Page 92 of Iron & Embers (The Ashes of Thezmarr #1)

CHAPTER 92

Wren

‘An alchemist cannot ignore the lessons of failure, for it is through adversity that a novice finds mastery’

– Elwren Embervale’s notes and observations

W HEN W REN LOOKED for the one person with whom she wanted to share her complete and utter disbelief, the Bear Slayer was nowhere to be found.

Instead, it was Farissa who rushed to Wren and Zavier, nearly spilling her healing supplies as she dropped to the ground at their sides.

‘I saw what happened,’ she whispered as she examined Wren first, wiping away the dried blood on her chest.

Wren looked down. Her skin was smooth, no scar there to commemorate the pain she’d felt – no tell-tale sign of the strange agony that still thrummed within, far worse than the wound itself.

With trembling hands, Farissa cleaned the gore away. ‘Do you...understand this?’

Dazed, Wren shook her head, still scanning the blood-stained halls for Torj. Her memory of what had happened was distant: her chest opening beneath an invisible blade, her name on Torj’s lips. ‘Not even a little,’ she managed.

Farissa nodded, more to herself than to Wren. ‘You will. For now, you’re in one piece.’

Wren’s breath seemed to rattle in her chest. ‘Am I?’

Farissa reached out and squeezed her hand before she turned to Zavier’s wound and surveyed it critically. ‘This was a big risk, Elwren.’

‘I know.’

‘But it worked,’ Zavier said, voice hoarse. ‘Do you have more?’

‘This was just a sample, but I have all my notes,’ Wren replied, rubbing her chest, hoping to alleviate the empty ache there. It persisted.

She excused herself to wander the hall. The air was thick with the coppery smell of blood and the acrid tang of smoke. Everywhere she looked, she saw the bodies of the fallen, eyes staring lifelessly at the vaulted ceiling. The wounded were being treated beside the dead, some moaning in pain, others shivering in shock. The sight was too familiar to Wren, and panic stalked the edges of her mind. The world she had known, the fragile peace they had built in the wake of the shadow war, had been shattered in the space of a few short hours. And now, everything hung in the balance...

Her body ached from the enemy leader’s brutal attack. She didn’t know how she was still standing. But the pain of her injuries paled in comparison to the emptiness that now pulsed within. She followed it around the hall, searching, searching, to no avail.

‘He’s not here,’ Thea’s voice sounded at her side.

Bone-weary, Wren turned to her sister. ‘Where, then?’

‘Wilder saw him head across the grounds, towards the gardens.’

Thea was looking at her with pity, and Wren couldn’t stand it. ‘I’m alright,’ she said.

‘You’re not,’ Thea said firmly. ‘But you will be.’

At last, Wren found the Bear Slayer by the lavender bushes, his fingers trailing over the purple florets. At the sight of him, the chasm in her chest did not close, nor did the pain abate.

As though he felt it too, Torj’s hand went to the web of scars across his heart. He tensed, seeming to brace himself against something.

‘Torj?’ Wren asked quietly, tearing her eyes from the sliver of ruined tattoo beneath his tattered shirt. She followed his gaze to the rows of blooms that shivered in the evening breeze.

He didn’t respond immediately. When he did, his voice was detached, cold. ‘This can’t continue, Wren.’

‘What?’ Her lungs constricted, her stomach sinking.

His words were like ice. ‘We’re done. It’s over.’

Wren searched his face for that warmth, that kindness that she’d come to know, come to love.

She found nothing but iron.

Her eyes narrowed, fists clenching at her sides. ‘I don’t believe you.’

Torj shook his head, still not meeting her eyes. ‘We were fooling ourselves, thinking this could work.’

The fresh memory of the agony lancing through her entire being left her breathless again. Panic clawed at the fringes of her mind, its cold talons raking at that hollowness within. There had been something between them; she had felt it in her magic, in her heart, in the very depths of her soul.

It’s me and you. Always.

‘What happened between our time in the meadow and here?’ she demanded. ‘What changed?’

He drew himself up to his full height. ‘You made me weak in that battle. You made me someone I’m not. I’m a fucking Warsword , Embervale. I’ll always be a Warsword.’

Not once had she felt weak in the Bear Slayer’s presence; not once had she felt anything but right with him at her side.

Until now.

But they had come too far for it to end like this. They had faced years of uncertainty, of stolen moments and longing glances. They had stood side by side through a war that threatened to tear their world apart, their bond forged in the crucible of battle and tempered by everything else they had shared.

And now, just when they thought they might finally have a chance, a new enemy had emerged from the shadows. An enemy that, until this moment, Wren had believed they would face together, as they had faced everything else.

‘Torj...’ She reached for him.

‘Don’t,’ he growled, twisting away from her grasp as though he couldn’t bear her touch.

‘How can you throw away everything we’ve been through?’ she said, hating how her voice had grown thick with emotion. ‘Every battle we’ve fought, every obstacle we’ve overcome?’

Torj’s stoic facade cracked for just a second, a flicker of pain crossing his features before the mask slammed back into place. ‘The past isn’t enough to build a future on.’

Wren felt each syllable like a physical blow. ‘So that’s it?’

‘That’s it.’

‘You said it was me and you. Always.’

A muscle feathered in the Bear Slayer’s jaw as he looked away. ‘I was wrong. There is no “always” for people like us. I’m doing what I have to do.’

Wren flinched. ‘Because that’s your job,’ she heard herself say.

‘Exactly. I didn’t want it. I never wanted it.’

‘Didn’t want what ?’

‘ This. I never asked for any of it. It’s too hard.’

Wren’s hands had begun to shake. She blinked up at the Warsword, not sure she was hearing him correctly. ‘You said...You said that I saved you . Whatever we have...It’s a gift .’

‘It’s a curse , Embervale.’ His tone was cold and hard, so unlike the warm and husky voice that had murmured her name against her skin.

A beat of silence passed, and Wren wasn’t sure she trusted herself to speak, but the words tumbled from her lips all the same. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘I do. With all my heart.’

Wren stared into those dark sea-blue eyes she no longer recognized. She refused to acknowledge the splintering feeling in her chest, refused to let the tears burning in her eyes fall. Instead, she clung to the rage she knew so well.

‘You’re not the man I thought you were,’ she said.

‘I’m exactly the man you thought I was.’

For a moment, Wren stared at him, her heart still pounding, her breaths still shallow, before she returned her gaze to the rows of lavender. She pretended they’d never knelt in the dirt together, that she’d never shown him how to take cuttings in the place where they now stood. She told herself she’d never seen those dried florets on his windowsill.

Tilting her chin to the canvas of darkening sky, Wren closed her eyes and forced herself to take a long, measured breath, inhaling the crisp evening air as her lightning crackled beneath her skin.

When she looked at Torj again, she closed the gap between them and brushed her fingers over the lightning-shaped scars beneath the folds of his shirt.

‘I gave you this,’ she said quietly. ‘That day at Thezmarr. When I thought I’d lose you.’

Torj’s jaw clenched, but he remained silent.

‘I thought...I thought it meant something,’ Wren continued, her hand still resting over his heart. She felt his pulse quicken beneath her palm, saw the anguish in his eyes. For a moment, she thought he might break, might tell her what was really going on.

But then his expression hardened once more.

Wren dropped her hand, taking a step back. Dark clouds gathered above as she steeled herself. Above them, thunder clapped.

‘Well,’ she said, her voice low as she turned back towards the gates. ‘It’s the last piece of me you’ll ever have.’