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‘But it’s more fun this way,’ Wilder teased.

‘You’re no fucking help.’

‘We might be more helpful if we knew what was going on,’ Wilder told him.

The Bear Slayer sighed. ‘If I knew, I’d tell you.’

Talemir was grinning. ‘You’re telling me that Torj Elderbrock, the Bear Slayer, whose charms are endless, is having trouble —’

‘Don’t even start, Prince of Hearts. I would have thought you’d be more supportive given your obsession with love stories.’

‘My library is at your disposal,’ Talemir quipped, leaning over to snatch the bottle back from Torj.

Wilder surveyed the anguish in Torj’s blue gaze and felt a stab of pity for the Warsword. ‘Someone wise once told me: “If there’s one thing that transcends time and distance and all else, it’s love”.’

Torj made a disgruntled noise. ‘Try telling her that,’ he muttered.

Wilder’s gaze slid to Talemir, who was watching on, a twinkle of amusement in his hazel eyes. He gave the sapphire on the table a pointed glance, and Wilder bit back a chuckle. Perhaps they’d just found its next owner after all.

What felt like only moments later, Wilder was standing in the training camp with his fellow Warswords, double-checking their numbers, when a young shadow-touched boy sprinted towards them, a scroll of parchment clutched in his hand. He came skidding to a stop by Biscuit’s flank and stared up at Wilder with wide eyes.

‘Warsword Hawthorne,’ he panted, holding out the scroll. ‘News from Aveum, sir. Queen Reyna —’ He struggled to catch his breath. ‘Queen Reyna has agreed to ally with us. We’re to march against King Artos. We’re going to fight!’

The camp fell silent.

Heart pounding, Wilder took the scroll and scanned its contents, anticipation building with every word. The message wasn’t in Thea’s hand, but in the bottom corner of the page was something drawn just for him.

A lightning bolt.

‘Is it true?’ someone called. ‘Are we going to war?’

Wilder lowered the parchment to find his entire unit of shadow-touched watching him. Their expressions were mixed. Some seemed eager, eyes bright, fists clenched; others’ faces were lined with fear and disbelief.

He addressed them all. ‘It’s true. We’re going to war. Pack up your tents, your weapons and your supplies. We await orders from Talemir, but we need to be ready.’

No one argued.

Wilder met Tal, Drue, Adrienne, Cal, Audra, Farissa, Torj and Dratos back at the main university building. There, in the Scholar’s Lounge, they let the news sink in. Queen Reyna had agreed. According to Anya’s message, they would join forces in the foothills of the mountains bordering Vios, where they would set up camp and prepare for Artos’ attack. They would transport the majority of their forces and supplies by shadow magic, and hope that there was enough time to regain their strength between then and the battle. It wasn’t perfect, but no battle plan ever was. It was always about finding the best option among the bad.

The door to the lounge opened with a creak, revealing Fendran, Drue’s father and the head Naarvian blacksmith, Ryland perched on his hip.

‘Shouldn’t you be asleep, Trouble?’ Talemir got to his feet and took his son in his arms.

‘I thought you might want to say goodbye,’ Fendran said, tousling the boy’s hair.

Drue went to her husband and child, dropping a gentle kiss on the latter’s cheek. ‘We’ll put him to bed.’

Fendran hesitated.

‘Something to say, Father?’ Drue arched a brow.

Wilder recognised that tone – he’d heard it from Thea a thousand times before, not to mention Drue herself when they’d first met. It said, Challenge me if you dare, but you’ll leave this conversation in pieces, if you’re lucky.

But with a tender look at his grandson, Fendran squared his shoulders and faced his daughter. ‘Are you sure you want to leave him?’

‘Want has nothing to do with it,’ Drue replied tersely.

Fendran faltered. ‘I know. Poor choice of words —’