Page 35 of Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr #2)

Wren

‘There are seven metals within the discipline of alchemy, their properties studied at great length: gold, silver, mercury, copper, lead, iron, and tin’

– Alchemy Unbound

W REN SAT BETWEEN Zavier and Dessa in the poisons dungeon, waiting for the Master of Warfare to arrive.

The shelves on either side of the chamber were overflowing with ingredients, and several of the plants had grown considerably in Wren’s absence, their vines curling over the edges of the shelves and dangling down.

Workbenches filled the centre of the room, but several seats were empty.

When they’d been here as novices, the room had been full. As adepts... things were different.

Wren knew that several from her original cohort had not made it through the Gauntlet, but her memory of the graduation ceremony that preceded the battle was hazy.

She had stood with her teammates on the podium, but her gaze had been on the Bear Slayer, whose pride was written all over his handsome face as he watched her from the crowd.

It was no wonder she had no recollection of who had joined the adept ranks with her, Dessa and Zavier.

Now, she realized just how much her cohort had dwindled after the Gauntlet. She scanned the faces of those entering the room, trying to recall who was missing.

‘So few...’ she murmured.

‘Many didn’t pass the loyalty test before the Gauntlet,’ Zavier told her quietly. ‘While you were gone I had the pleasure of witnessing the memory weave in use again.’

Wren blanched. ‘No...’

‘Unfortunately,’ Zavier said grimly. ‘Selene Tinsley, Kyros Sorrell... Their memories were removed, and they were sent back to where they came from.’

Wren shifted in her seat, unease washing over her. ‘It doesn’t seem right.’

‘They used the memory weave?’ Dessa asked, looking up from her sketches.

Zavier nodded.

To Wren’s surprise, she gave a frustrated sigh. ‘I would have liked to observe that again.’

Both Wren and Zavier stared at her.

‘You want to see that?’ Wren asked, sure that she had somehow misheard her friend.

Dessa looked thoughtful. ‘Well, I’m not sure I’d say want , as such... But you know my opus is a memory device. It might have been useful to watch the process through an analytical lens...’

‘I would have happily traded places with you,’ Zavier muttered, pulling out his notebook and quill.

‘Perhaps next time you could take notes,’ Dessa offered helpfully.

Wren had to swallow a laugh at Zavier’s expression as she turned to him. ‘About the chronicler... Did they ask you to contribute?’

He shook his head. ‘Why would they? I wasn’t in the midrealms for the shadow war.’

His words made her pause. ‘ That’s something we haven’t talked about yet... Where were you? What happened after the fall of Naarva?’

Zavier sighed. ‘I knew this was going to come up sooner or later.’

Dessa reached over Wren and patted his arm. ‘You don’t have to—’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Wren cut her off. ‘I want to know.’

Zavier pushed Dessa’s comforting hand away.

‘I’ve already had to go over this with the High Chancellor and Guild Master of Thezmarr a million times – one more won’t kill me.

’ He cracked his knuckles on the desk. ‘It was years before the war you fought in... But Naarva was on the brink of falling to the shadows, and we ran.’

‘Who’s we?’ Wren asked.

For a moment, Zavier pressed his lips together, and then he answered, his voice softer than before. ‘My parents, my brother and me... I was young, so I don’t remember the specifics. I just remember there was a boat.’

‘Where did you go?’ Dessa breathed.

‘Beyond the Veil.’

The Veil had fallen at the end of the shadow war, but before that, it had been a seemingly impenetrable wall of mist surrounding the midrealms. It was believed to have kept out monsters, a barrier between their kingdoms and the dark world beyond – a twisted lie whose origins were still unclear.

‘What was it like? Where did you live? Did you know what was happening back home?’ Wren had a dozen questions on the tip of her tongue, but she was interrupted by the entrance of the Master of Warfare.

Master Crawford swept into the chamber, wearing the same dark clothes and an assortment of rings on his fingers.

‘Welcome back, adepts,’ he said, taking his place behind the desk at the front and scanning the empty seats.

‘I did warn you that all paths lead to the underworld, did I not?’ It was a rhetorical question.

He ran a hand over the scarring on his face.

‘Today we will explore corrosive compounds... In the simplest sense: the creation and application of substances designed to break down materials.’

Wren straightened. During the war, she had experimented with a particular concoction of sun orchid essence that had been weaponized against shadow wraiths and reapers.

Upon contact with their sinewy flesh, it had burned them, but she wasn’t sure if it would be categorized as corrosive. Was flesh a material?

‘For today,’ Master Crawford continued, ‘in groups, you will be given a specific material. You will need to create a compound that corrodes this material. Over the course of our next three lessons together, you will be required to present a formula, create the compound, develop delivery methods for said corrosive and specify safety measures for handling it.’ The Master of Warfare pointed to each team.

‘Oak. Granite. Copper. Birch. Ceramic.’ He gestured to Wren, Dessa and Zavier. ‘Iron.’

Wren tensed. Iron was arguably the hardest, and she suspected that Master Crawford had purposefully chosen the most challenging material for them.

‘What are you waiting for?’ he asked. ‘Get to work.’

For the next two hours, Wren and her teammates stayed hunched over their workbench, Zavier sketching out potential formulas for metal-corroding agents, Dessa and Wren pointing out potential issues with control variables and safety hazards.

Zavier ran his fingers down the list, his hair falling into his eyes, his brow furrowing in concentration.

‘We have oxidizers for rapid rusting of iron, and therefore steel... Several multi-phase solutions for if the iron is layered and time-released compounds for penetrating particularly thick structures...’

‘Should we ask what the target might actually be?’ Dessa asked.

Wren shook her head. ‘If he wanted to give us specifics, he would have. I think we need to prepare a compound that can be adapted for several possibilities. We anticipate the additional step in the challenge and work accordingly.’

‘Agreed,’ Zavier said.

Dessa groaned. ‘As if we don’t have enough to do with our opuses.’

‘Such is the life of an adept, Odessa,’ Master Crawford said from behind her.

Dessa flushed bright red. ‘I wasn’t—’

‘Complaining?’ he finished for her. ‘That’s exactly what it sounded like.’

‘I—’

But the Master Alchemist had already walked away.

They didn’t get as far along as Wren would have liked, but by the time Master Crawford was dismissing them, her back was aching fiercely, and her eyes were tired and gritty.

The Bear Slayer was waiting for her outside, and Cal was waiting for Zavier.

‘You know,’ Dessa said thoughtfully, ‘it just struck me that I’m rather unimportant next to two guarded royals all the time.’

Zavier shot her a contemptuous look. ‘Again, I’d trade places with you any time.’

With the rest of the afternoon free to work on their opuses, Wren, Dessa and Zavier decided to go to the archives. As they walked through the academy, Wren noted the increase in guards at the entrance and several unfamiliar faces who looked out of place in the academic setting.

‘Do they expect another attack on Drevenor?’ she asked her friends in a low voice.

It was Torj who answered as they made their way up the stairs. ‘Additional security measures have been taken at several key locations across the midrealms. Drevenor, being the potential birthplace of the cure for the weaponized alchemy, is being prioritized.’

‘No pressure,’ Wren muttered, rubbing the back of her neck.

She was sore. Sore from being hunched over her workbench last night, sore from the uncomfortable chairs in the poisons dungeons.

Her back ached, and no matter how many times she rolled or rubbed her shoulders, the pain persisted.

She’d have to make a tonic when she returned to her room later.

When they reached the archives, Wren temporarily forgot the pain as she breathed in the comforting scent of parchment and leather. Having spent many of her formative years in Thezmarr with its tiny library of warrior and military books, every time she set foot in the archives was like a dream.

Then she remembered the last time she’d been here with Torj, and her face flushed hot.

‘Did you miss me, Embers? Because I missed you ... Shall I show you how much?’

He’d shown her. Thoroughly.

Wren barely registered moving through the stacks towards one of the private study rooms with her friends. She was too conscious of the Warsword at her back, the Warsword who had lifted her skirts around her hips and licked her until she saw stars.

‘I could taste you a thousand times and it would never be enough.’

A storm vibrated beneath her skin, as though her magic remembered it too. And when she glanced behind her, the Bear Slayer’s eyes were dark with desire, lost in that exact moment with her.