Page 24 of Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr #2)

Wren

‘In alchemy, balance is not merely desirable – it is the difference between transformation and destruction’

– Arcane Alchemy: Unveiling the Mysteries of Matter

T ORJ ’ S HANDSOME FACE tensed with anguish. ‘Embers, I—’

But Wren shook her head, the rage within unfurling fast. ‘Enough.’ She pulled back as much as the dance would allow. ‘You think this is fair ? What you’re doing? That you’re happy to touch and kiss me, to play pretend? After everything you said to me back at Drevenor?’

The Warsword flushed, dipping his head in shame. ‘I’m sorry.’

Wren didn’t care. The lingering looks, the nickname, claiming her as his wife... Was it all just a game to him? She wouldn’t stand for it. ‘I don’t want your apologies. I want the truth.’

‘The truth?’ Torj missed a step, causing them to stumble.

‘Do not tell me it’s because you no longer want me. Every action, every look of yours contradicts that claim. There’s something you’re not telling me... Do you think I can’t handle it? Do I not deserve to know?’

His hand tightened on her waist. ‘Wren.’ Her name on his lips was the height of injustice, the way it sounded in his husky voice, the nerve it hit inside her.

The Furies bestowed a small mercy, then. As the tempo of the music slowed, Wren guided them towards the edge of the dance floor, where they might step off without causing any disruptions—

She froze. Her halt was so sudden that Torj stepped on her toes.

‘Sorry,’ he blustered. ‘I didn’t mean—’

But Wren had barely felt it. Her gaze had fallen upon an older nobleman a few yards away. He wore a rich burgundy doublet and was lifting a silver goblet to his lips in one hand, while the other rested on a bejewelled golden cane.

The Poisoner’s life collided with Wren’s in that moment.

Perseus Graymoor.

A mark she’d never struck from her ledger.

A man who’d—

‘You think I don’t know who that is?’ Torj’s voice rumbled beside her, his grip on her tightening. ‘Don’t even think about it, wife.’

‘I’m not your wife,’ Wren hissed. ‘And I have no idea what you mean.’

‘Now is not the time or place to play assassin,’ the Warsword murmured.

‘Were it up to you, all those corrupt bastards I ended would still be walking free, spreading a different kind of poison throughout the midrealms.’ Old rage resurfaced as she watched her mark reach for a fresh goblet of wine.

‘Embervale,’ Torj warned. ‘Promise me you won’t. I need you to promise me that you won’t strike another name off your ledger. Not while you’re in my charge.’

Wren tore her eyes away from Graymoor and faced Torj, her fury awakening the dormant lightning lingering beneath her skin. The audacity of this man...

‘I owe you no promises,’ she whispered fiercely, twisting out of his grasp. ‘I owe you nothing. Now, let’s do what we came here to do before I throttle you on this dance floor.’

Torj hesitated, but after a quick glance around, he looped her arm through his and escorted her away from the waltzing couples. When they reached the stairs, a trio of guards stopped them, politely informing them that the upper levels were for overnight guests only.

They found Dessa, who was on the edge of the ballroom with a group of noblewomen. Thankfully, she was observant and immediately extricated herself, coming to Wren’s side.

‘We need that distraction soon,’ Wren murmured to her.

Dessa nodded. ‘I hear there’s a beautiful view of the lower city from the terrace.’

Trying to ignore the hulking warrior attached to her, Wren let her friend lead her through the throngs of silk and velvet, towards an open pair of gilded doors on the far side of the grand ballroom.

Cool air kissed her face as she stepped out onto the balcony, a relief from the stifling heat of the dance floor and the Warsword who held her in his thrall.

Constructed of smooth, pale stone with intricate balustrades and a floor of mosaic tiles, the balcony was just as breathtaking as the interior of the manor. Wisteria wound its way up the pillars and gold lanterns illuminated an array of frescoes along the walls.

‘Lord Hargrave,’ Dessa said to Torj pointedly. ‘The civilized thing to do would be to offer your wife and her friend refreshments.’

Torj’s lips pressed together before he replied through gritted teeth, ‘What would you and my wife like to drink?’

‘Sparkling wine,’ Dessa said with a casual wave towards the servers with trays behind him before tugging Wren to the edge of the terrace. There, they took in the view of the formal gardens and the glimmering city below.

‘He’s taking his role seriously,’ Dessa commented, glancing back at the Warsword in all his finery.

‘A little too seriously,’ Wren added.

‘That man burns for you, Wren. The sooner you both catch alight the better, lest you set the whole world ablaze.’

Wren thought of the way Torj had kissed her neck in the foyer at the mere approach of another man, her cheeks heating at the memory.

The Bear Slayer returned, holding out two flutes.

‘You’re too kind, Lord Hargrave,’ Dessa said, batting her lashes.

Torj rolled his eyes and turned to face the view.

Wren, however, followed Dessa’s gaze across the crowd to a nobleman leaning against a pillar.

He was tall and slender, and, though his clothes were simple, it didn’t take a trained eye to know that they were of a fine make.

He carried himself with the easy grace of a person born into wealth and power.

The small circle of noblemen and women who surrounded him looked captivated by whatever tale he was telling, charmed by his confident smile, failing to identify the boredom in his eyes.

‘Do you know him?’ Wren asked her friend.

‘I know of him... That’s Lord Devereux. He owns several estates between here and the far reaches of Tver, and it’s rumoured that he funds the entire Tverrian army as well. He’s apparently one of the wealthiest men in the midrealms, if not the wealthiest.’

‘Oh?’ Wren had heard that family name somewhere; it was unique enough to leave an impression.

Dessa continued. ‘From what I’ve heard here tonight, he also funded the rebuilding of King Leiko’s castle after that first battle in Notos.’

Wren’s brows shot up. ‘I saw the state of that castle myself... His coffers must run deep indeed to have funded those repairs.’

Dessa nodded. ‘He’s been very generous.’

Wren didn’t have the heart to tell Dessa that generosity like that rarely came without strings.

To her dismay, the man in question seemed to sense her attention. His eyes met hers across the balcony, and after a beat, he saluted her with his glass.

‘Aren’t you meant to be causing some sort of diversion?’ Torj asked Dessa sharply.

‘All in good time, Lord Hargrave.’ She smiled sweetly and offered him two small pieces of parchment. ‘You’ll need these to get upstairs as overnight guests. Perhaps it’s time you took your wife on a tour of the manor?’