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Wilder looked from his chains back to Thea, flakes of snow caught in her bronze-and-gold hair. ‘And just how do you plan to get me back to Thezmarr? My hands may be bound, but not even the Shadow of Death can force me to walk… Not even with your friends could you overpower me.’
In a blur of movement, Thea had something sharp pressed to his throat. Not the tip of a dagger like he expected; something far finer.
He baulked.
Thea had a pin pressed to his neck. The faint aroma of Naarvian nightshade tickled his nostrils.
‘One move and I’ll send you into oblivion,’ she hissed.
‘You’re going to drug me?’
‘I’ll do whatever I have to. I’d actually prefer you unconscious, just to shut that big mouth of yours.’
‘Here I was thinking you liked my mouth just fine.’
Wilder heard her sharp intake of breath, felt the needle’s point pierce the first few layers of skin.
‘You have a death wish? Keep talking,’ she warned.
Nearby, Kipp coughed pointedly. ‘Seriously, I wouldn’t…’ he said, eyeing Wilder warily.
Thea eased the poison-tipped pin away from his skin ever so slightly as her friends at last dared to approach. Both young men were shivering, and grimacing at the sight of master and apprentice.
‘So we’re taking him back to Thezmarr, then?’ Cal asked, teeth chattering.
‘Over my dead body,’ Thea replied. ‘We’ll take him to Vios. All the rulers will be there for the eclipse. He can face their justice there, before all the people of the midrealms.’
‘But we always said —’
Kipp waved Cal into silence. ‘Can we have this argument from the comfort of the local tavern? I was promised a pint by sundown, and I intend to collect.’
The adrenaline had started to wear off, and the icy bite of Aveum air had its fangs in them all. Wilder didn’t take his eyes off Thea, nor did she take hers off him, the pin still at his neck, her hand still gripping the chain of his manacles.
‘Take his swords,’ she ordered her friends.
‘Uh…’ Cal started.
‘Just do it.’
Wilder allowed a smirk to tug at the corner of his mouth, still gazing upon his apprentice as Cal fumbled with his weapons. When he was relieved of his belt, scabbards and blades, their weight instantly missed, Wilder raised a brow at Thea in challenge.
She glared at him before addressing her friends. ‘Let’s get the fuck out of this cold.’
Wilder managed to hide his surprise. He could have sworn Thea would charge ahead with the ride to Vios, wanting him to face his sentence as soon as possible. But judging by the bedraggled state of the trio, they hadn’t stopped in weeks. Thea had been relentless in her pursuit of him, and now the smart move was certainly to get warm and dry before continuing —
‘Move,’ Thea snapped, her dagger – Malik’s dagger – pressed to the small of his back. His brother would probably find that amusing. But she wasn’t done. She took Wilder’s swords from Cal as well. ‘These are mine now,’ she told him, her words laced with menace.
All that anger and no magic to light the fire,he thought, allowing her to guide him towards the edge of the town. A year ago, he’d known he’d be able to disarm her in a heartbeat; now he wasn’t so sure. Even without her magic, she had grown stronger than he could have imagined. Even without the Furies-given gifts of the Great Rite, she was a would-be Warsword through and through. Thea had taken everything he had thrown in her path and triumphed, learning from each and every error, forging herself sharper and better than ever before.
But despite her gains, something deeper was broken inside. Which was why Wilder let her lead him to the local inn with his brother’s dagger at his back, his swords in her possession. He needed to find out more about her missing magic. He needed to know if she still had a role to play in the war ahead. And maybe, just maybe, he could get her to listen.
After the violence on the shores, the inn of the fishing village was nearly empty, and Wilder guessed that many of the locals had fled. The handful of people who remained stared at him and the trio behind him, eyeing the thick irons around his wrists and the blade at his spine, utterly perturbed. He couldn’t blame them for their confusion. Even if they knew him as the fallen Warsword of Thezmarr, he hadn’t acted the part when he’d carved through the cursed men on their shores, or when he’d charged into the frigid lake to slay the cursed mother reef dweller. His lungs still burned from the effort.
As Thea directed them all to a booth in the far corner, the locals averted their gazes. No doubt they’d seen enough bloodshed and death for one day. And if Thea’s glare was anything to go by, they knew they were best leaving the Thezmarrians well enough alone.
Kipp paused at the head of the table, clapping his hands together suddenly. ‘Drinks,’ he declared. ‘We’ll need drinks.Lotsof drinks.’
‘We’re not here to get drunk,’ Thea muttered.
