Page 15 of Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr #2)

Wren

‘A concoction of aloe vera will draw the heat from a burn and soothe the skin’

– The Green Apothecary: A Guide to Medicinal Plants

T HEY RODE UNTIL the plumes of smoke from the town were no longer visible behind them, until the rush of a river drowned out the screams still ringing in Wren’s ears... until she saw that Torj was sliding from his saddle.

Wren leapt from her own mare just in time to break the Warsword’s fall. She couldn’t catch him completely, but with her body beneath his, she made sure he didn’t hit the ground face first.

A grunt escaped her as the full weight of him hit her. Smoke tangled with that cedar-and-oakmoss scent she had loved as his hair fell across her face.

‘Bear Slayer,’ she wheezed, trying to wriggle out from under him.

He didn’t move.

‘Torj!’ she said loudly, shaking his shoulders.

A ragged gasp sounded, and suddenly Torj’s upper half was braced over her, relieving her chest of his weight but not freeing her from the confines of his body completely.

‘Embers...’ he murmured, his voice thick with confusion, his sea-blue eyes searching her face. ‘What—’ He looked down to where their bodies were pressed together – to where he was cradled between her thighs.

He leapt off her, then stumbled with a wince.

‘You fell off your horse,’ she explained. ‘I stupidly tried to catch you.’

‘I don’t fall off my horse,’ he muttered.

Wren got to her feet, dusting off the dirt and grass from her skirts. ‘All evidence points to the contrary, Warsword.’

But Torj was resting his brow against the side of his saddle, as though gathering his strength before hoisting himself back up.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Wren said, snatching his sleeve and leading him to a nearby fallen tree. There, she sat him down and took his wrist in her hand, feeling for his pulse. It was slower than she’d have liked. Next, she placed the back of her hand to his brow. Burning up, as she’d expected.

‘Look at me,’ she ordered, cupping his face and tilting his head to her. His movements were sluggish, and his pupils were huge.

She circled him, pausing at his back where his shirt had been singed off his skin and several burns were blistering.

‘Shit,’ she muttered, searching through her belt for the aloe vera she kept for such injuries.

‘I know it’s in here...’ How many more scars would he bear because of her?

She sorted through various herbs and tinctures, panic rising within her.

He was hurt. And he’d been hurt protecting her, yet again.

Torj watched her, swaying. ‘The kit you made me,’ he said, voice hoarse. ‘It should be in my saddlebag.’

For a moment, Wren simply stared at him. ‘You kept it?’

Though his gaze was unfocused, Torj’s throat bobbed. ‘Yes.’

Wren didn’t waste another second. She retrieved the kit she’d made him all those months ago and then positioned herself behind him, cutting the rest of his shirt away.

‘Any excuse to take my clothes off...’ he muttered.

‘You’re delirious with the pain.’

‘I’ve had worse.’

Wren pushed away the tattered fabric, careful of where it stuck to his burnt skin. ‘You will, if you don’t shut up and let me work.’

His rough laugh sounded. ‘Always patching me up, aren’t you, Embers?’

‘Don’t call me that,’ Wren told him through gritted teeth.

Though she was holding on to her anger, seeing his back blistered like that hurt her.

The burns weren’t the worst she’d seen in her time learning the ropes as Farissa’s apprentice back at Thezmarr, but they were gruesome to behold on someone she—

Wren shook her head, taking clean bandages from her own supplies and wetting them with the cold water from the river.

She would have preferred clean, boiled water, but that wasn’t an option.

She’d have to cleanse the wounds properly with liquor later, but for now, she simply held the cool, wet cloth to Torj’s heated skin.

She heard his breath whistle between his teeth at the contact, but then his shoulders sagged.

‘Kipp and Dessa...’ she ventured, rinsing the cloth in the river again and bringing the cold material back to Torj’s skin. ‘Do you think they were caught up in all of that as well?’

‘Kipp’s probably drunk on a tavern floor somewhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if he and Dessa missed the whole damn thing,’ Torj said roughly. ‘Don’t worry about it until you have to.’

Having cooled the burns and cleaned them as best she could, Wren applied the aloe vera paste with her fingers. She saw Torj’s muscles tense beneath her touch, but he made no sound of complaint.

Despite everything that had happened between them, caring for him... It felt right. That emptiness that had hollowed her out inside eased at the closeness of him, something about him calming the storm that raged within. And yet... she had fought for him, and he’d ended it.

As she wrapped linen bandages around him, protecting the burns on his back, all her suppressed feelings rose to the surface.

‘Only a fool would look at you and see anything less than perfection.’

Wren cleared her throat, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘That’s the best I can do for now.’ The words came out harsher than she’d intended. She thrust a canteen of fresh water at the Warsword. ‘You need to stay hydrated.’

Torj accepted it without a word, and she watched him like a hawk as he drank.

‘Finish it,’ she commanded when he made to pass it back to her.

He shook his head in mild disbelief. ‘Bossy as ever,’ he muttered.

‘It’s called being assertive,’ Wren corrected him with a rush of irritation. ‘And you’d do well to follow instructions if you want to be healthy enough to perform your Warsword duties.’

‘Fair enough,’ he replied, draining the flask.

Wren took it from him to refill from the river. She crouched on the damp bank among the tall grass and took a deep breath as she lowered the vessel into the cool current. She filled it and two others from her saddlebags, all the while feeling the Bear Slayer snatching glances at her.

‘What?’ she finally snapped.

‘You’re quiet. It’s unlike you not to have something to say,’ Torj ventured. ‘It’s disconcerting.’

‘Perhaps I have nothing to say to you,’ Wren replied flatly, twisting the caps back on the flasks and tying them to her horse.

‘Since when? You’ve always got an opinion about something.’

Wren glared at him. ‘What is it that you want? To exchange small talk on the road? I think we’re a little past that, don’t you, Bear Slayer?’

‘You could tell me about the prophecy Queen Reyna made in the final weeks of the war,’ he said slowly.

Wren shot him another incredulous look. ‘What about it?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me that what happened to us at Thezmarr was foretold?’ He tugged on his hair. ‘That gold would turn to silver...’

Wren laughed darkly. ‘Are you seriously sitting there lecturing me on withholding information? Did you hit your head in that alleyway as well?’

‘Not that I recall.’

‘No?’ She took a step closer, folding her arms across her chest. ‘Because that’s the only reason you might have the balls to criticize my secret-keeping. Or are you about to divulge the real reason you left?’

She hated that she was the one bringing it up again, and in anger no less. It was the last thing she wanted to talk about, but the one thing that was constant, nagging her – especially with him so close; especially as she felt him track her every move and saw the heat in his stare.

Torj stood with a wince, towering over her. ‘I told you why I ended things.’

‘Right, because you’re a Warsword ,’ she spat.

‘That is what I am!’

‘You’ve been a Warsword for as long as I’ve known you.

That never stopped your pursuit before. Wilder and Thea have proven that it doesn’t matter.

’ The words tumbled out of Wren before she could consider what she was saying, before she could strip away the vulnerable note of hurt in her voice.

‘But I suppose I should be thanking you. It turns out one time was enough after all—’

‘It was more than one time,’ he growled.

Another derisive laugh escaped her. ‘ That’s your argument? A technicality on how many times you actually fucked me?’

He flinched at her coarse words. ‘I’m here to protect you , not your feelings, Embervale.’

‘Feelings? I have none of those left for you, Bear Slayer, beyond resentment that you’re here at all.’

She hadn’t realized how close they were standing, that she could feel the warmth radiating from his bare chest, that she was craning her neck to meet his furious stare. He was angry? Good. That made two of them, and she wasn’t done.

‘Perhaps this was all some big elaborate game to get under my skirts. To tell me one night wasn’t enough, only to get exactly what you wanted. The famous ladies’ man did exactly what he did best and then moved on.’

Torj’s hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of her apron and pulling her close, so close she could almost taste him.

‘Have I ever done anything to give you that impression? Did you truly think that fucking you once – or twice – or a thousand times, had I been so lucky – would make me want to fuck you less?’

Wren’s chest heaved as her breath caught in her throat, her traitorous body responding to his closeness. She was grateful that he couldn’t see her thighs squeezing together.

‘I couldn’t give a shit about what you want,’ she said harshly.

In the distance, thunder cracked through the sky, but neither poisoner nor Warsword looked away from one another.

Anticipation and desire flooded Wren’s senses while the rest of her became dangerously taut. For a moment, all she could do was stare into those deep-sea eyes, her words lodged in her throat as the intensity of him overwhelmed her.

A current sang between them, drawing them closer still. Gods, how was this fair? After everything, she still craved him. Still wanted him beyond reason. He had denied any sort of bond between them, and yet...

His gaze dipped to her mouth.

Wren sucked in a trembling breath.

‘You should sit for a while,’ she told him, pushing him away, her body still buzzing.

Seemingly stunned, the Bear Slayer took a step back, shaking his head. ‘We need to get to the turn-off. Kipp and Dessa will be waiting. And the sooner you get what you need from Delmira, the better. We need to put a stop to all this madness before it gets any worse.’

With those words, Wren was catapulted back to where the weight of the world was on her shoulders.

So far, she had failed to deliver what Drevenor and the midrealms had asked of her, and this.

.. this was her last chance to get it right before everything went to complete shit.

Everything depended on what awaited her in Delmira.

.. Scorched lands and endless stretches of nothing.

As though sensing her thoughts, the Warsword spoke. ‘What was it like? Living there after the war?’

‘Peaceful,’ she lied.

‘A strange description for a kingdom with a reputation dark enough to keep even the bravest folk away,’ Torj said dryly.

‘Superstition,’ she shot back. ‘I am no more damaged than I was when I arrived, and I spent five years there.’ Wren inwardly cringed at her choice of words. She grew more damaged with every passing day.

‘Didn’t say I believed it,’ he replied. ‘But it’s the reason no one crosses its borders. Everyone still believes that shadow magic curses its lands.’

A poisoned land for a poisoner , Wren thought. It was as fitting as it had ever been. Only now she wouldn’t be crossing its plains alone, and it was not just her fate hanging in the balance.

She faltered. ‘What if I can’t find the plant I need?

’ How long ago had she harvested the sample she’d used in her experiments?

Did she even remember the right spot? What if it wasn’t by the cottage as she thought?

She hadn’t been in the best mental place back then, and Delmira was just one ruined indistinct patch of land after the next. ..

‘Then you’ll make it work some other way,’ Torj told her, struggling to get his arms into a new shirt.

Wren clicked her tongue in frustration. ‘Here.’ She snatched the material from him and helped him into it from behind, her hands grazing the heated skin of his muscular arms as she did. Careful of his bandaged wounds, she lifted the fabric over his broad shoulders.

‘I trust you can button it yourself,’ she said, averting her eyes from his gloriously tattooed chest as she finished.

‘I’ll manage,’ he replied roughly. The Bear Slayer had similarly avoided her eyes, and instead stared down at the ground.

With a sigh, she led Torj’s stallion, Tucker, to the fallen tree, so the warrior could use it as a platform.

‘I can mount my own horse,’ Torj grumbled.

‘Suit yourself. You’ll only aggravate those burns,’ Wren told him, returning to her mare.

But from the corner of her eye she saw the Bear Slayer reluctantly use the fallen tree to swing up into his saddle.