Shadow & Storms (The Legends of Thezmarr, #4)

by Helen Scheuerer

‘Then the world will know that if they hurt him, I’ll burn them all to the ground.’

a force to be reckoned with, death’s own calling card.

‘You and I? We’re forever. We have been since I spied on you atop the cliffs at Thezmarr, since you shot that arrow at me in the Bloodwoods, and every moment since. We will find a way through this,’ she vowed. ‘Together.’

‘For the longest time I have lived upon the frayed edges of memory, of life. But with you by my side, I feel… reborn. Like you’ve answered the restlessness within me with power of your own. Power that fits together like pieces of a puzzle.’

‘You’re not seriously about to braid my warhorse’s mane?’ Wilder said.

‘I’m not your fucking apprentice,’

‘You were young and stupid.’ Wilder gave a hoarse laugh. ‘As opposed to now?’ ‘Now you’re just stupid,’ she said with a grin.

Wilder Hawthorne was a god, and she would gladly worship at his altar.

‘No man could have you and not be consumed,’ he murmured.

Of all the ways to die after everything I’ve been through, turning to a block of ice in some dead forest would be rather underwhelming.’

‘You forfeit the right to privacy the moment you fuck on the rebellion’s war table.’

a true man won’t cut you down as you fight your battles… A true man helps sharpen your sword, guards your back and fights at your side.’

‘You never need to thank me,’ Wilder told her. ‘I will always fight for you. And it’s my honour to do so.’

‘Look at you, Thea…’ he rasped in reverence. She was a goddess. ‘Just look at you…’ ‘We didn’t come here to look,’ she replied,

Kipp scoffed. ‘Please. Half the time your magic is as much a temper tantrum as it is a power.’

Don’t let the world – don’t let anyone convince you that you’re not enough. Only you define your story. You and you alone.

‘It’s called armour,’ Wren said pointedly. ‘I’d have thought a Warsword would be more than familiar with the concept.’

‘When the battle is won, I’ll be peeling this armour off piece by piece, and worshipping what I find beneath,’ she told him.

‘Because I love you, so deeply, Thea. And if I tell you I love you a thousand times a day for the rest of our lives, it will not have been enough.’

Torj was an artist, blending his raw power and the sheer brutality of the hammer with finesse, using the weapon’s weight to create a symphony of destruction while swiftly manoeuvring to evade attacks from those stupid enough to dare fight him.

‘Furies save me,’ he rasped. ‘Are you trying to get me killed again, Thea? Don’t tell the Warsword you love me.’

‘I figured there will always be monsters in this world. And that I’d gladly hunt them with you forever.’

‘Even if I had forever, it would not be enough time with you.’

But for her? For her he would bleed a thousand times over. For this fraction of a life with her, he’d pay the price of grief – for loving her was a privilege, and that privilege was worth any cost.

‘I want… a life more than existence, more than survival. To experience the world to its fullest, with you at my side.’

I will not go quietly into the fucking darkness… Will you?’

‘I don’t know about you, Bloodletter,’ Thea said. ‘But I’ve always relished beating the odds.’

‘I always liked you, Zoltaire. Fucking terrible at cleaning armour, though,’

‘With the odds stacked against us in every way, this battle will test the very heart of us. But it is in these moments of dire peril that legends are born. It is battles like these that forge warriors with blood and steel. I stand before you now not as a Warsword, nor an heir of a kingdom, but as a sister of the sword. You may not know me well. You may not know me at all… But I know you.’

‘I will etch your name upon the stone swords of the Furies,’ she vowed. ‘You were just as much a hero as any Thezmarrian. You defended the midrealms until your last breath.’

With lightning and thunder they would avenge Anya, and they would bring the fucking reapers and their ilk to their knees.

We were born into a world of it, a place that would dictate the way in which we defend ourselves, the way we live our lives. No more. That world is no longer. And the next one will be what we make it.’

Now, she knew. She was Althea Embervale, Warsword, storm wielder, heir of Delmira, enemy to Jasira Fairmoore and the reapers… And she would be the end of them.

This tempest was like no other; it was her masterpiece – a rich tapestry of wind, rain, lightning and thunder, all of it surging not only with her power, but with Anya’s too.

‘I swore to cast the evil from these lands. I swore to hunt, punish and kill any and all who threaten these kingdoms. It does end, Jasira. And it ends with you.’

‘It’s just a building, Thea,’ he told her. ‘You’re my true home.’

‘It’s always been you, Thea. And as long as I’m with you, you’re the only home I’ll ever need.’

‘I always said you’d be the end of me,’ he told her, throat bobbing. ‘But I was wrong. You’re the beginning.’