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With the blanket of infinite stars overhead, they talked quietly into the night, though they kept the subject matter light going forward.
Thea kept stealing glances at Wilder across the fire, at the stoic warrior she was slowly coming to know more deeply, more intricately. It was with a mixture of longing and regret that she savoured these moments with him, realising with a resounding grief that she would never come to know him as deeply as she wished to.
Her hand drifted to her fate stone.
The more she knew about Wilder Hawthorne, the harder she fell. And she would never know enough about him, would never have enough moments with him.
There was not enough time – not for her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WILDER
Dawn came too soon for Wilder’s liking. When he sat up, he spotted Thea stirring something over the fire, her other hand toying with her fate stone absentmindedly. Gods, he hated that thing. More so, he hated that she clearly hadn’t slept. They needed to do something about that.
She seemed deep in thought, and so Wilder left to see to his needs and check on the horses. When he returned, Thea’s eyes were on the horizon.
‘That’s not your friend’s hawk…’ she said, sounding wary, pointing with her good arm.
Wilder squinted into the sky. ‘No,’ he murmured, spotting the wings beating in the sky. ‘That’s a raven.’
The bird made right for them, landing by Thea on the edge of the fountain with a squawk, a scroll tied to its leg.
‘It’s one of Artos’,’ Wilder said as he removed the message, recognising the metal ring around the raven’s other leg. Frowning, he unrolled the parchment and read the script written in the royal scribe’s hand.
Warsword Hawthorne,
You are hereby summoned to Hailford.
Your presence is required immediately to handle a threat to the kingdom.
Make haste.
His Majesty, the King of Harenth,
Artos Fairmoore
Thea was peering around his arm, so he handed her the message. She took it eagerly and he watched her scan the note’s contents.
‘A threat to Harenth?’ she murmured, brows knitting together.
Wilder nodded. ‘Looks like our time in Delmira is at an end. We need to go.’
But Thea was frowning. ‘How did he know we were here?’
‘Someone would have passed our plans on from Thezmarr.’
Thea was still staring at the message. ‘Do you think he called for aid from the others as well?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. Now get dressed. We ride out in five.’
* * *
They rode south at once, and as they did, Wilder pondered. He didn’t know what to make of Artos’ summons. In his mind, Harenth was the least likely of the three remaining kingdoms to be attacked by the forces from beyond the Veil. It was the most protected with its inland location and distance from the Veil, and also because it bordered Thezmarr. Riders could be dispatched and there within three days, as opposed to the far lengthier journeys to Tver or Aveum. But then… there was no predicting the whims of monsters.
He glanced at Thea, who rode beside him, her determined gaze trained straight ahead. Her torn, blood-stained shirt billowed in the wind behind her, her braid dancing in her wake. The rhythm of constant questions he’d come to expect from her on the road didn’t come, nor did she track his every movement as he’d caught her doing before. Instead, she seemed closed off, distant.
He didn’t like it.
