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It was Thea’s turn to sigh. ‘We have to win the fucking war first. Then we can argue over what to do with the fallen kingdom. A pile of ashes isn’t going anywhere, Wren.’

‘No,’ Anya agreed. ‘But what rises from the ashes, Thea? A phoenix, that’s what.’

Thea shrugged. ‘In that case, Wren looks like a great phoenix to me.’

As they trekked towards the capital, bracing themselves against the wretched winds and flurries of snow, they spoke of how their lives might have been as princesses of the midrealms. The juxtaposition of their current status was not lost on any of them, and Thea found it almost laughable as she surveyed the three of them. Anya with her shaved head and scarred eye, not to mention her wings and shadows when she called on them; Wren with her potions and experiments; and Thea the Warsword. It was hard to picture them dolled up in ballgowns and tiaras, meeting Queen Reyna as near-equals. They would have grown up with royal feasts and dances, surrounded by riches and people of noble stock.

‘We could have been married off to princes,’ Wren mused.

‘What princes?’ Thea scoffed. ‘None of the royals have male heirs.’

‘Perhaps a prince from the realms beyond the Veil,’ Wren replied. ‘A marriage of alliance.’

‘I think Thea might be off the marriage market,’ Anya quipped.

Wren made a noise of agreement before she turned to Thea, her brow furrowed. ‘I thought Warswords didn’t take wives? Isn’t it part of their vows?’

Thea shrugged. ‘I took no such vow. And nor would I take a wife.’

‘Have you and Wilder talked —’

‘There hasn’t been much time for talking,’ Thea cut her off.

‘Don’t we know it,’ Wren muttered.

‘Oh, piss off.’ Thea gave her a gentle shove.

But Wren simply grinned. ‘Wasn’t I right, all those years ago? When you were heartbroken over that stupid stable master’s apprentice? What was his name? Evander?’

Thea knew exactly what Wren was talking about. ‘I’ve no idea what you mean.’

‘You do so.’

‘Do not.’

‘What were you right about?’ Anya asked, her gaze flitting between the two.

‘Evander had a problem with Thea’s ambition to become a warrior, a Warsword… He was threatened by her. I told her: a true man won’t cut you down as you fight your battles… A true man helps sharpen your sword, guards your back and fights at your side.’

Anya’s brows shot up, impressed. ‘That was very wise.’

Wren looked pleased. ‘I know.’

Mischief lit up their older sister’s eyes. ‘Tell us, Wren… Anyone in particular you want fighting at your side these days?’

‘No.’

‘You sure about that?’

Wren shot her a warning look. ‘Yes.’

Thea’s cheeks ached from grinning at this exchange, only to be robbed of the joy as she realised that she wouldn’t get this time with her sisters for long. She had already wasted years of bickering with Wren, when they could have had friendship. Now they’d only just found Anya, and she was almost out of time.

Thankfully, neither Wren nor Anya noticed her mood souring as they reached the city of Vios. The floating domes and surrounding residences were nestled in the heart of a deep valley, on the banks of a glacier-fed river – an impressive sight, framed by snow-capped mountains.

As they drew closer, Thea saw that the floating domes were adorned with black flags for mourning, and the official gates to the inner city were flanked by more guards than last time. Aveum guards, at least, Thea thought, recalling how it had been Artos’ men on the perimeter last time. Hope was not lost – not yet.

Two burly soldiers barred the way into the keep, staring down at all three sisters suspiciously. Thea cursed Artos and his damn wanted posters. The men here had no doubt seen their likenesses plastered all over the city.