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Thea wrenched the sword from the reaper’s torso, blood spraying. She flung herself at it while it staggered, bringing it to the ground with a crash amid the rubble and corpses.

There, she slit its throat and stuck her dagger deep into its chest, sawing through those tough layers of flesh and bone.

The creature thrashed, choking on its own blood.

But its flailing limbs stilled as Thea reached into the front of its torso and tore its heart from its chest.

Cheers erupted all around her, men surging forth to lift her up on their shoulders, to carry her across the ruins in a stirring, much-needed moment of victory for them all.

Wilder allowed himself time to watch Thea in her triumph from the edges, to see her for the warrior she was from afar. Until he spotted a familiar hawk circling overhead, his heart sinking at the sight.

Across the courtyard, Thea was already barking orders at the men to reform the lines, to rejoin the fight beyond the wall, where Vernich led his own unit. They did as she commanded, in awe, in fear. And so Wilder took the opportunity to slip away, to follow Terrence beyond the western wings of the castle.

But there, Seb, Vernich’s pathetic excuse for an apprentice, was shoving young shieldbearers between himself and a shadow wraith, sacrificing their lives for his.

Fucking coward.

The wraith screeched as it swiped at the less experienced soldiers with its talons, cleaving through flesh and bone.

Wilder surged forward. How the spineless bastard had passed the initiation test, he’d never know. He advanced on the monster, and with three practised slashes, divested the wraith of its black heart.

The poor shieldbearers scattered, but Seb remained panting, his eyes wide with shock. Disgust soured on Wilder’s tongue as he surveyed the Guardian, if one could call him that.

‘I told you you’d never set foot back in Thezmarr.’ Wilder twirled his blade and Seb’s eyes bulged.

But a blade was too quick for the likes of him.

Wilder’s hand shot out, gripping Seb by the throat and lifting him from the ground. ‘I’ve never understood why you were there. You’re decent enough with a sword,’ he murmured thoughtfully, squeezing hard enough to feel the tendons in Seb’s neck strain, to see his face reddening. ‘But you’ve got no courage, no fucking backbone.’ He applied more pressure. Seb’s kicks were weakening. ‘Your uncle has ties to the guild, but you… To what end are you part of the plan?’

He softened his grip, feeling Seb’s throat bob against his palm.

‘Well?’

Seb rasped for air, clawing at Wilder’s hand. ‘He…’

‘He what?’

‘Wants eyes at Thezmarr. Wants me to —’ He took another ragged breath. ‘To climb the ladder. To be… Guild Master one day.’

Wilder couldn’t help it. He laughed darkly before tightening his grip again.

‘I’d be doing the world a favour if I killed you now,’ Wilder told him, relishing the desperation in the prick’s bloodshot eyes. He imagined squeezing Seb’s windpipe until the light left those eyes, until his feet stopped kicking. It was what he deserved. ‘But your death isn’t mine to claim.’

Wilder dropped him like a sack of wheat and Seb passed out in the dirt.

‘Prick,’ Wilder muttered, and left him there, spotting Terrence once more overhead.

The battle had bled to the outskirts of the grounds, but the fighting was thin and half-hearted, the humans on both sides already exhausted and weary. It was the way of war.

Terrence swooped beneath the stars, leading Wilder further and further from the rapid pulse of the fray, towards an encampment on the fringes.

Under the cover of trees and darkness, Wilder’s heart nearly stopped.

For just beyond the first line of pine trees was a steel cage.

Guards were posted all around it; by the looks of things, some of Tver’s best. Wilder’s jaw clenched at that. Soldiers stationed to oversee prisoners rather than defend the lives of their own people.

Wilder’s eyes narrowed as he glimpsed what gripped the bars of the cage.