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If there were ever a time Thea thought her magic might come surging back to the surface, this was it. The mix of emotions that churned within her was like a foaming sea whipping into a whirlwind.
Anya gave a dark laugh. ‘You think I was in any state to do such a thing? Let me show you, little sister. Let me show you what your precious guild and precious king did to me. To our family.’
Darkness unfurled, gathering around her and Anya, its touch like a cool breeze. Thea shot an alarmed look towards Wilder, but the world around her was suddenly ripped away in a whirl of shadow.
She stumbled as cobblestones hit the soles of her feet and she found herself in an all-too-familiar place…
From the base of the ramparts, Thea looked onto the courtyard of Thezmarr’s fortress. Dozens of shadow wraiths swarmed the space, shadows coiling and lashing at their will, the scent of burnt hair nearly overpowering.
Anya stood beside Thea, her expression grim as she pointed to the grate in the stone, from which a pair of green eyes gazed out. ‘I was down there with you at first,’ she said, her voice distant. ‘All the children were. Audra told me to stay with you and Wren. But I was never very good at listening.’
Thea watched on in horror as Guardians of Thezmarr spilt from the fortress, falling to their knees as the monsters unleashed their own nightmares upon them.
Where are the Warswords?Thea scanned the chaos, watching as one warrior after another succumbed to the darkness, the gleam of Naarvian steel nowhere to be seen.
‘It had already begun…’
Anya trailed off, watching as a supply cart flipped into the air, surrounded by a mass of shadow and tendrils that whipped out at bystanders. Soon, crimson seeped into the ground while the wheels of the cart still spun and mead flowed from broken barrels.
Dazed, Thea took in the scene around her. ‘I’ve seen this before…’
‘Not like this,’ Anya said, pointing.
More shadow wraiths descended upon Thezmarr, clawing at the stone walls with their talons, lashing their cords of darkness upon the Guardians and shieldbearers brave enough to defend the fortress.
‘There.’ Anya pointed to the outskirts of the battle, where a little girl cowered against the stone wall. No older than six, clutching a necklace of dried flowers, the girl – Anya, Thea realised – made a dash for the servants’ entry, wide-eyed and panicked.
‘Come with me,’ the older Anya said, tugging Thea’s sleeve.
They crossed the stretch of carnage, following the child into a side passage of the fortress, away from the battle. Thea had walked this very hallway many times herself, but it had never felt like this. All the torches had been snuffed out except one at the far end.
She watched as young Anya saw what that lone flame illuminated, throwing herself into a small alcove just in time.
Thea stopped short, spotting two cloaked figures at the far end of the darkened hall. In the distance, she heard screaming, someone in a fit of rage being dragged away.
‘Stop this! Stop this now —’ someone shouted, but their words were cut off, only to be followed by a different kind of scream. One of fear. Panic.
Heart pounding, Thea moved closer to the end of the passageway, flicking a questioning gaze at her older sister as the outline of the two men became clearer. Anya simply watched on, impassive, while her younger self stayed hidden in the nook.
The men at the far end of the hall snapped their heads towards the sound of more screams, before turning back to one another, the tension palpable.
‘You’ll tell no one of this.’ The voice was strangely familiar, as was the feel of his presence, though Thea couldn’t place it. Instead, she watched on as he gestured to the weapon in his hand – a scythe, ribbons of shadow shimmering from its steel.
‘Of course,’ the other man replied – another recognisable baritone. ‘I would never —’
The first figure raised a hand for silence and his gaze flicked down the hall, right to where young Anya was hidden in the alcove.
He surged forward, closing the distance in just a handful of steps.
The little girl cried out as his hand closed around her arm, hard enough to bruise, by the look of it.
‘The answer to our problem, right under our noses…’ the second man said, nodding to the scythe.
Thea’s blood ran cold as she recognised that voice, clear as day now.
Osiris, the Guild Master of Thezmarr.
But the shock had no time to settle, for the first man shoved the scythe into little Anya’s trembling hands, darkness still spilling from the blade. As he did, his hood fell from around his face.
