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‘Losing?’ Talemir barked, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Furies fucking save me, Hawthorne. I could kill you myself.’ He released his bruising grip. ‘I’ll let Malik deal with you for a change. You’re a fucking idiot sometimes, you know that?’
Covered in wraith blood, his twin swords strapped across his back once more, Talemir Starling stormed off, no doubt to discipline Torj and the others who might have broken formation.
‘He’s not wrong,’ Malik’s voice sounded behind Wilder.
He turned to see his brother washing his hands in the shallows and grimacing as he spat blood onto the sand.
‘I’m sorry,’ Wilder said. ‘I thought you were in danger —’
‘We’re always in danger,’ Malik cut him off. ‘But your heart was in the right place. I’m guessing it was just you and Torj?’
‘I think so.’ Wilder loosed a breath. For all his visions of glory, he’d taken a few lashes and failed spectacularly.
‘Interesting,’ Malik said, not sounding as angry as Wilder expected.
‘What is?’ he asked, scanning his brother for any outward signs of injury. Malik was always so much larger than life that it was hard to imagine anything getting through him. There was a cut bleeding on his brow, but other than that, he seemed to be in one piece.
‘Nothing,’ he replied, waving Wilder off. ‘You shouldn’t have done what you did.’
‘I know…’
‘Talemir will have you in the armoury with the shieldbearers for a month.’
‘I know.’
‘He was scared for you,’ Malik clarified. ‘He feels responsible for you… But he’s forgetting one thing.’
Wilder sighed, his face hot with embarrassment. ‘What’s that?’
‘That I’ve always got your back, little brother.’
Wilder knew Malik was refraining from ruffling his hair like he used to when Wilder was a boy. For they were not boys anymore. They were warriors in a realm of encroaching darkness.
Wilder nudged his older brother, the immovable giant that he was. ‘And I’ve got yours,’ he told him.
Malik grinned, his teeth lined with red. ‘I have no doubt.’
‘You’re a fucking fool, Hawthorne.’
The familiar voice startled him awake. His chains rattled as he fought against them, until he remembered where he was and why he was so fucking cold.
Torj Elderbrock looked at him from the other side of the ice bars, shaking his head as he leant on his war hammer.
‘Hello to you too,’ Wilder rasped.
Torj’s expression was unreadable, but Wilder ventured that his reaction to what had occurred in the final hours of the battle of Tver had been similar to Thea’s. The betrayal of the guild, of the midrealms, of their brotherhood echoed between them. Perhaps Torj had simply wanted the opportunity to see the bastard of Thezmarr for himself, to make sure that his chains were sturdy and his suffering was great. Wilder would have felt the same if he thought Torj had betrayed him.
‘You’ve seen better days,’ the Bear Slayer commented as he surveyed Wilder’s almost-naked body, which still bore the blood and grime of the wraith fight on the road, as well as one or two open wounds from the Aveum guards.
‘Could say the same for you,’ Wilder retorted, trying to suppress a gasp of pain. ‘What’s your excuse?’
The golden-haired Warsword gave a rough laugh. ‘Oh, you know, chasing monsters all over the midrealms, beating back curses from the Veil every other day… Dealing with fucking Vernich breathing down my neck.’
‘So the usual.’
‘Something like that.’
Wilder sucked in a breath, unable to help his next words. ‘You seen Mal?’
