Page 28 of Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr #2)
Torj
‘A Warsword’s duty is bound to the will of the Guild Master of Thezmarr. Their word is law’
– The Warsword’s Way
T HE NEXT MORNING, the Laughing Fox was a hive of activity as the first rays of dawn crept through the grimy windows.
Inside, the air was thick with the aroma of freshly baked bread and sizzling sausages, mingling with the tang of sour mead.
Patrons crowded around tables, their voices a low rumble punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter or exclamations of disbelief.
By the looks of things, some hadn’t retired the night before and were simply carrying on into the day.
At the heart of the commotion was a single topic: the unexpected demise of Perseus Graymoor. Torj still wasn’t sure it hadn’t been at Wren’s hands.
The poisoner was sitting in one of the corner booths and staring into her mug of tea.
He knew he’d taken things too far last night, that he’d let that protective streak morph into something darker.
It was impossible not to feel how he felt about her, but he’d made his bed, and now he had to lie in it.
That was what he’d told himself over and over into the early hours of the morning.
And yet he couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong, something more than he realized.
The discomfort only seemed to grow in his chest, like a weed taking over all else.
That they hadn’t found the evidence Farissa wanted was only part of the puzzle.
Rubbing the calluses on his fingers, Torj cleared his throat, but Wren didn’t so much as glance up. In fact, she hadn’t met his eyes since last night – not that anything good ever came from that these days.
As though sensing his distress, Wren stood abruptly and went to Dessa at the far side of the tavern.
As they prepared to leave, Kipp was unsurprisingly surrounded by a small crowd, his expression wistful as he talked animatedly with the bartender and several patrons. Dessa, who was now waiting by the door with Wren, sighed.
‘Forget the rebel uprising,’ she said with a note of amusement. ‘Getting Kipp out of the Laughing Fox might prove to be our greatest challenge yet.’
Torj stole a glance at Wren, who didn’t so much as smile.
When they were at last on their way to Settler’s Port, Torj could feel Wren’s eyes on him.
She was studying him, albeit not very covertly.
Why? When she wasn’t looking at him, she was distant, gazing out at the road ahead, her expression blank, showing no emotion but for the crackle of magic he sensed around her.
After the events of last night, Torj had hoped for a quiet ride to the docks, but Kipp seemed intent on making the morning painful. ‘So,’ the strategist said, loud enough for the others to hear. ‘Lord Devereux from the ball... I take it you know him?’
Torj silently cursed Kipp. How had he found out about their little run-in? What else did he know that he wasn’t letting on?
‘Unfortunately,’ Torj allowed, adjusting his grip on his reins and urging Tucker into a faster pace.
‘How?’ Wren asked. It was the first word she’d spoken to him since the ball. And she still hadn’t looked him in the eye.
Torj couldn’t help himself. He signalled to an annoyed-looking Kipp to fall back and positioned his stallion alongside Wren’s horse as they rode out of the city. With Kipp and Dessa out of earshot, he said, ‘A word of advice...’
Wren speared him with a look that told him the last thing she’d do was take advice from him, but his words spilled over anyway.
‘Don’t get mixed up with Darian,’ he told her.
‘I can get mixed up with whoever I like, Bear Slayer.’
‘Not him.’
‘Why?’ she challenged. ‘Are you jealous?’
Yes, he was fucking jealous. Of course he was jealous. Darian fucking Devereux had sought Wren out in the library. Darian fucking Devereux had kissed her hand. His filthy lips had touched her skin.
But before he could answer, Wren forged on. ‘Or perhaps this is just another secret you intend to keep from me? You have plenty of those, don’t you, Warsword?’ She was tense in her saddle, her eyes scanning him rapidly, searching, assessing.
Torj didn’t know what was going on with her, but if he wanted Wren to heed his warning, he had to be honest. He had to relive the past. ‘Devereux and I have a complicated history.’
‘That much was obvious.’
Torj raked his fingers through his hair, trying to gather himself before he delved back into things he’d rather forget. A small mercy was that Dessa and Kipp had well and truly fallen behind.
‘We were childhood friends, alright?’ He couldn’t bring himself to look at Wren as he spoke, instead focusing on the road ahead. ‘Darian was the son of a nobleman, and my mother was a maid in their manor.’
Torj’s throat grew tight at the mention of his mother, the words heavy on his tongue.
The memory of her sent a familiar ache through his chest, and he gripped the reins tighter, steadying himself.
He had told Wren of her fate a few months ago, so she was aware of the darkness lingering there.
She was the only person he’d ever told, and he felt her gaze on him at last, her silence urging him to continue.
‘When my mother worked, she took me with her, so that I wasn’t around my father.
Darian was around the same age, and his mother insisted that I play with him.
She said it was good for her son to meet people from all walks of life and that I may as well take advantage of his tutors.
She was a good woman.’ From the corner of his eye, he saw Wren’s expression soften.
‘So you grew up together...’ she ventured softly, watching him closely.
Torj nodded, the memories flooding back.
‘We explored the forests together as boys, took classes together, got into more scrapes than I can count... Darian was like a brother to me. It was thanks to the Devereux stable master that I arrived at Thezmarr knowing how to ride a horse.’ Torj took a deep breath and swallowed hard.
‘Despite our differences in social standing, we had very similar upbringings... Where my father used fists, Darian’s father used words, and sometimes I don’t know who bled more. ’
He risked a glance at Wren, catching the sympathy in her eyes. It made his chest tighten in a way he wasn’t ready to examine.
Her throat bobbed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
Torj had told her once before he didn’t want her pity. He forced a shrug. ‘It’s in the past now.’
‘Then what happened to make you hate him?’
The question hung in the air between them, and Torj found himself torn between the desire to bare his soul to her and the instinct to guard his wounds and keep his distance.
The road stretched out before them, a silent witness to his struggle.
‘A number of things,’ he said eventually.
‘After I left for Thezmarr, he started to show his true colours. He stepped into the role of the powerful nobleman’s son, and then became an influential figure in his own right.
.. It was at his bidding that I was sent to deal with the cursed bears in Tver. ’
Wren frowned. ‘Why? And... is it a bad thing? You gained your moniker there. You became a living legend...’
‘It was also when my grandmother went missing. Darian used his influence to keep me away from Tver when there was a lot of unrest going on. Because of him, I lost my grandmother. Because of him, I wasn’t there to protect her.
.. He became more and more like his father.
He had the women’s shelter that helped my mother knocked down, the one that my grandmother worked at. ’
Wren was watching him closely; he could feel her warring with herself.
‘Like I said, it’s in the past now,’ he told her, eager to bring the topic to a close.
‘Apparently not, if he’s seeking you out.’
‘It wasn’t me he was seeking, Embervale,’ he told her, trying to strip the frustration from his voice.
‘What would he want with me?’ she asked.
‘I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.’
Wren stared at him then, and he couldn’t for the life of him read the storm brewing in her eyes.
Torj swore he felt something flicker between them, the echo of what was once there. ‘So you see? You can’t get mixed up with Darian. I won’t let you. You’re mine to protect—’
Fury flashed as Wren protested. ‘I’m not—’
‘No matter what happened between us...’ Torj had to get the words out, had to let her know. ‘You’ll always be mine to protect.’