Page 66 of Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr #2)

Wren

‘Some threads in destiny’s tapestry cannot be cut – they simply weave new patterns through time’

– Tethers and Magical Bonds Throughout History

T HERE WAS NOTHING Wren wanted more than to sink into a hot bath with Torj and forget the midrealms existed.

But that was not the life she led, and the Bear Slayer understood that.

He had told her of the shadow magic he and Wilder had discovered in the enemy laboratory, which only fuelled her need to finish the cure, to stop Silas.

She thanked Dessa profusely for guarding her work in her absence and promised to update her as soon as she could.

While Wren washed quickly, Torj retrieved the supplies Thea and Wilder had brought back from the enemy’s workshop.

When she emerged from the bathing chamber, she was touched to find that everything was set up for her at her bench.

There was also a fresh pot of tea and some biscuits.

She glanced to where he waited in the adjoining doorway. ‘You did all of this?’

His answering smile had her melting. ‘There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.’

Wren bit her lip, warring with herself. Gods, she wanted to go to him; she wanted him close. After so long apart, after all they had missed together... Now they had no time.

Another smile, this one full of understanding. ‘Do the work, Embers,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll be here when you finish.’

Wren did go to him then, and brushed a kiss to his lips, a promise of what was to come when she finished her opus. ‘Thank you,’ she told him.

And then, she returned to the cure.

For months she had been working under the assumption that the alchemy attacked blood itself, and in that respect, the earlier cure she’d used on Zavier had been a fluke of sorts.

But from what she’d seen in the laboratory beneath the cobbler’s workshop, the alchemy – or curse – wasn’t attacking royal blood; it was attacking the very fibre of the magic in their systems. The substance didn’t just attack magical properties and fester, it multiplied upon contact with power.

.. and now, armed with that knowledge and the knowledge about her own storm magic, she had to know, once and for all, if it would work.

Wren’s hands shook as she set up her samples and the last of the Delmirian rose. If she managed to recreate the counter-alchemy, it would shift the tides of the upcoming conflict.

As afternoon turned into evening and evening turned into night, Wren called for Thea.

Her sister gave her a fresh sample of royal blood to work with and promised to retrieve some from Zavier as soon as he was well enough, so Wren could be sure that whatever she created didn’t simply work on her alone.

Seeing her focus, Thea didn’t linger. Wren simply thanked her and continued her work.

At some point, Torj brought her more food.

The Warsword didn’t speak, didn’t fracture her concentration; he simply stood by her side until she’d finished her bowl of stew and then took it away.

When he was gone, his scent lingered, and she found herself moving towards the adjoining door before she stopped herself.

‘Do the work, Embers. I’ll be here when you finish.’

She turned back to her crucibles and powders, and continued.

Wren had no notion of the hour when there was a soft knock at the main door. She opened it to find Farissa on the other side.

‘May I come in?’ her former mentor asked.

Wren stepped aside. ‘What time is it?’

‘Nearly the third hour,’ Farissa replied as she entered the room, taking in the chaos across every surface. ‘I knew you’d be awake.’

When Wren had been Farissa’s apprentice, they had always started their mornings before daybreak. Back then, Wren had found it invigorating, always something new to learn on the horizon. She thought the war had taken that joy from her, but Drevenor, even with all its faults, had given it back.

‘I’d offer you some tea, but I’m afraid it’s gone cold,’ she said, closing the door and turning to face the older woman.

Farissa dismissed this with a wave. Her gaze roamed over the shallow glass dishes of blood, over the mortar and pestle that held the last remnants of the powdered rose leaves. ‘You’re ready, then? To present to the masters?’

‘As I’ll ever be,’ Wren told her, palming the grit from her eyes.

‘This is not a simple academic body of work, Farissa. The sooner the midrealms has this in their hands, the better it will be for all of us. I need to present it to the masters before the next council meeting. Before...’ She trailed off.

She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

‘Before Thea declares she is taking the Delmirian throne?’ Farissa finished for her.

‘Yes.’ Wren wrung her hands. ‘I think it will be... impactful to announce the counter-alchemy at the same time. And for that to happen, I must pass the presentation.’

Farissa bowed her head. ‘Be ready at dusk tomorrow.’

‘Thank you.’

She thought Farissa would leave after that, but instead, the older woman closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around Wren.

Farissa’s body was hard and lean, but her embrace was warm. Wren could count on one hand how many times they had hugged in the decades they’d known one another, but she didn’t break away.

‘I’m proud of you, Elwren,’ Farissa told her quietly. ‘You have come so far in this past year alone. You are becoming the alchemist I knew you could be.’

Wren felt her lip quiver, and she didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she simply nodded and patted Farissa on the back, at last pulling away.

‘You did the right thing,’ she blurted. ‘Denying me a letter of recommendation for all those years. I would have...’ She didn’t know what she would or wouldn’t have done, and that was what scared her. ‘You did the right thing,’ she said again.

Farissa smiled. ‘I know. Get some rest, Elwren. You’re going to need it.’

As the door clicked closed behind her, Wren stared at what countless hours of literal blood, sweat, and tears had produced: three small vials of a brilliant midnight-blue liquid that would either damn them, or save them all.

The adjoining door creaked open. ‘You’re finished?’ Torj’s voice danced along her very bones.

‘I’m done,’ Wren replied, her voice hoarse.

He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her from behind. ‘Does that mean I can take you to bed now?’

Wren laughed, turning around to face him. She studied the silver of his hair, the sharp line of his stubble-covered jaw, the white scar through his dark brow and the smile tugging at his lips.

‘Have you been waiting up all night for me, Bear Slayer?’ she asked.

‘I waited years for you, Embers.’ Torj brushed a heated kiss to her mouth. ‘What was a few more hours?’