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

Wren

‘Repetition and failure are the backbones of alchemy’

– Alchemy Unbound

‘F OR F URIES ’ SAKE ,’ Wren cursed, watching as yet another experiment failed in the shallow dish before her.

Her sister Thea glanced up from where she was poring over several maps on Wren’s bed, twirling her dagger between her fingers. ‘What is it?’

The war hero hadn’t objected to being appointed Wren’s temporary guard after the Bear Slayer had been sent away.

She hadn’t even complained about being separated from Wilder, nor had she pushed Wren to divulge what had happened between her and the Bear Slayer after the battle.

But seeing her sister where he had sat cleaning his hammer struck a raw nerve in Wren every time.

‘We were fooling ourselves, thinking this could work.’

‘You made me someone I’m not. I’m a fucking Warsword, Embervale. I’ll always be a Warsword.’

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

His absence made her feel how she’d felt in those early months after the war had ended – when she was bone-weary, when all hope seemed to have been sucked out of the world around her, even though it was finally free of darkness.

Worse, now a new darkness had taken hold of the world, taken hold of her , and she couldn’t seem to defeat it.

‘I don’t understand,’ she told her sister, staring into the alchemy samples that had been the bane of her existence for a fortnight. ‘The solution I gave Zavier worked . It saved his life! Yet two weeks later, I still can’t replicate it... What am I missing? ’

‘Have you considered that what you’re missing might be sleep ?’ Thea grumbled.

‘No one else at Drevenor is sleeping, Thea,’ Wren replied sharply. ‘Everyone here is doing what they can to understand the threat, to prepare us for what’s to come. Every adept and sage in this academy is working as we speak, perfecting advanced forms of alchemy that will aid us in any conflict.’

As an adept, Wren would not be competing in another Gauntlet, but rather contributing to the field of alchemy itself.

An opus. Each adept was to work on one – a major project within their particular area of interest, which they would present to the masters at the end of the semester in order to graduate to the rank of sage.

With Farissa’s guidance, Wren had chosen to recreate the counter-alchemy she had invented as a novice – the potion that had saved Zavier Terling, the long-lost Prince of Naarva, who was currently being crowned on the far side of the kingdom.

‘Wren,’ Thea said evenly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and pinning her with a pointed look. ‘All I’m saying is that you can’t work yourself to death. You’re the one who solved this puzzle last time. You will be the one to solve it again.’

Wren braced herself against her workbench with a huff of frustration.

‘I’m not sure that I can...’ It was the first time she’d admitted it out loud, but over the past fortnight, she’d questioned if the first time had been a fluke.

Her doubts only continued to fester, particularly as more was revealed about the substances the so-called People’s Vanguard had weaponized.

In the aftermath, the academy masters had studied each and every trace of enemy alchemy left behind on weapons and bodies. It was the largest sample they’d had to work with, which meant Wren and Farissa had been able to analyse its properties in a way they hadn’t before.

What they’d found had terrified them.

Darkness. Shadow. Remnants of the previous war, laced with poison and chemicals, their deadliest elements combined. A fusion that explained the enemy’s ability to mute the magic of royals and Warswords alike.

Power like this had swept across the midrealms before, and they had barely survived. Were men so hungry for dominion that they would burn the world to ash around them to achieve it? Was history doomed to repeat itself?

A bitter taste filled Wren’s mouth. She knew the answer to that.

And she was partly to blame. It had been her work from the previous war that had led the enemy’s discoveries.

.. The manacles flashed in her mind. They were her invention, something she’d prided herself on – a unique form of alchemy designed to target specific properties in the blood, specific people.

Now, magic wielders like her were those targets.

Wren wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but the triggering scent of burnt hair tickled her nostrils. The smell brought bile to the back of her throat, and she gripped the edge of her workbench as a cold sweat broke out across her skin.

Breathe , she told herself. You’re at Drevenor. In your room. Her gaze swept the bench for something to ground her. Mortar and pestle. Crucible. Harvesting knife. She listed the objects she saw, and slowly, air began to fill her lungs once more.

Taking a sip of water to soothe her dry throat, Wren peered out the window. The ivy-clad iron gates and the academy motto – Knowledge is the victor over fate. The mind is a blade – seemed to mock her. She dropped her head into her hands. ‘I’m failing.’

‘Wren,’ Thea scoffed. ‘What a load of horseshit. You did it before. You’ll do it again. But for the love of Thezmarr, eat something. Rest. And for all our sakes, take a fucking bath.’

‘I’m not that bad.’ That was a lie. She passed a hand over her face, knowing exactly what she looked like. Dark smudges loomed beneath her eyes; her bronze hair was even more unkempt than usual in its messy knot. Black ink stained her fingers and was splattered across her apron and gown.

Thea snorted. ‘It’s like you’ve never heard of soap. Or a hairbrush. And that’s saying something, coming from me.’

Wren pushed the loose, dishevelled hair from her eyes and glanced around at the pile of unopened letters by the door, the half-eaten bowl of stew and stale bread sitting atop her trunk of supplies.

.. Guttering candles and a smoky oil lamp illuminated the medallion she’d won by passing the Gauntlet, discarded on the windowsill by her box of poisoner’s trinkets, long forgotten.

Gods, there were even cobwebs in the corners of the room.

She supposed she had let things get out of hand.

Thea wrinkled her nose at the vials of blood on her work surface. ‘It’s probably not helping that you’re bloodletting yourself so regularly for these experiments. I’ve offered a million times.’

‘I’m fine, Thea.’ Wren flipped through her notes again, agitated. ‘For now, all I need is to get back to work.’

Wren could feel her sister’s eyes on her as she sorted through her concoctions, as she spilled more ink on her apron and as she swore under her breath...

‘It’s alright to miss him, you know,’ Thea began cautiously.

Wren’s gaze snapped up to hers. She opened her mouth—

‘Don’t you dare say “who,”’ Thea warned.

Sparks crackled at Wren’s fingertips without warning, and she fought to keep her already broken magic within the confines of her body. Now more than ever, it was a living thing inside her, as restless and chaotic as she felt, always clawing to be let loose.

‘I can feel it, you know,’ Thea commented, pinning her with a knowing look. ‘The lightning singing in your veins.’

‘Of course you can feel it,’ Wren bit back. ‘We’re family. We share the same blood, the same power.’

Thea raised a sceptical brow. ‘Tell me you have it under control.’

‘I have it under control,’ Wren replied flatly.

‘Then why haven’t you talked about the Bear Slayer? Asked about him?’ Thea pressed, her face lined with concern. ‘There’s more to this than either of you are letting on, but every time he’s mentioned I can feel a storm gathering around you...’

‘Then it’s a good thing he’s far away.’ Wren hated how raw her voice sounded, how vulnerable.

She gestured to the potions on her bench, determined to return her focus to her work and her desperation to succeed.

‘What am I supposed to do, Thea? If I can’t do this, then why am I here ?

What’s the point? How many people will suffer? ’

Thea stood, moving forwards to grip her shoulder firmly.

‘The devastation will pass. I promise. I have felt those things before, and I came out the other side. You will too. You’re far from worthless.

We’ve all watched you go from strength to strength.

You’re allowed to wobble. You’re allowed to have a gloomy day.

But this is not your forever . This is not the day to base all other days on. ’

Her sister’s words were of little comfort when Wren found herself in what remained of the great hall the next day, waiting for Farissa.

Sunlight filtered through the shattered stained-glass windows, casting broken rainbows across the floor.

The debris had been swept away in the wake of the battle, but the deep gouges and scorch marks remained.

The hair on Wren’s nape stood on end as she anticipated the scent of smoke, only to find that it had at last cleared.

But something more sinister lingered in its place: spilled blood and the potent chemical tang of a darker kind of alchemy.

I hereby pledge myself to Drevenor.

The oath danced on the tip of her tongue as she took in the torn tapestries hanging above the dais where she had graduated from novice alchemist to adept only weeks before.

For a moment, she wondered if she was destined to walk among the ruins for ever.

Heir to a fallen kingdom, survivor of a war-torn fortress, student of a ravaged academy. .. Perhaps she was cursed.

When Farissa approached, she was sure of it. ‘I cannot hold them off any longer, Elwren. The masters want answers. Thezmarr and the rulers want answers. How soon until the elixir is ready to replicate?’

Wren tried not to let her shoulders cave in. She fought desperately to keep her throat from closing as she met her former mentor’s gaze. ‘Farissa, I—’