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‘Good idea.’

‘I should have thought of it earlier,’ Drue muttered. ‘Given the leather a chance to mould to her body.’

‘You should see that it goes to someone who can actually fight,’ Wren argued. ‘I’m no warrior.’

Anya cut her a sharp look. ‘What have I told you? All women are warriors, Elwren. And you deserve to wear armour as much as anyone else. You’re putting your life at risk, same as the rest of us.’

Wren flushed. ‘But…’

Thea’s heart broke at her sister’s protests. Was it her doing that Wren didn’t feel worthy of armour? There had been a time when they were younger that Thea had not-so-subtly classed her own pursuits as worthier than the rest, believing physical fighting was a more noble undertaking than anything else. She knew better now – she had known better for a long time – and now she’d make sure Wren knew it too.

She strode forward and gripped her younger sister by the shoulders. ‘For the longest time, women have been erased, little by little, or in the case of the Furies themselves, in one fell swoop. We have lived in the shadow of the rights and laws of men. But when the world is reborn, it will be of our own making. You’re fighting for that world, and you have the same right to armour as the rest of us. You are surrounded by women who want to see you empowered, and that is stronger than any fucking army in these realms. Don’t let the world – don’t let anyone convince you that you’re not enough. Only you define your story. You and you alone. When they tell you what you’re not, when they tell you what you can’t do, remember: you are the storm, Elwren. You split the skies and flood the plains. You make the ground tremble beneath their boots. No one can fucking stop you.’

Adrienne let out a low, appreciative whistle, but Thea kept her gaze trained on the celadon eyes that matched her own.

Wren’s lower lip trembled, but she lifted her chin. ‘I’ll wear the armour.’

‘Damn straight you will.’

The hour was late when Thea excused herself, needing a moment alone to clear her head as dawn approached all too quickly.

She went into the woods to relieve herself, hoping she’d get a few hours of sleep with Wilder’s arms around her before she donned her armour and the clash of steel rang out across the icy field. When she had finished seeing to her needs, she started back towards camp, threading through the barren trees, marvelling at how the world seemed to be dying before their eyes. Evergreen pines bore no leaves, daggers of ice and flakes of frost the only things adorning their branches. Beyond the skeletal canopy, clouds gathered over the moon and stars, blanketing them in darkness as if in preparation for what was to come —

A stick snapped behind Thea.

She whirled around to see Sebastos Barlowe’s contorted face as he lurched forward, the pommel of his sword raised to club her across the head.

Thea ducked, though her skin crawled at the sight of him. He’d been waiting for her.

‘I knew you weren’t really what they said,’ he sneered, eyes catching on her Warsword totem. ‘You didn’t even hear me coming.’

‘What do you want?’ Disdain dripped from Thea’s words.

Seb took a step towards her, resentment etched across his face as he spoke. ‘You’re the reason Vernich denounced me.’

Thea snorted. ‘That was all you, Seb. Imagine, even Vernich the Bloodletter can’t stand the sight of you.’

But Seb’s gaze was locked on her Naarvian steel sword, a taunt lifting his lip. ‘I can only imagine what you did to get that.’

‘You mean pass the Great Rite like the Warsword I am?’ she scoffed.

There was a glint in Seb’s eye now that made her uneasy, but she refused to step back, to yield. She had more strength and power in her little finger than he had in his whole body, whether the bastard believed it or not.

His free hand moved, not to the second weapon at his hip, but to his belt. To Thea’s horror, he started unbuckling it. ‘I think it’s time I saw what all the fuss was about when it comes to you. You must have a cunt made of gold if it got you this far.’

Thea unsheathed her blade, the steel singing as it left her scabbard. ‘After everything, you still can’t accept the fact that a woman beat you, can you?’

Seb laughed darkly, advancing. ‘Beat me?’

‘I am a Warsword of the midrealms.’

‘You’re a pretender. You always have been.’

‘You truly mean to attack a Warsword, and an heir of these realms, in the dark here like a coward?’

‘I don’t give a fuck about your supposed titles. I’ll show everyone what truly lies beneath that pretty face.’

Thea’s skin crawled at his words, at the unhinged twist of his features. ‘You’re delusional,’ she realised aloud. ‘You really can’t see that there’s no outcome in which you walk away from this.’