Page 62 of Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr #2)
Thea made to take the lead, but Wren thrust out a hand. ‘Wait.’ She rummaged through her satchel and pulled out two masks, handing one to her sister. ‘Wear this.’
Both women tied the fabric around the lower half of their faces, and Wren checked the supplies in her belt.
‘Ready?’ Thea asked.
Wren nodded. The invisible force was insistent, drawing her closer, guiding her to Torj. ‘Downstairs.’
Heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and dread, Wren allowed Thea to lead. She wasn’t so proud that she didn’t recognize the value of having a Warsword in her arsenal.
As they descended the stone steps, the acrid smell of chemicals grew stronger, mingling with the damp, musty air. Shouting echoed from below, and there was a distant sound of shattering glass. Wren unsheathed her poison-tipped dagger and clutched a bottle of wild draketail in her other hand.
The clang of steel rang out, reverberating up the stairwell. When Thea and Wren burst into the antechamber below, they were met with chaos.
An iron door lay twisted on the floor, torn from its hinges by either a Warsword or an alchemical explosion. There was too much smoke and madness to know for sure. Fighting had spilled out from a laboratory. Plumes of vapour evaporated as they touched the fresh air of the antechamber.
Thea threw herself into the fray at once, her blade a blur of motion, but Wren saw it instantly: though it should have been an easy fight, the alchemists’ knowledge of the space gave them a deadly advantage.
Vats of acid were flying in the direction of Wilder, Thea and Torj – the latter cursing as liquid splashed across his boot and ate through the leather with a hiss.
The smell of burnt hair threatened to drag Wren back into the past, to a different battle. Her throat closed up, her stomach churning as that familiar panic set in—
‘Embers!’
That name was her anchor to him, and she followed it up to the surface.
Wren darted out from her cover, her mind racing through the contents of her belt.
She threw her own concoctions with practised precision.
A vial of widow’s ash smashed against the wall, releasing a cloud of concentrated spores that had a masked man screaming and scratching at his exposed arms, raw and red with an instant rash.
Parcels of soot root powder flew from her hand, a dark mass blooming, temporarily blocking the Warswords from sight so they could advance.
When she got close enough, Wren unleashed a dusting of brugmansia powder, reduced to its hallucinogenic properties. An enemy alchemist inhaled it and staggered, his eyes going wide as he began swatting at invisible assailants.
Where the Warswords couldn’t swing their blades for fear of knocking the lethal potions and experiments, Wren wielded weapons of her own making.
And she wielded them well . The coughing and shrieks around her were all the confirmation she needed that she was hitting her marks, that she was a worthy player in this fight.
Another band of masked alchemists swarmed in, alerted by their comrades. A glass sphere went hurtling towards Torj from across the room.
Wren didn’t think. She flung her hand out, lightning shooting from her fingertips, knocking the projectile from Torj’s path. Something shattered in the distance—
Wren’s heart seized as she watched it unfold.
Her lightning was encased by the strange, shimmering substance that had spilled across the floor.
A silvery, fluid-like essence began to separate from the rest, moving with an almost sentient quality.
It started to glow faintly, pulsing in a rhythm that reminded her of a heartbeat.
Realization hit her like a blow.
The silvery essence represented pure magical energy, distinct from any royal blood itself.
The enemy’s alchemy didn’t target the blood directly, but rather the magic intertwined with it.
It was happening before her very eyes, penetrating the magical element, showing her just how her cure worked against it.
Wren threw another small bolt of lightning, watching the alchemy react. It wasn’t built on royal blood and bloodlines. It was built on the very fabric of magic itself.
Seeing what she was discovering, some of their opponents attempted to shatter the surrounding equipment and work.
‘We can’t let them destroy the workshop any further,’ she shouted, noting the array of volatile potions bubbling in crucibles. She couldn’t stand by and watch it destroyed, not when she needed it—
A lanky alchemist with a shock of white hair caught her eye. He was working furiously at a table, mixing reagents with trembling hands. Whatever he was concocting, Wren knew it couldn’t be good.
‘Thea!’ she called out, gesturing towards the white-haired enemy. ‘Cover me!’
As Thea nodded and moved to intercept anyone who might interfere, Wren sprinted towards the table. The alchemist looked up, his eyes widening in recognition. He reached for a beaker of swirling, opalescent liquid.
Time seemed to slow.
Wren threw her dagger.
It caught the man in the neck.
Blood sprayed, and suddenly the Bear Slayer was at her side. Not shielding her with his body as he had done so many times before, but fighting with her, a partner, an equal.
Together, with iron and alchemy, with Furies-given strength and lightning, they brought the last of the enemy down. Wren felt Torj’s power surging through her as he swung his hammer and she cast bolts of lightning in its wake, more in control of her magic than she’d ever been.
At last, when the chaos around them waned, Wren saw it.
The gold thread.
The soul bond that linked her to Torj Elderbrock.
His pain was her pain, and hers was his.
The bond was still there. Still intact. She understood why he’d tried to sever it. Understood why he’d done what he’d done.
But that wasn’t the only way... She saw it so clearly now.
Instead of tearing away from the bond, Wren clung to it, watching as its shimmering cord became more solid beneath her touch, as the connection between them grew anew. She poured all her love for the Warsword into every one of its fibres, and they shared strength and power as one.
Everything else faded away.
Wren went to his side and pulled the mask from her face. ‘We were always stronger together.’