AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Thankfully, the forest offered shelter from the howling winds whipping down the main road, but in its place was an eerie quiet, broken only by the rattling of Hawthorne’s chains with every step of his horse. Thea told herself to be grateful for the sound, for it served as a reminder that it was Hawthorne the traitor in her midst, not Wilder, her former mentor, former lover… The man whose hands had guided hers across her weapons, teaching her; whose arms she’d slept in without fear of nightmares.
She shook the thoughts from her head and focused on the icicles glistening in the torchlight. Soon, they would arrive in Vios. She could shove her prisoner before the rulers and claim her prize – his swords and her dignity – and leave him to whatever sentence awaited him.
Movement to her left caught her eye and she ground her teeth as the fallen Warsword in question brought his horse up alongside hers. In the flickering light, shadows masked his face.Fitting, Thea thought as she tried to pull ahead.
Each time she steered away, he wove through the gnarled, naked trees and found her again.
On his fourth attempt, he leant across and practically growled at her, ‘You promised to give me a fair hearing.’
Thea’s jaw already ached from clenching it so hard. ‘So speak,’ she said.
‘It’s not a fair hearing if the judge refuses to actually listen.’
She glanced across at him. His expression was hard. ‘What could you, a traitor, possibly say to sway me? After everything you have done?’ Her cheeks burned despite the cold. She knew Cal and Kipp could hear every word, knew exactly what she’d been like in the months after the battle of Notos, after Hawthorne.
The fallen Warsword’s gaze followed hers and a flicker of understanding crossed his face before that mask of indifference slid back into place. ‘You will hear me, Apprentice, one way or another.’
Thea’s grip tightened on her reins, her whole body going rigid with rage. ‘Tell me, Hawthorne – were you always a traitor? Right from the beginning? Or did something sway you along the way?’
Hawthorne narrowed his eyes. ‘You know nothing about it, Princess. Nothing.’ His voice, once melodic and gentle, now resonated with a thunderous timbre that echoed through the air. Each word dripped with venomous scorn.
‘And yet you don’t deny it,’ Thea challenged.
‘I don’t deny what you saw in Notos with the shadow-touched. But it wasn’t what it looked like,’ he told her. ‘Let me explain, please.’
Theahatedthat her curiosity was piqued, that shewantedto know the reasoning behind his madness. Seeing him free those half-wraiths in Notos had been like a knife to the gut. Time had slowed as she’d felt everything between them unravel. All of it lies. But in her weaker moments since, a tiny part of her had wanted it to make sense, for there to be a logical explanation. She had spent the last year going over those final minutes again and again, trying to work out what she’d missed, trying to understand how it had all ended up the way it had.
‘Tell me, then,’ she said, fighting to keep her voice even.
Relief flashed in Hawthorne’s eyes. ‘The shadow-touched I saved – they weren’t part of the enemy force. They’re not in league with the reapers, or the other monsters plaguing the midrealms.’
‘No?’ Thea replied. ‘You’re telling me that the half-wraith creatures who leak shadow and darkness, who bear wings on their backs and talons at their fingertips, are not born of the same evil?’
‘They are victims of it, like so many other people in the midrealms. They may not have lost their lives, but they have lost more than you can know – a part of themselves.’ Hawthorne paused for a moment, seeming to gather himself. ‘A shadow-touched person is the result of a reaper trying to curse a human in the same way it would create a howler or spread its darkness to another monster. It nearly happened to you in the Bloodwoods…’
Not for the first time, that little voice in Thea’s head pressed:What if he’s telling the truth?But she had to be doing the right thing, for what was the alternative? That she’d gone too far down the wrong path? That her choices had led them all here? No. That wasn’t an option.
She didn’t look at him. She kept her mouth shut, affording him the opportunity to continue his tale, just as she’d promised.
He forged on. ‘Only, a shadow-touched person remains true to themselves. We don’t know if it’s to do with willpower or strength of character, or something else entirely. But the shadow-touched are those who fight against the curse when a reaper attempts to turn them. The result is a human with special abilities and wraith traits. They are nothing like the monsters themselves. Those people in that cage in Notos were innocent, Thea.’
But it wasn’t the prisoners who Thea pictured. It was the winged storm wielder who’d held Wren captive with hershadows, her face a mask of menace, her taunting words laced with cruelty. She pictured the carnage on the battlefield, the mutilated unit of Tverrian soldiers and the terror-etched faces of those forced to live through their nightmares in a relentless cycle.
A derisive laugh broke from Thea’s lips then. ‘Innocent?’ she scoffed. ‘I don’t know what’s worse… If this is the best lie you can come up with, or if you truly believe it yourself.’
Hawthorne’s expression twisted with pain. ‘Open your eyes for a moment, Thea —’
Her hand flew to the hilt of her dagger. ‘Oh, my eyes are wide open, traitor. I see you for exactly what you are.’
Hawthorne stared at her for a moment, as though debating how far to push her.
‘You don’t,’ he said at last, shaking his head and allowing his horse to fall back. ‘But you will.’
Thea hated that he’d had the last word, but she hated his presence more. Hated that even after everything she had seen him do, he thought he could change her mind about him. She had seen him with the enemy; she had heard the familiarity with which they spoke to one another. He had freed the monsters the warriors of the midrealms had lost their lives to capture, and she had witnessed him vanishing amid the shadows.
Within the depths of Thea’s soul, a tempest brewed, dark and unyielding. Hawthorne’s betrayal, not only of the guild, but of her, was like a poisonous viper that had struck the very core of her being. Her rage blazed through her, ready to consume all in its path. And yet… she felt no magic, no storm waiting to break from the confines of her body, no lightning singing through her veins. Though her heart pounded fiercely, its merciless rhythm like the beat of a war drum, she felt not a whisper of otherworldly power at her fingertips. It was as though it had never been there.
Why?Anger had been the key many times before, tapping into that symphony of fury that so often simmered beneath her skin. There was no denying she felt that way now. Lately, her body was always coiled in anger, always ready to strike. She yearned to unleash the full force of her wrath, and yet…
