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More of Torj’s speech echoed in her mind. ‘A true warrior of Thezmarr is brutal, yes, but efficient – quick, merciful. We do not draw out the suffering of our fellow man…’ Thea bit the inside of her cheek. That was not the case for this battle. There would be much suffering. Hot oil, boiling water… Fire… All of it designed to maim and agonise.
The castle was bustling with movement as she passed through its corridors, watching the Tverrian guards run quivers full of arrows up to the walls. Thea could still make out the top of Kipp’s head at the front of the throng, and she followed him and Esyllt all the way from the castle grounds to the war camp beyond, where the forces were adding fletching to arrows and treating sword blades with a fire accelerant. Carts were being loaded with supplies to be taken back to the castle. She spotted Malik moving huge timber logs onto a wagon, the back of his shirt drenched with sweat.
‘We’ll use those to fortify the main castle gates,’ Esyllt said, as though checking something off a mental list, while Kipp nodded enthusiastically at his side.
Malik didn’t acknowledge them; the gentle giant simply carried on lifting. Esyllt seemed to prefer it that way.
But that didn’t stop Thea approaching her friend. ‘Hello, Shieldbreaker,’ she said quietly, careful not to startle Malik.
The former Warsword kept working, but his expression softened as he heard her voice.
‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ she told him, lifting some smaller freshly cut planks of timber and placing them in the cart. ‘Must have been a long journey for you.’
Thea glanced around in search of Dax, finding the enormous dog lying on his belly, panting in the shade of a nearby tree.
‘He’s got the right idea…’ she murmured, and Malik made a sound that could have been a laugh.
She turned back to her friend, wondering if he’d been forced to join their ranks, or if he’d wanted to come. Chewing on her lower lip, she hoped someone had kept an eye on him throughout the ride, but one glance at his arms and she knew that he’d been left to fend for himself. Dozens of little cuts littered his forearms, too precise to be scratches… No, a blade had done those.
‘Mal…’ she said slowly, her fists clenching at her sides.
But the Shieldbreaker didn’t look up from his task.
‘Not much of a talker, is he, stray?’
That familiar sneering voice ignited the pit of fury in Thea’s gut. Her fingers coiled around the grip of the dagger at her waist as she turned to face Seb Barlowe, who wore the same smug expression on his face as always.
‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ she asked. ‘How could you treat him like this?’ She gestured to the cuts on Malik’s arms. ‘I know it was you.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ But the gleam in his eyes said otherwise. Seb took a step towards her, darkness flashing in his gaze. ‘He’s a disgrace to Thezmarr. No wonder you spread your legs for the simple bastard – you’re a perfect match.’
Thea didn’t flinch, nor did she yield a step back. She’d fought monsters far bigger and stronger than Sebastos Barlowe. She’d carved them up, ended them. Seb was nothing. Less than nothing.
‘Did that single punch I landed over six years ago really damage your ego so thoroughly?’ she asked, rage flaring in her chest. She could feel that they’d drawn attention to themselves, but she kept her gaze trained on Seb.
‘You did no such thing,’ he said.
Thea laughed darkly. ‘Saying something doesn’t make it so,’ she replied. ‘And there are plenty of people left in Thezmarr who witnessed that little defeat of yours.’
He started to circle her, as though he were a predator and she were his prey. ‘I’m going to make you wish you’d stayed in that little workshop, mixing potions.’
Thea stood tall. She didn’t move an inch.
She was no one’s prey.
But nor was she about to start a brawl with another Warsword’s apprentice on the eve of battle… unless he swung first.
A long shadow cast across the golden grass, and Seb halted.
Wilder appeared, as if from nowhere, and came not to Thea’s side, but to Malik’s. Wilder’s brother had frozen to the spot, staring at both apprentices, his hands trembling. Wilder didn’t comfort him or even address him. Instead, the Warsword leant against the cart, crossing his feet at the ankles and folding his arms over his chest, watching Seb with the promise of violence in his silver eyes.
Thea still didn’t move.
‘I was just teaching your apprentice a lesson,’ Seb had the gall to say, though there was a slight quake in his voice as he addressed Wilder.
‘My apprentice needs no lessons from you.’ He unsheathed one of his great swords and offered it to Thea. ‘Perhaps it’s time you showed this prick what you’ve learnt.’
Seb baulked at that, unable to hide his shock.
