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Wilder’s leg jolted beneath Thea’s touch, but he fixed her older sister with a flat stare. ‘It was the best of a bunch of bad options. Which brings me to my next point… They made their intentions for Warswords clear enough, but I imagine they have a similar stance on magic wielders. If they get their talons in you, Wren or Thea, we’re equally as fucked.’

‘That’s not going to happen.’

Wilder folded his arms over his broad chest. ‘Saying it doesn’t make it so.’

Thea didn’t miss the muscle twitching in Anya’s jaw.

‘Do we know Vernich’s position in all this?’ Talemir asked.

‘He helped us defeat the arachne in Aveum,’ Cal replied.

‘That means fuck all,’ Dratos growled.

Talemir looked to Wilder and Thea. ‘What do you think?’

‘I suspected he was a fallen Warsword for the better part of a year,’ Thea admitted. ‘But now… I don’t know.’

Wilder’s hand found hers beneath the table and he squeezed her fingers gently. ‘My gut tells me that if Artos openly aligns himself with the reapers, Vernich will fall to our side. He’s a bastard through and through, always has been. But he takes his Warsword vows as seriously as any one of us. He’d defend the midrealms to his death. I’ve seen it.’

Thea’s stomach bottomed out as she recalled fighting at the Bloodletter’s side in Notos, how he’d had her back when they’d thought Wilder had betrayed them all…

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she murmured.

‘Then we send word with Terrence,’ Talemir declared. ‘To both Torj and Vernich.’

‘Tal,’ Drue said. ‘Terrence isn’t enough. Someone will have to go.’

The shadow-touched Warsword nodded. ‘I’ll go —’

‘We’ll send someone else. You’re needed here,’ Drue objected. ‘You need to get the forces in shape, introduce them to the others. They’ll need to know who commands them before long —’

A loud crash sounded and every warrior in the room was on their feet in an instant, swords unsheathed – but it was little Ryland who charged into the room with a wide grin on his face, his grandfather Fendran racing after him.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ Drue muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose as Ryland successfully dodged his grandfather’s attempts at capture and knocked over several empty chairs in the process.

‘Draw!’ the boy shouted excitedly, waving a piece of crumpled parchment. ‘Ry draw!’

‘You drew something?’ Talemir asked, watching with amusement as his son made a beeline not for him, but for Wilder.

Thea couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from her lips as the adorable little boy climbed up Wilder’s legs as though he were a tree and waved a piece of parchment in his face.

Baffled, Wilder took the outstretched artwork. Thea smiled. Ryland had drawn three rudimentary figures. It was easy enough to identify Malik – the giant stick figure with what she assumed was a dog at his feet. Next to him was Talemir, his misshapen wings extended across the width of the page.

The Shadow Prince rose from his chair and peered over Wilder’s shoulder, pointing to the third figure. ‘I believe that’s you.’

‘Me?’ Wilder frowned, but Thea could see the emotion lining his silver eyes.

‘We’ve told him stories about you his whole life,’ Talemir explained. ‘He’s always known who you are.’

With a huff of amusement, Wilder studied the drawing. ‘What sort of stories have you been telling him? He seems to think very… highly… of me.’

Thea leant across and followed his gaze to the enormous appendage attached to Wilder’s supposed likeness.

Behind them, Talemir barked a laugh. ‘That’s your sword.’

Thea gave Wilder a wink. ‘I’ll say.’

‘Didn’t need to know that,’ Talemir said with a snort before hauling his son off Wilder, perching him on his hip.