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With a soft bark, the mongrel followed her back to camp. But Thea didn’t return to her tent, didn’t seek out her friends to tell them of Seb’s fitting demise. Instead, she sought out Fendran in the weapons stores. When she entered the tent, her eyes found the blacksmith immediately.

‘Is it ready?’ she asked.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

WILDER

Wilder was sick of the inside of the command tent. They had gone over every possible enemy manoeuvre, every feasible counterattack with their limited numbers and capability. He seemed to be the only one who knew they’d done all they could do, and that only dawn would tell how they’d fare against Artos’ monsters and men now. However, Esyllt and Kipp were strategists through and through, and they pored over their maps and inventory as if charts and drawings would reveal the answers at the eleventh hour.

Torj worked with them, pacing around the table and offering suggestions, pointing out hazards in the terrain. The golden-haired Warsword looked as restless as Wilder felt, as was always the way when battle loomed. There would be no sleep for them tonight, no rest until —

The tent flap shifted and in strode Wren, who was clutching a piece of parchment in her fist, and, to Wilder’s surprise, wearing armour.

The Bear Slayer didn’t take his eyes off the younger Embervale sister, his gaze tracking the tight leathers that followed the curves of her body.

‘What in the midrealms…’ he murmured, his mouth still agape, taking a step towards her —

Wilder thrust out his hand. ‘Watch out for the —’

A loud thud sounded as Torj walked right into the support pole of the tent.

Blushing furiously, he rubbed his forehead, where a red mark bloomed.

‘It’s called armour,’ Wren said pointedly. ‘I’d have thought a Warsword would be more than familiar with the concept.’

‘You… you look…’ Torj stammered.

Stifling his laughter, Wilder tried to save Torj from himself by addressing Wren. ‘You look like a warrior,’ he told her.

She lifted her chin. ‘I am.’ Approaching Kipp and Esyllt, her gaze bright with determination, Wren handed over the piece of parchment. ‘Farissa asked me to give you this. It’s all the alchemical weapons we have at our disposal, as well as where we think they might be deployed most effectively.’

‘Excellent,’ Esyllt said.

Kipp winked. ‘You ever want to talk strategy, Wren, you always know where to find me.’

Wilder saw Torj tense.

But Wren laughed. ‘At the nearest tavern, ten pints deep?’

‘You know me so well.’

Wilder leant against the table, folding his arms over his chest and trying to hide his amusement as the alchemist and strategist chatted, and the Bear Slayer glowered in the background. He’d have to remember to tease Torj about it later. If there was a later.

The familiar scent of sea salt and bergamot wrapped around him, and he turned to find Thea at his side. ‘Do you have a moment?’ she asked.

‘For you? Always.’

Smiling, she laced her fingers through his and pulled him towards the tent flap. ‘Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.’

As they made their way through the camp towards their own tent, there was no mistaking the kiss of dawn on the horizon.

‘As much as I’d like to fuck you senseless right now,’ Wilder said, ‘I think we’d best be getting ready —’

Thea gave a soft laugh and pulled him inside their tent. ‘Here.’

Momentarily confused, Wilder looked at her. His storm-wielding Warsword, strength and power radiating from her. Strands of bronze-and-gold hair had come loose from her braid, framing her beautiful face. Emotion threatened to overwhelm him as he pictured her spying on him, Torj and Vernich on Thezmarr’s clifftops, peering through the bramble with wide eyes. She’d been a girl fighting to become a shieldbearer then. Now she was a Warsword, the woman he loved with every fibre of his being.

‘Maybe if we’re quick,’ he murmured, reaching for her.