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Thea had lost her magic.
There was no more lightning at her fingertips, no thunder in her heart. Wilder couldn’t imagine her without the chaos of magic in her celadon gaze, and yet, he knew it was true. He could sense its absence.
There was one less storm wielder in the wretched world, and it was a loss that would shape the war to come.
The weight that had been sitting on his chest like a boulder intensified at the thought of all the plans in motion, all the moving parts of the rebellion happening in the shadows, and how he was now a part of it. Whether she liked it or not, Thea was too. She had been since the very beginning, which made it all the more vital that he got to his destination.
Wilder kept guiding his horse through the passage. The torchlight flickered, illuminating the rough-hewn walls and ceiling carved from the stone, a path travelled by many fugitives and misfits before him. Around him, the air was damp and musty, an earthy scent permeating the passage. The only sound was the soft nickering from Biscuit as they moved across the uneven terrain. It gave Wilder too much time to think.
He had been content once, slaying monsters across the midrealms and answering to no one. But now he mourned a different taste of life. True happiness had found him for a brief pocket of time.
Flashes of memory assaulted him, snatching the air from his lungs.
In the grand rooms of the Hailford palace, Thea, quaking beneath his touch.‘I’ve got you,’ he whispered into her hair, holding her tight to his chest as a sob escaped her.
‘And I’ve got you,’ she said… lowering herself onto the length of him.
The hot springs on the outskirts of Notos, and Thea breathing hard before him.‘A woman can do all of that?’
‘Not any woman. There is only one. There has only ever been one.’
Thea tracing the contours of his face, her lips teasing his.‘Remind me that we’re alive. Promise me that as long as we’retogether, and our friends are unharmed, that’s all that truly matters.’
Wilder rubbed at the ache in his chest. It had always been temporary. He’d known that from the start, but the knowledge hadn’t made it hurt any less. Fate was fickle like that.
Shaking the thoughts from his head, he turned another corner, willing the journey to be over soon. He wanted to warm his feet by the fire, remove his ill-fitting armour and taste some decent wine, perhaps enough to forget for an hour or so. He might even be spared a moment or two to write to Malik, as he had done every month over the past year. Though, without Thea there to read to him, he wasn’t sure if Malik would understand his messages, and he’d had no replies. Probably just as well. The last thing he wanted was to get his older brother caught up in his mess. He’d done enough damage in that department as it was.
Hours passed, and at long last the terrain inclined, eventually leading to the surface, where a small inn and stables waited on the edge of the great frozen lake.
Tethering Biscuit to a post outside, Wilder pulled his hood up around his face and entered the inn, the door swinging closed loudly behind him. Warmth from the roaring hearthfire wrapped around him like a welcome heavy blanket. It was a rundown old place that only travellers and fugitives frequented – a stopover point between real destinations, a location most Aveum folk would happily avoid. It suited Wilder perfectly. But as he entered, he realised it was much busier than usual, with every booth, every table full.
It was the fucking eclipse. People from all over the midrealms were flocking to the winter kingdom to bear witness to its greatness, hoping it would offer a glimpse of the Furies’ intentions of fighting against the impending darkness. There was so much excitement and celebration that even the shithole inns in the middle of nowhere were fully booked.
Suddenly wary, Wilder knocked the snow from his boots on the doorframe and entered the bar, keeping his hood up, already on edge. But no one paid him any heed. Here, he was just another patron looking to drink away the fear of darkness and find a warm body for the night. That much was consistent about humanity, at least. Even in the face of death and destruction, they always turned to the same comforts and vices.
Pushing his way to the bar, he signalled to the man behind the counter, just as someone shoved into his side.
‘Watch where you’re standing,’ a ruddy-faced traveller barked at him.
Wilder’s nostrils flared at the disrespect, but no one knew him here, and he wore no Warsword totem on his right arm. He was a nobody, and the man was just a drunk.
‘What you staring at?’ the man slurred, attempting to poke Wilder’s chest.
A drunk who didn’t know when to shut up.
Wilder snatched his finger in a bone-breaking grip. ‘I’m in no mood for horseshit like this tonight,’ he growled. ‘And it’s been a while since I broke a man’s nose. I’m feeling that inclination more furiously all of a sudden.’ His fingers itched for violence. It would offer an outlet for all that raged within him, and the prick deserved it, his eyes now bulging at Wilder.
‘Your drink, sir,’ the barkeep called with perfect timing.
Wilder dropped the patron’s finger and slid a coin across the countertop, nodding his thanks and turning back to the rest of the inn. Ignoring the spluttering apologies of the man, he glanced around until he spotted who he was looking for, and approached her table at the far end of the bar.
‘How long have you been here?’ he asked, voice low as he slid into the booth opposite the beautiful woman with long blonde hair.
The general of the fallen kingdom of Naarva’s guerrilla forces gave a pointed look to the several empty tankards in front of her. ‘A while.’
Wilder huffed a bitter laugh. ‘Glad you’ve been staying out of the cold and drinking your fill.’
‘Someone’s got to do their part for the midrealms,’ she replied, draining the last of her current drink and raising a single brow, amused. ‘No wine tonight?’
