Page 49 of Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr #2)
Torj
‘A magic wielder steeped in emotional turmoil is a dangerous thing. It is one of the many duties of a Warsword to protect the sovereigns of the midrealms, but also to protect the midrealms from its sovereigns’
– The Warsword’s Way
T ORJ DIDN ’ T KNOW how many minutes had passed in that chamber. Twenty? Thirty? So much could change in such a short expanse of time. So much had.
He saw the weight of the world fall on Wren’s shoulders, and there was nothing he could do. A long time ago, he’d sworn he’d never be helpless again, and yet here he was. How could he protect her from this?
When at last they were alone in the council room, Torj turned to her, reached for her. ‘Wren, I—’
‘We’re going to the rookery,’ was all she said.
They were silent as they left the main academy building and started to climb a spiral staircase in one of the rear towers.
Torj had used the rookery dozens of times during Wren’s novice training to report back to Audra, sending missives when he was under the impression he had a magical wound that might send him into madness.
When they reached the top, he opened the heavy wooden door out onto the rooftop, where a dozen or so ravens squawked in their cages.
Wren peered over the ledge, out onto the grounds, a low whistle sounding between her lips. ‘Everything looks so small from up here,’ she said quietly. He could hear the heartbreak in her voice, and it damn near ruined him. He had done that to her, as had the midrealms she’d fought so hard to save.
But there was nothing for him to do but follow her gaze.
Torj had never actually stopped to survey the lands from the rookery, always so intent on completing his task and getting back to the poisoner who stood beside him.
Now, he looked out onto Drevenor’s lands with her.
Beyond the gardens and the greenhouses was Evermere Forest, and beyond that Torj could see a glimmer of sea.
Wren fumbled with her oilskin satchel, retrieving a quill, an inkpot and a piece of parchment, setting them down on the top of the wall.
‘I never wanted to ask this of her,’ she murmured as she stared at the blank page, her magic crackling around her. ‘It’s not fair... Not after everything she’s done. And yet here I am, asking anyway.’
Torj didn’t know what to say, so he stayed silent as the wind picked up around them and Wren put quill to parchment and wrote to her sister.
When she was done, Wren rolled the message into a scroll with shaking hands and surveyed the ravens in their cages, their home locations scrawled across the top of the bars. She selected a bird, tying the missive to its leg and coaxing it out of its cage.
There was something majestic about this woman, even in her simple gown and apron, as she walked to the ledge of the rooftop, a raven perched on her fingers.
.. It was how she carried herself, her back straight, her chin lifted.
But as the raven took flight, her legs seemed to buckle and Torj caught her by the waist.
The poisoner stepped away from his grasp, pressing a hand to her chest as the clouds above darkened. ‘I need you to take me somewhere – a place I can...’ She trailed off, wincing and clenching her fists. ‘Somewhere safe – for me.’
Torj felt the power vibrating around her, fighting against whatever tentative hold she had, and he understood.
‘Come with me.’ He guided Wren from the rookery, her whole body shaking suddenly.
‘Hurry,’ she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut.
She was trusting him, he realized as he navigated the spiral steps once more. Her storm magic called out to him, as it always had, but he didn’t let it lure him, didn’t let himself get caught up in its song.
He took Wren across the grounds, half carrying her as she fought against the beast that raged within.
Torj wanted to tell her he was sorry that after everything she’d been through during the war, and everything since, she’d found herself in this position.
She didn’t deserve it. He wanted to tell her that it would be alright, that they had survived worse, but all those reassurances died on his tongue when he glanced at her.
A mask had slid into place. The mask she’d worn so well in the post-war years; the mask of the Poisoner. A mask that served as a wall, locking everything inside, and everyone else out.
‘This way,’ he told her softly. ‘Not far now.’
They passed beneath wrought iron gates, through the gardens and beyond, where the more isolated meadow sprawled outwards.
He hadn’t been here since... since everything. But with the power rolling off Wren in waves, he’d heeded her words: somewhere safe for me.
When she opened her eyes, she sank to her knees. As she tipped her head to the sky, a cry of relief escaped her lips, and suddenly, she unleashed her storm, a tempest of chaos and destruction.
Torj was blown back by the force of it, landing hard several yards away in the grass.
He leapt to his feet, a silent cry for her on his lips as a wild gale tore up the flowers and earth around Wren.
Near-deafening thunder boomed overhead, and flashes of brilliant white split the black clouds closing in.
A maelstrom surrounded Wren, lightning shooting from her hands into the wind while rain lashed down, violently hammering everything below.
It was a reckoning of grief, of sorrow. Pain poured from her, giving rise to the frenzied storm around her.
And through the deluge, Torj could see her sobbing.
He could stand it no longer. Fighting against the tempest with all his Furies-given strength, he moved towards her.
The storm battled him with every step, but he refused to leave her alone in this.
Debris hit him, slicing at his skin, knocking the breath from him as he grappled with her power and slowly closed the distance between them.
Wren’s hair was loose and wild, caught up in the savage gale. Blue lightning flitted across her skin in a deadly dance.
With no thought for his own safety, Torj did the only thing that felt natural. He reached for her.
He felt no pain as his warm skin met hers, his arms wrapping around her and her magic. The storm continued to rage around them, but no lightning assaulted him, no force threatened to tear him away from her.
Torj had become what he was always meant to be: the shield between Wren and the world that had already taken too much.