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Thea turned back to the next rush of enemy soldiers, readying herself for another attack. Kipp had been right about Artos deeming his legions disposable. Wave after wave of them hit the midrealms’ forces, wave after wave of them perished, and yet the onslaught continued.

She was dying to use her magic, dying to unleash her power upon the monsters and put an end to the bloodshed. But the order hadn’t come. Not from Talemir, not from Anya…

Even so, she dared to crouch amid the blur of battle and put her fingertips to the blood-soaked snow and mud. She sent a pulse of lightning across the ground, zapping a line of opponents in her path, clearing the way to their rear guard, where somewhere, Artos was lurking.

Swinging her sword, she revelled in its song as it cleaved through more howlers, severed the limbs of arachnes and beheaded anyone who stood in her way. She spotted a flash of gold armour and lunged through the throng, deflecting blows as she went.

Wind beat down on them, and Thea gasped in horror, hearing the flapping of wings.

This is it, she thought. This is when the wraith assault begins, when we’ve already depleted so much of our defence. She braced herself, anticipating the mass of darkness that was about to sweep in and swallow them all —

But it wasn’t the wraiths and reapers.

It was Talemir, Dratos and a legion of shadow-touched folk.

From above, they dropped barrels of oil on the enemy, just as Kipp had planned. Shielding her eyes against the sun piercing the clouds, Thea saw Cal on the right flank, his arms expanding with his bow as he fired three flaming arrows at once into the oil-drenched unit.

Fire blazed to life. Screams of agony filled the air.

Thea fought her way to a snowy ridge and surveyed the battlefield from above. Wren had washed away much of the enemy with her flood, Wilder had crushed many more with the frost giant, and now, several of Artos’ units were aflame thanks to the shadow-touched. In the near distance, she could see Kipp and Torj beating back an arachne, and further back – movement in Artos’ rear guard.

He’s retreating, Thea realised with a jolt.

‘Now’s our chance,’ a gravelly voice said at Thea’s side. She found Vernich there, slick with black blood, breathing hard. ‘If he gets away, he’ll rally an even bigger army. It’s now or never. I’ll cut us a path through. You clean up what I leave behind.’

There was no time to argue. The Bloodletter charged, cleaving through one enemy after another, leaving Thea to finish them off in his wake. She did exactly that as she realised Vernich was carving them a direct path to where she’d last seen Artos slinking off in the shadows.

As they fought their way through the mass of violence, Vernich taking the brunt of the attacks, Thea had a surreal moment of realisation: war makes for unlikely allies. She stabbed a howler through the heart and surged after the Bloodletter, wondering what he’d make of his former apprentice torn to shreds in the woods. She had the feeling he wouldn’t care.

‘There!’ Vernich shouted, pointing towards a gap in the rear guard. ‘Go!’

Thea didn’t waste the opportunity. And as she sprinted for the break in their formation, a figure leapt onto the path before her.

Wilder.

He was covered in blood and gore, but he moved like water, clearing any opponents from her route. Thea would barely have registered that she was running, were it not for the slip of ice beneath her boots and the mud that flicked up, spattering her already filthy armour.

At last, she reached the king’s guard of howlers and knights, shadows roiling around them. Artos stared out at her from behind the wisps of darkness, his green eyes bright.

As the battle raged on behind her, Thea studied the ruler of Harenth, the man she thought had given her her future. The man who, in reality, had robbed her of her family. The man who had brought doom upon the midrealms.

‘What a waste of a Warsword,’ he called out to her, surveying the blood-soaked totem around her arm and the Naarvian steel clutched in her hand. ‘There is so much we could have achieved together, Althea.’

Thea looked around at the devastation. ‘You call this an achievement?’

‘One of many,’ Artos replied, remaining in the shadows. ‘You, however, are one of my biggest failures. I thought you would have some sense of loyalty after all I did for you, but I see loyalty and honour are dead.’

‘They are, when it comes to you. They have been for some time,’ Thea said, adjusting her grip on her blade. ‘We’re here to see what we can do about that.’

She took a step forward, not caring how many howlers or Harenth knights she had to cut down to get to Artos —

‘I knew what you were,’ he continued, his eyes trained on her sword. ‘Who you were. I sensed your power the moment you threw that knife back in my palace, felt your lightning surging through the steel as it hit my cup.’

Thea didn’t react, not even as his words sent a barrage of shock pouring through her. She hadn’t even known her heritage back then. She’d never noticed an inkling of that power, but she felt it now… It crackled in the air.

Only it wasn’t coming from her.

‘I forced your hand with the Scarlet Tower,’ Artos said, oblivious, jutting his chin towards Wilder, who had come to stand at her side. ‘I knew putting him there would flush you out, that we’d see the heir of Delmira announce herself.’