Page 33 of Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr #2)

Wren

‘A soul bond is for life and whatever comes after’

– Tethers and Magical Bonds Throughout History

‘A LSO REFERRED TO as: soul bonded, bonded, fated pairing, twin flames, surg e binding, soul ties ...’ Wren murmured as she followed the line of text with her finger before dawn the next day.

‘ A magical bond that creates an intense connection between two individuals that goes beyond physical attraction and extends to emotional, mental and even spiritual planes, with the ability to transcend both time and distance ...’

Torj’s gentle touch lingered on her cheek even now. He may as well have branded her for how keenly she could still feel his thumb brushing against her skin.

She continued reading. ‘ Those who are soul bonded can often experience an enhanced sense of empathy for each other, sharing emotions – be it joy or sorrow – as well as dreams and memories ... Sometimes even the same physical sensations ...’

A breath shuddered out of her. She had meant to torture him, to lean into that caress and put him in a place of blue-ball agony. But the unresolved tension had nearly ruined her as well. Then the moment had been too intimate, too tender, and she’d found herself overwhelmed.

Did this book explain it? Was she truly soul bonded to the Warsword? And if she was... was it so terrible to be linked to her? Was that why he’d pushed her away?

Wren washed as quietly as she could in the shared bathing chamber, then set about her tasks.

Crushing a handful of silvertide leaves in her mortar and pestle, she lost herself in the rhythm of work.

The plant would have to dry in powdered form before she could use it in her cure, and after her absence, she would have to start several potions from scratch.

But she relished the challenge. It forced her thoughts away from the devastating warrior in the next room and kept her worries about Delmira at bay.

Her not-so-fallen kingdom’s fate now lay with Farissa and Audra.

They would know what to do, and they would see it through.

Farissa had promised Wren she could inform Thea of the developments when the time was right, when it was safe to do so.

Wren consulted her notes and checked her supplies.

She was running low on the enemy’s alchemy for testing, and she would need to bleed herself again to trial her cure.

Examining the silver-white petals of the rose, she wondered how the blooms themselves might interact with the rest of her concoction, or even the thorns.

She ran her finger along one sharp point, hissing when it pricked her skin.

Blood swelled there, the same blood she spilled so freely trying to test her cure. A bead of it dripped from the thorn itself, the pad of her finger still stinging as she watched it.

The thorns ... She hadn’t explored them thoroughly. And the way her blood shimmered on the table’s surface had her reaching for another silvertide rose, this one with more thorns than petals.

The first rays of morning light crept through her stained-glass window, creating a kaleidoscope of colour across the floorboards.

Wren settled into her routine with practised efficiency, her hands moving from task to task with the certainty that came from years of training.

She took stock of what herbs she needed, which tools required sharpening and oiling.

It wasn’t until a soft knock sounded at the adjoining door that she looked up.

The door swung inwards, revealing the Warsword she’d been desperately trying to forget.

He was wearing his usual leathers and armour, his hammer strapped across his back and that curved blade sheathed at his belt.

The warrior garb suited him far better than the nobleman’s finery, she decided.

But to her dismay, he was beautiful either way.

Gods, she had to busy her hands, focus on something other than the broad globes of his shoulders and the thick muscles of his thighs.

‘You’ve got a workshop with the Master of Warfare this morning,’ Torj said by way of greeting, oblivious to her internal struggles. ‘We’ll go to the dining hall for first meal beforehand.’

Feigning a lack of interest, Wren waved him off, turning back to her bubbling crucible. ‘I don’t need anything—’

‘It wasn’t a question, Embervale.’

The soul bond often manifests as a protective instinct between the twin flames, varying in intensity from heroic deeds to simple acts of nurturing.

The damn book was in her head again, and her gaze snapped to him, an argument poised on her lips.

But her stomach betrayed her, giving a loud grumble instead.

Gods, she hated that he was right. But it didn’t mean they were soul bonded.

‘Fine.’ She wiped her hands on a damp rag and inspected her toolbelt. As she moved about the room cataloguing her samples, Wren felt the Bear Slayer’s eyes on her. ‘What?’ she hissed at last, moving through the adjoining door to his room to check on the sun’s exposure to the seedlings.

‘I was just wondering what made you want to become an alchemist,’ Torj said thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever asked you that.’

No one had ever asked her that, which gave her pause. Wren bought herself a moment to gather her thoughts by crouching beside the pots on the floor, positioning them so they could catch the best of the morning rays through the window.

‘When I was a little girl, I saw an alchemist create a healing potion for Thea,’ she told him, remembering the afternoon vividly.

‘You can imagine what she was like when she was younger – she got into all manner of scrapes that needed tending. Even though she was the elder of us, I worried for her. This particular scrape of hers was bad. She’d brawled with one of the stable hands and managed to get a deep gash on her leg. ’

‘I can’t imagine Audra being too happy with her,’ Torj ventured.

‘There was a lot that Audra didn’t see back then,’ Wren replied.

‘I had patched Thea up on occasion, but this wound needed professional treatment, so I took her to Farissa. It was magic, the way she mixed the ingredients. I knew right then that I wanted to learn how to do that – to help people, especially people like Thea...’

Torj was still watching her, his expression soft. ‘You’ve always had a big heart. It’s one of the things I lo— admire most about you.’

Wren glanced up, seeing the Bear Slayer’s cheeks tipped with pink, a panicked look in his sea-blue eyes.

Her storm magic suddenly awoke under her skin as though called, and Torj’s gaze went straight to her fingertips, as if he could see the lightning coiled like a spring just beneath the surface.

Everything Wren had read that morning surged to the forefront of her mind, a glaring theory she could no longer simply dance around. But though his appearance betrayed nothing, Torj seemed distraught. Wren could feel it.

Taking pity on him, she returned to her room and picked up her oilskin satchel as though he hadn’t said anything.

Opening the door, she turned to him. ‘And you?’ she heard herself ask. ‘What made you want to be a Warsword?’

Torj locked the door behind them, and they started down the corridor. ‘I wanted to defend those who couldn’t defend themselves. Like my grandmother. But I think she saw a much bigger picture – that Thezmarr could offer a family, like the one I’d never had.’

Wren pictured Sam and Ida, and the room they’d shared with her and Thea for years. She remembered them laughing, playing Dancing Alchemists, and gossiping about the boys and girls in the fortress. It brought an ache to her chest. She glanced at Torj. ‘And did it?’

He dipped his head in confirmation. ‘In the end.’

Her eyes flicked across to him as they took the stairs to the ground floor. ‘You didn’t have an abundance of friends from the start?’

‘I know it’s hard to imagine me as anything other than charming and popular,’ he quipped with a sideways glance. ‘But when I arrived at Thezmarr, I was no more than an angry, scrawny boy... When you want to punch anyone who talks to you, it’s hard to make friends.’

Wren tried to picture the enormous man beside her as a teen, swinging his fists at anyone who approached, and found that she couldn’t. To her, he’d always been the Warsword she saw now, even when she’d found him injured on the Mourner’s Trail.

Her struggle must have been etched on her face, because a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘Your disbelief flatters me, Embervale,’ he said wryly.

‘That’s not my intention.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘So, what was the turning point for your supposed popularity?’

Torj huffed a laugh. ‘Probably working under Talemir and Malik. Those two were like brothers... The two of them fighting together was unlike anything I’d ever seen.

And outside of the fighting? They laughed.

They laughed so much together it was ridiculous.

Darian and I had already drifted apart, though it was before I knew who he’d really become.

But I missed that sense of brotherhood.’

They crossed the foyer, beneath the great tree that reached up into the dome-capped ceiling and past the glass cylinders that held stones of black garnet to keep score for the various teams. Wren hardly paid attention; she was too distracted by thoughts of a younger Bear Slayer, trying to find his place in the world.

‘So you befriended Wilder?’ she pressed.

‘I tried,’ Torj said. ‘We both had a lot to prove, or so we thought. We were intensely competitive, as the two standouts of our cohort.’

Wren snorted. ‘So modest.’

Torj shrugged. ‘I was going for honest.’