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As they rode the final leg of the day’s journey, Thea spotted several flowers that looked familiar, but couldn’t place them. She had a surreal, blurry memory of braiding flower necklaces with Wren, but… Thea had never braided flowers at Thezmarr, which meant Wren would have been too young for a task that required fine motor skills. Frowning, Thea remembered she’d had the same strange feeling the last time she’d journeyed with Wilder. She’d braided a necklace of flowers for him then. But when had she done such a thing before that?
For a brief moment, she allowed herself to wonder about her mother, Queen Brigh. Had it been with her? It was hard to imagine someone described as a tyrant doing such a quaint task.
An icy shiver raked down Thea’s spine as two words echoed in her mind…
Remember me.
The words the seer had spoken to her upon pressing her fate stone into her hand.
Thea hadn’t realised she’d muttered a curse of frustration aloud until she met Wilder’s concerned gaze.
‘You alright?’ he asked gently.
Thea opened her mouth to reassure him, but he raised a brow.
‘No lies, remember?’
She cursed her former self for insisting on total honesty between them. Taking a measured breath, she sighed. ‘Just getting caught up in the past again,’ she told him.
Wilder nodded. ‘If you want to talk about it… I’m here.’
Warmth bloomed in Thea’s chest. ‘Thank you.’
‘You offered me the same once.’
‘That feels like a long time ago now,’ Thea admitted as moments from their first journey together flashed before her: teasing him when she’d woken to him holding her, his erection digging into her backside. Him teaching her how shoot game, his strong frame enveloping her. Sharing stories across the campfire…
‘A lifetime ago,’ Wilder agreed distantly, as though he too were drifting down a river of memories.
As they continued, something else nagged at the back of Thea’s mind, and she allowed it to distract her from thoughts of Wilder: Seb and Vernich, and the conversation she’d overheard. Suspicion tugged in her chest when she thought of the darkness encroaching on the realm, of the cursed lands around them. She knew that her friends could very well be right – that just because the Bloodletter and his apprentice were cruel bastards, it didn’t mean they were evil… But even so, she knew something wasn’t right. As she and Wilder made their way towards their campsite, she couldn’t help but raise the subject again.
‘How would one hunt a fallen Warsword?’ she said, keeping pace beside him.
‘Why are you asking?’
‘Cal said you’d know.’
‘Your friend has a big mouth.’
‘Well?’
‘Is this about Vernich again?’ Wilder warned. ‘He’s just a prick, a really horrible prick, but he’s no fallen Warsword.’
‘Indulge me,’ she replied, not bothering to recount what she’d overheard. It didn’t seem to matter.
Wilder sighed. ‘A fallen Warsword is corrupted from within. They can’t handle the powers gifted to them by the Furies. It’s… comparable to insanity, I suppose. That corruption leads them all over the midrealms.’
‘Where? Why?’
‘To the points where the Veil is weakest. So they can get to the darkness on the other side.’
‘Where is it weakest?’ Thea pressed.
‘North of Delmira. South of Naarva. East of everything. Though with what’s happening lately, there are more and more tears. I have a map marked with them in my saddlebag.’
‘I want to see it.’
‘And I want a hot stone massage and a bottle of Valian wine,’ Wilder quipped. ‘Alas, we can’t always get what we want.’
