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‘Wren was trying to protect you,’ Wilder said quietly.
‘She lied to me,’ Thea replied, the hurt thick in her voice.
‘And you’ve said your piece about that.’ The Warsword surveyed the broken castle. ‘Do you know what I’d give to argue with Malik again? To have one more conversation where he was himself, free of pain? The man I knew before?’ He faltered. ‘Life is too short – yours, in particular – to hold grudges against the people you love.’
Thea flinched as that last part hit a nerve. It was the first time someone had ever directly referenced her death, and used it in an argument against her, as though it were a mere fact to be thrown around. And she hadn’t expected it, not from him.
‘That’s rich, coming from you.’ The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them.
‘What did you just say?’ His voice was low.
Anger flashed in those silver eyes, but Thea could feel the storm in her heart and for once, it steadied her. ‘You heard me,’ she said boldly. ‘You talk of forgiveness, but what of you? What of Talemir? You’ve held on to that anger for how long? Six years, was it?’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Then what of me?’
He was in front of her in a single stride. His words came out deathly quiet. ‘What about you?’
‘You won’t forgive me. For lying about my fate stone. For getting us into this mess.’ Thea hated the waver in her voice, the note of vulnerability.
‘It’s forgotten.’
‘But notforgiven. You carry it around on that heavily chipped shoulder of yours.’ She hadn’t realised how close he was until she was staring up at his handsome face, his breath tickling her skin.
‘Thatis not the burden I carry with me.’
‘No?’ Thea pressed. ‘Then what is?’
He seemed to study her, to take in her features as though committing them to memory, doing so with a pained expression. ‘We said no lies.’
‘We did.’
‘Without lying, and without muddying the waters of our pact, I can’t tell you this. It’s too hard. Leave it be, Thea.’
Thea swallowed the burning desire to demand exactly what plagued him and took a step back. ‘Alright,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll respect that.’
‘Thank you.’ The Warsword’s voice was rough. ‘It’s not because I don’t —’
But Thea didn’t hear the rest. Her gaze caught on something amid the rubble, and she took one, two steps towards it.
It would have been easy to miss, beneath the piles of broken stone and timber, but once she’d spotted it, there was no mistaking it for what it was.
The remains of a throne.
It was the back part of the chair, elaborate carvings of crowns and lightning bolts all along the arch. Thea kicked more debris out of the way, clearing away the dirt and wreckage.
The throne had been ruined, splintered into pieces, almost beyond recognition. But Thea knew in her bones what it was. Her father, or her mother, had sat upon it once, ordering the downfalls of the other kingdoms, only to have darkness sweep in and take their own.
‘Thea?’ Wilder’s voice jerked her out of her trance.
Her hand shot out, grabbing his muscled forearm. ‘Look…’ she breathed, pointing with her other hand to where a second throne lay upturned in the mess.
Wrapped around its legs was a vine blight.
‘Fuck.’ Wilder’s hands went to his swords in an instant.
But Thea took the sight in. It looked similar to the one they’d disposed of in Thezmarr: dark vines creeping across the broken stones, curling around whatever they could latch onto.
