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Wilder squeezed her hand. ‘Shall we?’

Thea was already pulling him onto the dance floor, laughing as they were instantly swept up in the current of couples and larger groups swirling in a sea of colours and shapes. Wilder’s hands encircled her waist and she leant into his touch, marvelling at how free they were here, swaying to the music, radiant with joy.

Fingers plucked the lute’s strings with fervour, echoing the excited pulse of the room. Thea met Wilder’s silver stare, their steps light, their bodies snug against one another. Gone was the weight of their weapons and armour. Instead they found a momentary reprieve, a glimpse of sanctuary in a world that so often seemed on the brink of destruction. And so they twirled and spun, monsters, prisons, war all fading into the background. There was only the melody, the dance and each other.

As night turned into early morning, Wilder kissed her soundly amid the revelry. ‘Happy name day, Thea,’ he murmured against her lips.

For the first time in years, those words sparked not dread, but joy in her heart. She had everything she’d ever wanted, and for whatever time she had left, she’d be grateful for the privilege.

They danced together, and with their friends in a huge circle, everyone swaying to the lively jig and swapping partners in a flurry of uncoordinated movements. For the first time in her life, Thea danced with her sisters, feeling the elation of their company in her bones. Sadness lingered at the edge there, for what they’d been robbed of, but this? This was a gift. This was family.

Stealing kisses from Wilder as they twirled around the room, Thea was so happy, so filled with joy that she could have burst.

But nothing this good lasted forever.

Which was how she knew, when Vernich appeared at the edge of the festivities, his expression grim, that their reprieve was at an end, and the war was calling them back.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

WILDER

Wilder had known it was too good to be true, but that hadn’t stopped him wishing it would never end. He could have danced with Thea forever, content to hold her in his arms and watch the smile bloom across her face.

But now, they stood in the cramped cellar of the Singing Hare along with Wren, Torj, Anya, Vernich, Drue and Talemir, looking at the bloodied prisoner. The former King of Harenth had been bound in heavy chains and fastened to an iron hook in the stone wall, but he didn’t look to be attempting escape any time soon.

‘He started talking?’ Wilder asked with a glance at Vernich.

The Bloodletter nodded. ‘Not that it made much sense.’

‘I trust you weren’t too heavy-handed with your questioning?’

Vernich made a noise of disgust. ‘I’ve done enough interrogations to know when a man’s about to break. This one’s already broken, by the looks of things.’

‘What do you mean?’ Thea demanded.

Vernich’s brows shot up, but he didn’t berate her like he would have done in the past. Instead, he answered: ‘My guess is that your little lightning trick might have been a bit much for an already addled mind.’

‘Already addled?’ Wilder prompted.

Artos made a garbled noise from beneath his chains, muttering something about his daughter.

‘Surely he knows we’d never hurt an innocent woman?’ Drue said from the shadows.

‘Perhaps it’s best he doesn’t know that,’ Vernich countered with a growl.

Anya stepped into the torchlight. ‘He might very well mean me. The Daughter of Darkness and all…’

Artos flinched at the sight of her.

‘Remember me?’ Anya breathed, stalking closer to the former king, the man who had robbed her of her childhood, her family, her kingdom.

Artos squirmed, recoiling from Anya’s advance, the chains rattling around him.

‘I think he remembers,’ she whispered, to no one in particular, her voice taunting, cruel. ‘You remember forcing a scythe into a little girl’s hand and throwing her to the wraiths, don’t you, Majesty? You remember dividing the world in two by banishing the women warriors of Thezmarr, don’t you?’

Artos rasped for air as though Anya had her hand around his throat.

She didn’t.