierce and radiant before Thea, eyes ablaze like molten gold. The eternal guardians of the Great Rite, of the midrealms themselves.

It was only in their ethereal presence that Thea remembered that their names weren’t known – that after all the legends told across the ages, their names had not lived on. They had not been honoured in title or individual esteem. Rather, the force of them had been reduced to a woman’s anger, a woman’s rage.

The Furies.

And yet together, they formed a triarchy unlike anything the realms had ever seen. They stood in front of Thea now, unwavering against the advancing tides of chaos, determining the fate of men, and now Thea herself.

‘Did you not hear me, Althea Embervale?’ the Fury spoke again. ‘I said you carry yourself like a queen.’

Embervale…Pain throbbed everywhere, and Thea’s voice was hoarse, but she lifted her chin when she addressed thegreat gods before her. ‘No,’ she told them. ‘I carry myself like a Warsword.’

A slow grin spread across each beautiful face before her.

‘A new Warsword stands before us, then, sisters… One who can command storms as well as blades, it seems.’

‘How?’ Thea managed to croak. ‘I thought I had to choose.’

‘And you did,’ the Fury replied.

‘But…’

‘But you were not born to wield steel and steel alone. We have never seen such fortitude of mind, body and heart before… It takes something more to reconjure magic that has been stripped away.’

Thea was a trembling mess, shock settling into her bones. ‘Does this mean… Does it mean that I can be both? Both Warsword and storm wielder?’

A knowing smile tempted the Fury’s lips. ‘Who’s going to stop you?’ she said.

Those words washed over Thea like a distant dream, and she found that she could only stare, the remnants of her thundersnow fading quietly around them, until there was only an endless expanse of white. Slowly, the pain she had felt so intensely only moments before ebbed away.

Looking down, she realised that although she was still drenched in blood, she hadbothhands.

A soft cry escaped her as she turned them over before her, examining each and every finger and the lines of her palms. Thea wasn’t ready to tear her gaze away from the hand she thought she’d lost. She could move it freely, every finger bending to her will, her clenched fist as strong as it had always been.