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But no. This would not be the end of her.

She would make herself a legend from the ruins.

Osiris cleared his throat before he addressed the room. ‘It pains me to make this announcement on the heels of our victory, but it must be done…’ He seemed to gather himself. ‘From this day henceforth, Wilder Hawthorne of Thezmarr has been declared a fallen Warsword. Many of us bore witness to his betrayal. We watched as his Furies-given power corrupted him from within. As of now, the midrealms has two enemies. The forces of darkness who seek to wipe us from these realms, and the former Warsword who once swore to protect them.’

Angry murmurs broke out across the chamber. Thea could feel the rage in the air, washing over her like a wave.

‘We need to track him,’ Vernich growled. ‘Need to finish him before —’

‘He’s mine.’ The words left Thea’s mouth without her thinking, barely more than a whisper, but with enough weight and threat to silence the entire war room.

It was an echo of what they’d said to each other in the hot spring.

‘You’re mine?’she’d asked.

‘Beyond reason.’

‘Then I’m yours.’

It meant something else now – something far darker, full of poison.

‘He’s mine,’ she said again, loud enough for all to hear, letting them see the rage churning beneath the surface.

She waited for the cries of outrage, for the men to object, for them to turn on her as they had at so many other points in her life.

But a silent deliberation seemed to course through the chamber before Torj and Vernich stepped forward.

‘If anyone can get to him…’ Vernich’s voice was like gravel. ‘It’s her.’

Torj’s face was grave. ‘She knows his weaknesses better than all of us,’ he added, giving Thea a sombre nod.

Osiris met her gaze across the table, his expression hardening. ‘You want him?’ he said, seething. ‘He’s yours. Hunt him down. Bring him Thezmarr’s justice.’ Each word was clipped and cold, sharp with fresh betrayal. ‘Do that, Althea Zoltaire, and his swords are yours.’

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

THEA

Thea stood in the chamber she had shared with Wilder, packing her bag in the deafening silence.

Her heart might have been in pieces, but she vowed to forge it anew, using rage as the binding to solder those cracks back together, so that she would be stronger than before. Untouchable. Impenetrable.

Bring him Thezmarr’s justice. Do that… and his swords are yours.

Osiris’ words echoed in her mind, refusing to let her lose herself in the task at hand.

On the bed, the bed they’d shared, was the map Wilder had given her. The very one that marked the weakest parts of the Veil, the places to search for fallen Warswords.

Hunt him down.

She intended to.

Briefly, she wondered if that arrow she’d shot had found its mark. Her fate stone swayed against her chest as she moved about the room, taking stock of the supplies she’d need. Thea had limited days left to walk the midrealms, but she would spend them well. She would spend them hunting Wilder Hawthorne. She would spend them becoming a Warsword and bringing him to justice.

Her failures demanded to be seen and heard before she could right them. Regret coiled like a serpent in her gut. She had failed Thezmarr, failed the guild and aided a traitor in their midst. Thea had let him into her world, and he had wrought ruin upon the midrealms and her heart. She would not give way to an inch of weakness, not anymore.

It was the end, and it was the beginning.

Her gaze flicked to the balcony, where she saw the ravens being released from the aviary. She watched as they carried the news of Wilder’s treason out into the world. The rulers and Osiris had promised that word would spread to every corner of the midrealms and beyond. To the influential houses of all the kingdoms, to any resource the former Warsword might seek out.