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Storm wielder. As she walked through the camp, the name was whispered behind her back, not with wonder or respect, but with contempt. Her skin crawled as she felt eyes boring holes in her, the pieces clicking into place. Storm wielders, the Delmirian royal family, were still widely blamed for the influx of darkness on the midrealms. According to most, her parents were responsible for the downfall of both Delmira and Naarva. Because of her family, the poison had never truly left the lands, and here they all were, suffering in the face of it once more, ready to fight it again.

Growing wearier by the second, Thea spotted Commander Yarrow, who’d been left in charge. She approached him – only to hear vicious words spilling from his mouth about her, about Wren, about Anya.

‘Don’t see why we should take orders from the Delmirian bitch, why she was riding ahead of us,’ he spat. ‘The girl is the offspring of traitors. She’s no better than the fucking filth marching beside Artos as we speak —’

Thea stood at the fringe of the circle that had gathered around the man, exhaustion latching onto her bones. She had travelled far and wide to be here; she had overcome one obstacle after the next, all to fight against the looming darkness.

‘Thinks she owns the damn place. You’ve seen how she talks to our queen and speaks to us. Maybe it’s time we taught that bitch a lesson.’

Thea exhaled shakily, steeling herself against the bastard’s tirade, her magic prickling at her fingertips, begging to deliver justice where justice was due. She should have expected some level of resistance. Be it because she was a woman, a Delmirian, a Warsword – it was always something. She didn’t want to fight her own men, her own allies, not on the brink of battle. But she also wouldn’t stand for disrespect. It created a weak link in their armour. If she had to reforge it with lightning and steel, so be it.

She took a step forward —

A gentle hand came down on her shoulder, and the scent of rosewood and leather quelled the fire within her.

‘You have proven time and time again that you can fight your own battles,’ Wilder murmured in her ear. ‘But there are those you shouldn’t have to. Let me fight this one for you. Let me carry this burden.’

Thea looked up, meeting those silver eyes she knew and loved so well. She nodded.

And with that confirmation, Wilder strode forward into the group and gripped the commander by the throat. He hoisted the man up into the air as though he weighed nothing, the commander’s boots kicking beneath him desperately as he clawed at the Warsword’s hand.

‘You wouldn’t kill me, not in cold blood,’ Yarrow rasped.

‘That’s right. A Warsword is a moral man, a man with honour,’ someone else chimed in, though they didn’t have the balls to intervene beyond words.

Thea watched the offending commander’s eyes bulge as Wilder applied more pressure to his windpipe.

Wilder’s expression was cold, lethal. ‘A Warsword is also a killer. A man – or woman – of violence and fury. Any good in me is because of that storm wielder you so vehemently insulted.’

Commander Yarrow gasped, his eyes turning bloodshot, his face beet-red as he fought against Wilder’s hold. Wilder drove a fist into his gut and dropped him. Yarrow collapsed on all fours, dry retching. But Wilder wasn’t done. He punched the commander in the face this time, bone cracking, blood spurting onto the pristine snow.

‘This is a mercy compared to what she could have done to you,’ Wilder spat. ‘Consider my fists a kindness, and know that if one more of you shows disrespect, you’re dead. Althea Embervale will turn the tide of this war. You owe her your allegiance.’

The Aveum forces gaped, first at Wilder, whose knuckles were painted with blood, and then at Thea, whose lightning was dancing along her skin.

She held her chin high and surveyed them without emotion. ‘I only came to tell you that you’re now under the command of Torj Elderbrock.’

The crowd parted and the Bear Slayer himself came forward, his expression venomous. ‘Any midrealms warrior who lays a hand on a shadow-touched, or who murmurs a word of discontent against the Embervale family, will find themselves facing my wrath, to a similar effect to what my Warsword brother has demonstrated here.’ He projected his voice to the far reaches of the force, and gave the crumpled commander a kick for good measure.

Talemir strode forward then, his wings tucked behind his back, his shadows dancing menacingly. ‘The same goes for the shadow-touched. Any who harms or speaks ill of a midrealms soldier will deal with me. We are here to fight side by side, not tear each other’s throats out. Tomorrow, we will train. We’ll make allies of you yet.’

Thea felt Wilder return to her side, felt the brush of his lips against her temple, and it took every ounce of willpower not to melt right into his body. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

‘You never need to thank me,’ Wilder told her. ‘I will always fight for you. And it’s my honour to do so.’

Thea swallowed, not allowing the tears stinging her eyes to fall.

For a moment, they just stood there, as though Wilder sensed she needed to gather herself. She did exactly that and at last met his gaze. ‘Where to now?’ she asked.

Wilder sighed and looked to the heart of the camp. Thea willed him to say To bed, so they could fuck the tension of this place away and hold each other through the night.

But her Warsword gave her a regretful look before lacing his fingers through hers. ‘To the command tent,’ he said. ‘To start the war.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THEA

The command tent was crowded, but however exhausted Thea was, seeing Kipp in the centre lifted her spirits significantly. She threw her arms around him, squeezing until he gave a dramatic gasp for air and she released him.