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August 11 - August 25, 2025
She wanted to be a Warsword more than anything. And he was sworn to guide her. To help her prepare for the Great Rite. He’d left her when she needed him most. There was also the other fire he’d lit within her. The longing, the need for him raged equally as hot, even now. No matter what she did to stamp it out. She hated him for it.
If she couldn’t train with Hawthorne and she couldn’t talk with Wren, she would hone her rage into a weapon of its own.
‘You were given an order, Alchemist,’ sounded a deep, commanding voice. Thea would have known that voice anywhere. It had pulled her back from the brink of death, had whispered her name against her lips, had broken her heart in more ways than one… Silver eyes met hers and Thea’s breath caught. The Hand of Death towered above her, his powerfully built frame clad in black armour that dripped red. Against all reason, despite all her fury, that rich timbre skittered along her bones as Wilder Hawthorne leant in close and murmured, ‘Or should I call you “Princess” now?’
He couldn’t stop his gaze tracing her curves, curves he hadn’t worshipped nearly enough during their brief time together. Gods, he was not ready to fight this battle.
‘Then stop looking at me like that,’ she snapped. ‘Like what?’ ‘Like you’ve seen me naked.’
Thea’s glare could have wilted a lesser man, and he didn’t blame her. In fact, it was good that she was angry. Perhaps she’d claw his face off rather than rake her claws down his back
he drank in the sight of her, as he relished her touch, however violent.
She was so close, close enough that he might just risk slitting his own throat on her blade to lean in and —
‘Some of these look more like dances than combat practice.’ ‘I don’t dance. I kill. As will you.’
Thank the Furies he’d walked off. If Thea had stood out there in the rain with him any longer, there was no telling whether she would have fought him again, fucked him, or both. Her heart hammered in her chest, in time with the pulse of heat between her legs.
He was just as he had been when they had fought the reaper together: formidable, deadly… Hers.
‘In case I haven’t mentioned it recently… Your brother’s a complete arse, by the way.’ Malik looked delighted.
That they were awful for abandoning us, when you knew who they were.’ ‘Well, it sounds like they were awful.
The scorched courtyard smelt of blood and heather. Bodies lay lifeless on the cobbles; seeping crimson into the ground while the wheels on an upturned cart still spun, mead flowing from broken barrels… Darkness had descended upon Thezmarr, and at its heart was a copper-haired little girl, no older than six, clutching a necklace of dried flowers and a small scythe of Naarvian steel to her pounding chest. The last of the onyx power left the blade in curling tendrils, wisps of magic swallowed by rolling thunder that seemed to call her name. Anya. The little girl whose name chimed like a
...more
Audra sniffed. ‘I’m a descendant of the tutors who used to teach the Delmirian line.’ The older woman surveyed them critically, as though weighing up whether they were worthy. ‘I am the granddaughter of the tutor who taught your parents storm magic.’
‘You come from a long line of powerful storm wielders. Your parents, King Soren and Queen Brigh of the Embervale family —’
some of the most potent magic the midrealms had ever seen. It was said that their magic could be felt across the realms, causing terror tempests in faraway lands.’
‘When Delmira descended into ruin thirty years ago, the blame fell at the feet of King Soren and Queen Brigh. They were tyrants who sought to bring the other kingdoms under their command. As a result, their own kingdom succumbed to the dark forces from beyond the Veil a few years before you were born, but not before the Embervale royals poisoned the minds of the Naarvian king and queen. They followed in your parents’ footsteps, taking up their power-hungry mantle, only to follow their demise as well.’
She was the daughter of tyrants, a truth so at odds with her lifelong dream of becoming a defender of the midrealms.
‘I know that if an heir of a fallen kingdom announces themselves, the rest of the kingdoms are obligated to help them rebuild, to see the heir back on their throne for the balance of the midrealms.’
‘But there was no royal announcement of any heirs being born before Delmira fell, no official line of succession.’ ‘Broken kingdom or not, you are storm wielders,’ Audra replied. ‘There is no denying that you are the trueborn heirs of the Embervale family.’
‘The laws of the midrealms are ironclad. A born magic wielder cannot undertake the Great Rite. It has been this way for centuries. A Warsword has to be without bias towards any kingdom.’
Keep them away from the southern isle,
‘You need to look after yourself. To keep yourself healthy so that when I train you, I don’t break you.’ Her pupils dilated. ‘Nothing can break me, Warsword. Least of all you.’
‘Tell me what’s wrong. Besides —’ Thea’s brows shot up. ‘Besides everything with you?’
‘You’ve never let the laws hold you back before,’ he said quietly. ‘If you master your storm magic alongside your warrior training, who the fuck is going to stop you?’
Torj gave him a shit-eating grin that made Wilder want to throttle him. He’d asked his friend – though he used the term loosely now – to look out for Thea in his absence, which apparently had amused his fellow Warsword to no end.
‘That dawn is here. It is official. As the prophecy foretold, the Daughter of Darkness has risen,’ he announced. ‘Our spies tell me that she seeks vengeance for what was done to her at Thezmarr, and that she is building an army.’
you sent her away in a damn rowboat with an old Warsword.’ ‘He was ordered to leave her on the Broken Isles.’ ‘To die.’ ‘She was the Daughter of Darkness, Audra. What else was I supposed to do?’
‘Naarva,’ Osiris replied, tearing his eyes away from Audra. ‘Where else? It’s far enough away from the remaining kingdoms that she can do so in relative secrecy and without interference. The fallen kingdom is shrouded in shadow and mist.’
‘What Osiris is implying is that this alleged Daughter of Darkness has been rallying the former women warriors of Thezmarr to her cause.’
‘Delmira fell before an heir was born to King Soren and Queen Brigh. And the Naarvian royals fled, right into a swarm of wraiths. They’re all dead.’ Vernich shrugged. ‘They can’t be. Not if she has made her intentions known to those who matter. Several of my sources have reported to me that she wants the heirs. So much so that she has spread word that she’ll spare the kingdom who hands them over, whoever they are.’
The Guild Master stood, bracing his knuckles on the table, his gaze falling to each Warsword in turn. ‘If there are heirs to be found, I want you to be the ones to find them. Use all the resources in your power. Scour the midrealms for them. Uncover who they are. And when you do… bring them to me.’
‘I have learnt to hold my words until they are most effective,’ she replied, surveying him with an amused look. ‘They’re the sharpest weapons that way.’
‘We can’t tell her. Them.’ Audra raised a brow, resting her hands on her ceremonial daggers. ‘Which part, exactly? That there is a tyrannical heir hunter after them, or that it’s also your sworn duty to hand them over?’
Thea hadn’t told them about her and Hawthorne. At first, it had been because she wanted to keep the secret for herself, as though it were something precious she wasn’t ready to share with the world. But after he’d left, it had become a matter of embarrassment, and so she’d said nothing about it.
Even now it all felt so surreal. For the briefest of moments they’d been together – a team, unstoppable and fierce – only to have their connection snuffed out so suddenly. Sometimes she wondered if she’d dreamt it. But the surging energy between them told her otherwise, as did the kiss they’d shared during their sparring match. She resented him with every fibre of her being, but that hatred was entangled with something else – something deeper, something darker.
Cal rolled his eyes. ‘You couldn’t keep a secret to save your life.’ ‘Nonsense. Up until a few months ago, you fools didn’t even know my real name.’
‘You’d best eat your vegetables if you want to grow up big and strong, Thea,’ Kipp teased.
‘Off to suck some more Warsword cock so you can get another totem?’ Thea gave a dark laugh. ‘Is that how you got yours? We both know you never felt its call. There’s not a worthy bone in your body.’
Dark and beautiful, in a language she didn’t understand, just like him.
He wondered if Thea felt as hollow as he did. He’d wanted to wake up with her in his arms. He had imagined holding her to his chest as he rocked into her, slowly and deeply, as though they had all the time in the world. A dream. Nothing more.
‘You’re not my friend. You’re not my… anything, besides my mentor. And even that’s debatable. I don’t have to talk about it with you. I’m here to train, to learn, and that’s it. That’s all I want from you.’ Wilder was glad he was braced against the wall as he felt the wind get knocked out of him. I guess I deserved that, he thought. He hid it well, though, straightening instead. ‘You finished fucking around in here, then?’ ‘If you’ve finished swinging your dick.’
‘You just going to stand there all day?’ Wilder held the stall gate open for her. ‘Hardly. I’m going to warm my feet by the fire and have breakfast,’ he said coolly. ‘Have fun.’
Through the trees, he watched as Thea sought the arrow he’d shot at her all those months ago, embedded in the tree. Only it wasn’t there. Wilder himself had removed it weeks ago. It was currently stashed away in his cabin. It had been a stupid idea to keep it.
‘So how did you find me?’ Thea asked, not pausing as she swept through another set of exercises. ‘Easy,’ he shrugged. ‘You never do what you’re told. Figured you’d be here.’
Gods, she was beautiful. A vision of fierce determination. The warrior woman who’d claimed the heart of a reaper. And a Warsword, Wilder thought bitterly.
But what Wilder realised as she slowly warmed up, her movements fluid and confident, Malik’s dagger at her hip, was that the quiet was not in rejection of her, not in outrage at her presence, but in reverence.
Furies save him, it was the second time that jealousy had reared its ugly head. He needed to get himself under control. He was the Hand of Death, for fuck’s sake.
Let them see, Wilder thought irrationally. Let them see that she belongs with me.
