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CHAPTER ONE

THEA

For the past three weeks, the blood-spattered training ring had become Thea’s home, just as the rage coursing through her had become her anthem.

Girl. Alchemist. Shieldbearer. Woman. Guardian. Apprentice. Wraith slayer. Heir.

Each marker had burned hot and bright, and faded in her wake like ash as she strived for the only name she cared about:Warsword.

The fate stone resting against her heart was a stark reminder of just how little time she had left to achieve that dream. Two and a half years. A blink of an eye in a lifetime. A drop in an ocean. She had to make it count.

Thea flipped her blade in her scar-flecked hand, revelling in the weight of real steel, in the way it carved through the air at her will. She moved in a predatory circle around her opponent, ignoring the throbbing pain in her ribs and the strange tingling sensation of two bruised, swollen knuckles.

‘You can’t dance around me all day, Thea,’ prompted Torj Elderbrock, the Bear Slayer, his own blade raised.

Desperate to shed the restlessness within, Thea struck, whirling lightly on her feet, aiming a precise slash at Torj’s exposed side, the silver glinting in the early morning light.

He blocked easily. The ringing impact of his sword against hers vibrated up her arm, a reminder of the Furies-given strength the Warsword kept in check during their sparring sessions.

Little did he know that he wasn’t the only one trying to contain his abilities.

Almost no one knew of the magic that stalked beneath Thea’s skin, of the chaos she could unleash. The unbroken lightning was a song as she sparred. Like a cyren call from the ancient deep, it lured her to the greater power she could summon at her fingertips. Neither the comfort of the steel in her hand nor the persistent ache of her muscles could quell that crackle of magic surging through her now.

‘Come on, Thea!’ Kipp called enthusiastically from the sideline, shoving his auburn hair from his eyes with a grin.

Cal whistled his own encouragement from where he stood, bruised and bloodied from his own sparring match. ‘You slayed a fucking shadow wraith. You can take him.’

‘It was a reaper, actually,’ Thea called back.

At Cal and Kipp’s encouragement, guilt bloomed amid the sea of anger. They’d tried to talk to her over the last few weeks, but there was so much she couldn’t tell them, so much she didn’t understand herself.

Thea twirled her blade and adjusted her stance, readying herself to attack again, her Guardian totem strapped to her right arm, the crossed-swords symbol glinting in the sunlight as she delivered a swift upward cut to her temporary mentor.

Temporary, because her sworn mentor, Wilder Hawthorne, the Hand of Death and the most infamous warrior in all the midrealms, had abandoned her.

Their time together was a heated blur, culminating in the discovery of who she truly was…

A lost heir of Delmira. Astorm wielder.

And then he’d drawn the line between them.

After unleashing her storm magic atop the cliffs and passing out, Thea had awoken in Hawthorne’s bed to find him staring at her, his expression unreadable. For the briefest of moments, time had slowed between them, as a piece of a lifelong puzzle slid into place.

And then, mere minutes later, he’d disappeared without so much as a word.

She hadn’t seen the bastard since.

No amount of training, no matter how hard she pushed herself, could douse her fury. It boiled within her, tangling with her raw magic, threatening to spill out into her life like a flood of flames. She wanted to be a Warsword more than anything. And he was sworn to guide her. To help her prepare for the Great Rite.

He’d left her when she needed him most.

There was also the other fire he’d lit within her. The longing, theneedfor him raged equally as hot, even now. No matter what she did to stamp it out.

She hated him for it.

Exhaling, Thea parried and struck again, this time feinting right and raining down a succession of brutal slices.

‘Good,’ Torj allowed, knocking her sword aside.