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‘It happened,’ the second Fury told her, watching her with fascination. ‘In a way. Lift your sleeve.’
Unable to find her words, Thea pushed the ragged, stained material up. Around her wrist was a horrific scar, thick and ugly,mangled as though the torn flesh had been melded back together with little skill.
The third Fury addressed her. ‘You will feel it for the rest of your life.’
‘And my sister? My friends? My…’ The word caught in Thea’s throat.
‘Alive.’
Relief barrelled through Thea, and it was only then that she tried to swallow the rock in her throat and look up, taking in the sight of the gods before her, the gods that had created every nightmare she’d just endured.
The three Furies stood side by side, emanating glory and immortality, power and wisdom. They were alike in so many ways, and unlike in so many others. Untouchable and yet everywhere all at once. From their beauty and grace alone, they could have been sisters.
The thought was fleeting as Thea met their assessing gazes with one of her own. There was something otherworldly about them, but Thea couldn’t pinpoint what made them so. It was not the flecks of golden ferocity in their eyes, nor the intricate, shimmering armour they wore over long skirts…
Her vision blurred and it took every last shred of willpower to keep herself upright. ‘I passed,’ was all she managed.
‘You did,’ the first Fury allowed. ‘It was quite a Rite…’
She watched Thea as though she were a specimen to be studied, her gaze flicking to the jewelled dagger Thea couldn’t remember sheathing at her belt. Her fingertips tingled with power as she touched its pommel.
‘It’s a beautiful weapon,’ the Fury said, her expression unreadable.
‘It belongs to a fellow woman warrior,’ Thea heard herself say, wishing Audra was here to witness the moment.
‘Yes, it does,’ the Fury replied, before tearing her gaze from the blade.
With a wave of her hand, Malik’s dagger of Naarvian steel materialised at Thea’s belt once more, leaving Thea lost for words but for the hoarseThank youthat managed to pass her lips.
‘Your efforts were valiant. There are few who can face themselves as well as their nightmares and emerge whole on the other side.’
Thea felt anything but whole. She doubted she’d feel like that until she saw Wren, Cal, Kipp and Malik for herself. She doubted she’d feel anything until Wilder wrapped his strong arms around her and they could speak those words they’d held back to one another… Warsword to Warsword. But Thea kept those thoughts to herself.
The second Fury spoke next. ‘You will be honoured with all that a Warsword of the midrealms is owed.’
Thea let out a breath, but didn’t dare speak. Not yet.
‘The rulers will bestow their gifts upon you when you return to their lands. But there is one piece we present you with here and now…’ The third Fury stepped forward, her empty hands outstretched before her.
A great sword materialised there.
Its blade gleamed, honed to perfection, its sharp edge tapering elegantly into a lethal point. It had been crafted masterfully, exuding an aura of both beauty and power. Thea could barely breathe. For how long had she dreamt of this moment? For how long had she imagined a blade of her own?
‘Are you ready to take your Warsword vows?’ the first Fury said.
Dazed, Thea nodded. ‘Yes.’
Light danced on the flat of the blade as the Fury spoke her next words. ‘Hold the sword and you will hear the words. Make your oath now.’
Heart pounding, Thea reached for the blade, wrapping her hand around the hilt covered in supple leather. At the contact, an ancient magic swept over her, words forming in her mind just as the Fury had promised.
She found herself speaking. ‘I, Althea Zoltaire —’
‘Butthatis not your name, storm wielder…’ the Fury offered in gentle reprimand.
Thea faltered, adjusting her grip on the blade. Her magic hummed in response to that foreign power, stirring within. She listened again.
Her voice was stronger this time. ‘I, Althea Embervale, pledge my sword and my life to the protection of the midrealms.’
