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Thea didn’t want to. But she knew the Daughter of Darkness. SheknewAnya. Not just from her visions. But from life before.
In the shadow of a fallen kingdom, in the eye of the storm
A daughter of darkness will wield a blade in one hand
And rule death with the other
When the skies are blackened, in the end of days
The Veil will fall.
The grief and despair on Wren’s face tugged on that thread of recognition that had started to unravel within Thea since she’d first seen the Daughter of Darkness.
And her unmarred eye – which was a unique shade of green that matched both Thea’s and Wren’s.
‘Don’t you remember me?’
Thea did.
They were linked by blood and storms.
It was Anya’s magic that had lured Thea and Wren out of the Laughing Fox in Harenth. It was Anya’s lightning that had called to them.
Anya, the Daughter of Darkness, the enemy to end them all… was the true heir of Delmira.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
WILDER
The aftermath of battle always tasted like ash on Wilder’s tongue, no matter the outcome. As he walked the blood-drenched fields and heard the cries of the wounded, the fact that the midrealms’ forces had won felt hollow. They had secured a victory, but only just, and the price to be paid was steep.
In the wake of war, there was always a jarring contrast between the joy of the survivors and the reality of the dead. That thick, putrid stench of death, of blood, shit and vomit, soured the air, all while kegs of ale were being split open and shared among the living.
Wilder was used to the blood and gore, but it had been a long while since he’d seen it on such a grand scale in terms of human losses. There was always an element of disassociation when it came to slaying monsters, but when it was fellow soldiers screaming in agony, when it was their blood coating the fields, it was hard to maintain that same level of detachment, even as a Warsword.
He scanned the grounds for Thea, but there was no sign of her. His chest tightened as he thought of his last words to her, of how he’d been unable to kiss her when he wanted to. He steeled himself against the thought. He’d see her soon enough, and when he did, he’d do a lot more than kiss her.
But for now, there was work to be done. He set about finishing off those who lay dying in the fields with cold efficiency. There was nothing to be done for them, and a swift death was a mercy he’d gift to any fellow man.
The various units of the midrealms joined together to gather and burn the dead. Wilder watched the thick columns of smoke drift into the gold hues of early dawn.
The battle had lasted most of the night, and now a red sunrise bloomed on the horizon. A medical tent had been set up at the edge of the war camp; Wilder headed there to see what he might do to help.
He was alarmed to find Farissa there. The poor alchemist was half drowned, attended to by a fussing Audra. Wilder’s brows shot up. He’d never seen Audrafussbefore. But when it came to Farissa, apparently she was willing to make an exception.
‘What happened?’ he asked, pushing aside the tent flap and entering the cramped quarters.
Both women shot him looks of surprise.
‘You don’t know?’ Audra demanded, surveying him critically.
A pit of dread opened up inside him at her words. ‘What happened?’ he repeated.
Frowning, Audra made quick work of explaining what had happened out by the Veil – how Farissa had been thrown from the boat, leaving Wren at the mercy of the swarm of shadow wraiths. Wilder’s breathing went shallow. He’d been the one to encourage Thea to let her sister go out into the madness. He’d told her that everyone had a part to play.
‘Another unit of alchemists is already being rowed out to patch the rest of the Veil,’ Audra said.
But Wilder didn’t care about the alchemists at that moment.
