Page 54 of Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr #2)

Torj

‘The sense of responsibility a guard feels for his ward is prolific, even when circumstances go beyond their control, dedication, or skill’

– Vigilance and Valour: Tactical Training for Professional Bodyguards

‘K IPP ,’ T ORJ GROANED. ‘Not so loud, for Furies’ sake.’

His head was pounding. A fact made no better by Kipp’s jovial recounting of the previous night’s antics at the Mortar and Pestle over the breakfast table.

‘I did warn you that you were overindulging,’ Kipp said with an infuriating smirk.

‘Horseshit. You practically poured the fire extract down my throat.’

Kipp scoffed. ‘Let’s be realistic, Bear Slayer. Could I, with my mere average mortal strength, actually force you to do anything?’

Torj simply grunted. ‘I should throttle you anyway.’

‘Drink this first,’ Wren said from beside him, removing a spoon from a fresh cup of juice and pushing it towards him.

‘If you’re meaning to poison me, I think I did enough of that myself last night,’ he muttered, taking the cup. ‘Or perhaps you mean to put me out of my misery.’

‘Has anyone ever told you you’re a touch dramatic when you’re hungover?’ Wren asked, her lips quirking to the side.

‘It’s not dramatic if you’re dying, Embers,’ he replied gruffly, eyeing the offered drink suspiciously.

Wren pushed it closer to him. ‘Who knew Warswords were such babies? It’s a rehydration tonic,’ she added.

‘Where’s mine?’ Kipp blurted, looking hurt.

Wren laughed. ‘I suspect any water in your poor body turned to sour mead long ago. You don’t need one.’

Kipp turned to Dessa, pouting. ‘You’ll make me one, won’t you, beautiful alchemist?’

Dessa snorted. ‘You made your bed, Kristopher. Now you need to lie in it. Adepts don’t have time to make fools hangover cures.’

Mouth agape, Kipp thrust a finger in Wren’s direction. ‘Wren did for Torj!’

Dessa smiled slyly at the Delmirian heir. ‘She did indeed... Why is that, I wonder?’

Torj was too hungover for this shit, but he didn’t miss the glare Wren sent Dessa’s way, or the delicious blush that stained the tips of her cheeks.

He brought the cup to his lips and downed the lot. His eyes bulged, and he only just managed to keep the foul liquid in and not spray it across the table.

Chest heaving, he turned, horrified, to Wren. ‘That was disgusting.’

‘The price you pay for blowing off so much steam,’ she said with a shrug.

The fact that she had recognized why he’d ‘overindulged,’ as Kipp put it, was a testament to how well she knew him. He’d typically have a few drinks here and there, but he never got caught up in the chaos, not since becoming her guard – with the exception of last night.

They’d watched the stars together.

He’d held her hand.

He’d memorized the constellation of freckles across her nose in the moonlight.

‘Are you coming, Torj?’ Her voice cut through the haze of his thoughts.

Torj.

Not Bear Slayer. Not Warsword.

Torj.

For the briefest of moments, he half expected that when he looked up, Wren would be holding out her hand, ready for him to lace his fingers through hers. He’d brush his thumb over her knuckles and then draw her close to his side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders for all to see.

But Wren wasn’t holding out her hand. She was talking to Kipp, their voices hushed, their expressions unusually serious.

‘What’s going on?’ he demanded, getting to his feet, pleasantly surprised to find that his head was no longer spinning.

‘Nothing of note,’ Wren said dismissively.

‘Embers...’ he warned. Kipp was always full of schemes, and if his charge was getting caught up in something dangerous, he needed to know.

‘You had your secrets, and now I have mine,’ she replied. ‘Now hurry up. Zavier, Dessa and I have booked one of the workshop rooms.’

‘Another Warsword has gone missing,’ Cal told him as the two warriors stood guard outside the alchemy workshop.

‘What?’ Torj whirled to face him. ‘Who? When?’

‘I got a letter from Thezmarr this morning...’ Cal said slowly. ‘It’s Vernich.’

‘Vernich?’ Torj stared at his former protégé. ‘Vernich’s retired. He’s been in some fishing village for years.’

Cal shrugged. ‘I only know what I’ve been told. Apparently Esyllt keeps in touch with him and never heard back. When he sent some Guardians to investigate, they reported that his place was empty, and there were signs of a struggle...’

‘Fuck,’ Torj muttered. Vernich had always inspired controversy with his harsh brand of training methods and generally nasty demeanour, with Kipp bearing the brunt of his brutality as a shieldbearer. However, the war had shown everyone a different side of the older Warsword.

Torj pinched the bridge of his nose as shock rippled through him. Vernich Warner, the oldest of the three original Warswords from the shadow war, the warrior known as the Bloodletter, was missing .

Sighing, he said, ‘I know you have a complicated history with Vernich, but...’

‘He’s one of us,’ Cal finished with a nod. ‘Kipp forgave him during the war, and if he could do that after what Vernich did to him, then who am I to hold a grudge?’

‘Truth be told, I don’t know who I feel sorrier for,’ Torj replied. ‘Vernich, or the morons who made the mistake of capturing him...’

Cal laughed at that. ‘True. He’s a hard bastard, that’s for sure. Audra’s got people out looking. I’ve never seen her so fucking angry. Apparently, she developed a soft spot for him over the years—’

A scream of rage pierced the air, cutting Cal off.

Both Warswords burst into the workshop, and Torj didn’t know where to look first. Countless alchemy tools and bottles were suspended in the air, with Zavier standing in the middle, his face turned to the ceiling, his palms outstretched – summoning magic .

On the far side of the room, Wren was shielding Dessa with her body, Torj’s dagger in one hand, a ball of lightning crackling in the other—

‘Zavier,’ she called, a note of panic in her voice. ‘Zavier, you have to calm down—’

But the Prince of Naarva gave another shout, and half the items in the air came crashing down. Glass splintered, flames burst into life in one corner—

‘I can’t save him,’ Zavier choked out. ‘Why can’t I save him?’

Cal was at his side, trying to bring him out of whatever trance he was in, shaking him by the shoulders.

‘I’ve failed them,’ Zavier murmured, sending more paraphernalia flying across the room.

Torj was at Wren’s side in a matter of strides, covering her body with his, blocking any flying debris from hitting her and Dessa.

‘Cal...’ he warned, as more glass shattered.

‘He won’t stop,’ Cal called desperately. Even with Zavier’s arms clamped to his sides with Furies-given strength, his summoning power raged on.

‘We have to sedate him,’ Dessa said from behind Wren. ‘It’s the only way.’

Wren was nodding, already reaching for her belt.

‘I can’t save him. I can’t save him,’ Zavier was still chanting.

Producing a vial, Wren tried to make a move for the prince—

‘You’re not going near him,’ Torj told her, snatching the potion from her hands. ‘Does he ingest this?’

For once, Wren didn’t argue; she simply nodded.

Flipping a table to act as a barrier between Zavier and his fellow alchemists, Torj strode right for him. ‘Get his mouth open,’ he ordered Cal.

His former protégé did exactly that, holding his charge’s nose until he gasped for air. Torj forced the small vial to Zavier’s lips and emptied its contents into his mouth.

Everything suspended in the air around them fell as Zavier slumped to the floor in Cal’s arms.

Torj didn’t waste any time. He was back at Wren’s side in seconds, scanning her for signs of injury.

‘Are you alright? Did he hurt you?’ he demanded.

Wren shook her head, dazed. ‘He... he just lost it. One minute he was telling us how the work on his opus wasn’t going to plan, and the next...’ Her hands were trembling.

Torj looked to Dessa. ‘Are you hurt?’

Wren’s friend wore a similar expression of shock. ‘I don’t think so...’

‘I’m taking him to Farissa,’ Cal said from where he stood by the door, Zavier still unconscious in his arms. Cal’s face was pale, stricken with the guilt that Torj knew all too well.

‘You couldn’t have done anything differently,’ Torj told him.

Cal only shook his head.

‘Tell Farissa we gave him valerian root essence,’ Wren said, voice wavering. ‘If she agrees, I think he should be sedated for the rest of the night.’

‘I’ll go with them,’ Dessa announced, following as Cal carried Zavier from the workshop.

Torj watched Wren take in the destruction around them.

‘Word of this can’t get out,’ she murmured.

‘Both Zavier and me having trouble controlling our magic? The People’s Vanguard would use it to unite the rest of the midrealms against us.

’ She crouched down in the mess, retrieving Torj’s dagger with trembling fingers and offering it to him.

‘I think it’s time I gave this back to you. ’

But Torj closed his hands over hers and pushed it back to her. ‘No. I think it’s time I taught you how to use it.’