Page 22 of Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr #2)

Wren

‘A bond between two magical beings is a dance of wills and fate’

– Tethers and Magical Bonds Throughout History

‘W HAT ?’ W REN LOOKED from the Bear Slayer’s flabbergasted expression to Kipp’s smug smile.

‘Warswords don’t have wives,’ Torj said between gritted teeth.

‘You’re not a Warsword tonight, my friend,’ Kipp told him, shoving a pack into his chest. ‘You said yourself that this assignment must be covert. I’m sure you’ll make a fine nobleman, a handsome couple. Once you’ve bathed, that is. Right now, you both smell like horse.’

Wren didn’t have the energy to argue. She simply slipped into the adjoining room with her things, hoping that the water waiting for her was hot and that Kipp’s taste in women’s clothing wasn’t as scandalous as she feared.

The water was lukewarm, but it would do.

As she washed herself, Wren’s mind drifted to Delmira: the verdant stretches of grass, the wildflowers dancing in the wind, the glittering lake.

.. The once-fallen kingdom was practically a haven.

How? The question plagued her as much as the complications with the dark alchemy cure itself.

It seemed that every aspect of her life lately was a puzzle she couldn’t solve.

Towelling herself dry, Wren reached inside her bag, only to pull out a small parcel of salted caramel delights. She’d taken the wrong pack. The Bear Slayer had a sweet tooth, alright.

His dagger came next. It was the one he’d insisted on her holding during that awful riot in Elmridge.

It had never been his favoured weapon, she knew that much, but she’d seen it sheathed at his belt, and had watched him sharpen it several times over the years.

Annoyed that she would have to return it to him to fetch her own belongings, she shoved it back into the pack—

Her knuckles hit something hard. Frowning, she pulled out something she didn’t expect.

A book .

What in the midrealms was the Bear Slayer of all people doing carting a brick of a tome around on his travels? The man she knew was far more practical than that. Wren turned it over, her curiosity piqued.

Tethers and Magical Bonds Throughout History.

She froze, the words blurring before her eyes. This was the volume Thea had told her about. Wren had never imagined that the Bear Slayer might actually have it with him. Blinking the spots from her vision, she turned to the table of contents.

Parental and Inherited Magical Connections. Sibling Bonds. Animal Telepathy. Fated Enemies. Seers and Subjects. Bonds and Magical Objects. Alchemical Connections—

The door of her room burst inwards and Wren shoved the book beneath her discarded apron, heart hammering, clutching her towel to her chest. Kipp strode in with a garment bag.

‘Disguises acquired!’ he declared.

Wren’s hand drifted to the scar on her throat. In certain circles it made her easily recognizable. But before she could point out the problem, Kipp opened the bag and presented her with a beautiful emerald-green gown.

‘This comes with a choker piece that should do the trick,’ he said with a wink. ‘And a mask, if you fancy it.’ His eyes fell to the open pack before her, the dagger’s hilt peeking out. ‘Did I mix up the bags again?’

‘Seems that way,’ Wren said as Kipp grabbed Torj’s pack.

‘Strange... It feels a tad lighter than it did,’ he mused, a glint in his eye.

‘Strange indeed,’ Wren agreed, only just managing to keep a straight face.

Kipp motioned to the formal dress. ‘Get ready. We need to leave soon.’

When the strategist had left, Wren took the volume in her hands once more, running her fingertips over the title.

Tethers and Magical Bonds Throughout History.

Gods, she was dying to open its pages and read the damn thing cover to cover.

But there was no time. With regret bitter on her tongue, she got to her feet and slipped the tome beneath her pillow.

There would be time enough for reading on the ship back to Drevenor.

When it came to Torj Elderbrock, she had no intention of remaining in the dark.

She eyed the gown Kipp had selected and approached it, vowing that when she dressed, she would dress for war.

‘You look beautiful,’ Wren told Dessa, who was twirling before the full-length mirror in a strapless black gown, her tulle skirts swishing.

‘As do you,’ Dessa replied. ‘But can I please paint your lips and line your eyes? You’ll bring that Warsword to his damn knees.’

Wren chuckled. ‘If you insist.’

Dessa swept kohl across her eyes and painted her lips with a soft, rosy colour.

Wren hardly recognized herself. Gone was her stained apron and muddied hem; instead, she was resplendent in a ballgown of emerald-green and gold, with a dramatic choker piece to match.

As Kipp promised, it covered the jagged line of her telltale scar well enough, and Dessa had taken care of the newer marred flesh on her cheek with cosmetics.

Fine chains rested on her breasts, which had been pushed up by an unforgiving corset.

‘Perfect!’ Dessa declared.

‘Thank you,’ Wren said. ‘I assume you and Kristopher will be getting up to no good this evening?’

Dessa shrugged. ‘Potentially. I don’t see why we can’t work and play. Though between you and I... I suspect our time together has nearly run its course.’

Wren’s brows shot up. ‘Is that coming from you? Or him?’

Dessa sighed. ‘Both? It was never going to be for ever, and right now, I think there are things bigger than us that need our attention.’

‘Have you told him this?’ Wren asked. She hadn’t spoken to Kipp about Dessa; she had no idea where his head was at, but she didn’t want to see either of them hurt.

‘Not in so many words.’

‘Perhaps it’s time you did...?’ Wren ventured.

‘Perhaps.’ Dessa smiled. ‘Not everyone is meant to stay together for ever, Wren. And I’m okay with that.’

‘Well, if you need to talk—’

‘I’ll come find you,’ Dessa replied with a wink. ‘I’m going to get a drink downstairs before we leave. Do you need any more help?’

‘I’m fine. Go and enjoy yourself while you can.’

There was no way Wren could get away with wearing her usual belt of potions and poisons, but that didn’t mean she needed to attend the event unarmed.

She took one of her more special vials and slid it down her cleavage, where it sat snugly.

She treated her favourite hairpin to another dose of poison and secured her long tresses in place atop her head.

And finally, she wrestled her skirts up and fastened a small dagger around her thigh.

‘Glad you’re not taking any chances,’ said a familiar voice from the door.

Wren nearly jumped out of her skin. ‘Have you ever heard of knocking—’

But the words faded on her tongue as she took in the man before her.

She had never seen him in anything other than Warsword attire, armed to the teeth, usually covered in dust from the road or blood from a fight.

.. Before her now stood not a battle-worn warrior, but a handsome nobleman.

Half of his silver hair was swept back in a neat knot, the rest falling to his collarbones.

His broad shoulders, usually obscured by bulky armour, cut a striking silhouette in a midnight-blue doublet embroidered with silver threads that matched his eyes and hair respectively.

The fabric hugged his muscular frame, hinting at the strength she knew lay beneath.

Wren felt suddenly too hot, the gown too tight—

‘You can laugh if you want,’ Torj offered, the tips of his cheeks pink, his stance slightly stiff.

Wren opened her mouth to say something smart, but no retort came. ‘You scrub up alright, Bear Slayer,’ she managed, sliding her feet into the fine heeled slippers Kipp had provided.

Torj’s mouth quirked to the side. ‘You think?’

Wren shot a glare at him for good measure. ‘Don’t let it go to your head.’

‘Too late,’ the warrior quipped with a roguish grin.

Wren forced herself to look away. ‘And how are your burns?’

‘Better, thanks to you.’ There was a smile in his voice that tugged at something inside her—

No. This flirting couldn’t continue. They were not lovers. They were not friends. Not after what he’d said to her in the gardens.

‘There is no ‘always’ for people like us.’

As devastating as she found him, as much as he affected her physically, she couldn’t allow this. Armed with a beautiful gown and the title of the book he’d kept hidden, Wren steeled herself against his inquisitive gaze.

She took her cloak of black velvet off the hook and made for the door. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

Kipp and Dessa were waiting in the hall, dressed in similar finery, though looking significantly more cheerful.

Wren forced a smile to her lips as she nudged Dessa. ‘You really do look beautiful,’ she told her, because it was the truth. Her friend was utterly radiant with her voluminous skirts and blood-red lips.

Dessa gave a wicked grin as they followed Kipp down the back stairs and into an alley. ‘A certain warrior can’t keep his eyes off you.’

‘Listen up, ladies,’ Kipp said, drawing them into a huddle.

‘When we leave here, we assume our pseudonyms. Wren, Torj – you are a wealthy, happily married couple from Aveum: Lord and Lady Hargrave. You are my honoured guests for the evening. Dessa, you were going to play the part of my sister, but I realize you can’t keep your hands off me, so you’ll be my intended bride from Tver, the Lady Kingsley.

We’ll be attending one of the most notable balls of the season, hosted by one of Harenth’s most prestigious families.

Honestly, I don’t know how you would have managed this without my help. ’

‘Just fine,’ the Warsword grumbled. ‘I assume you can create enough of a distraction for Embervale and me to slip away and search for any evidence leading back to Drevenor?’

Kipp snorted. ‘Have you met me?’

‘Why us?’ Wren asked. ‘Why not Dessa—’

‘ Because ,’ Torj growled, ‘you and I can play the part of the couple seeking a quiet reprieve, should we be questioned.’