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“Gold will turn to silver in a blaze of iron and embers, giving rise to ancient power long forgotten…”
“When I’m nothing but ash among the embers, I’ll still be yours…”
But none of them had ever been home. For a whisper of time, home had smelled of black cedar and oakmoss, had tasted of dark promises and desire… had sounded like a husky laugh dancing along her skin.
“It means there’s a reason the Bear Slayer did what he did.”
“You loved her then as you love her today, and will for all the days that come after. You will always love her. That is the only thing that matters, Bear Slayer.”
“I’d die before I let anything happen to her.”
“It’s very you…” Wren balked. “What? Messy and chaotic?” “No.” The Bear Slayer shook his head, a hint of a smile playing across his lips. “Wild and extraordinary.”
“If you were my wife,” Torj said, his voice low and rough, “I wouldn’t let you go. So that’s what I’m doing.”
“That man burns for you, Wren. The sooner you both catch alight the better, lest you set the whole world ablaze.”
And when she glanced behind her, the Bear Slayer’s eyes were dark with desire, lost in that exact moment with her.
“A soul bond goes beyond an intense physical attraction. It manifests as a soul-deep instinct, almost primal in nature—to protect, to touch, to claim.”
Torj had become what he was always meant to be: the shield between Wren and the world that had already taken too much.
“I’m his to protect,” she said. “And he’s mine.”
“During the years after the war, I’d look up at the night sky and find comfort in the thought that you might be looking up at the same time. I liked to think that life is made up of smaller moments, threads in a tapestry of something much bigger…”
“And caused her pain.” “No one goes through life unscathed, Bear Slayer,” his fellow Warsword told him.
Wren went to his side and pulled the mask from her face. “We were always stronger together.”
“I think it happened exactly the way it needed to, Embers. I don’t regret a moment of it. Not if we stand here together at the end of it all.”
“Beware the fury of a patient Delmirian.” —Malik the Shieldbreaker, former Warsword of Thezmarr
Wren covered her hand with her own and squeezed it. As she rose, she whispered in her sister’s ear, “I claim this burden as my own, Thee. And you will let me have it.”
Wren surveyed those gathered around the table once more. “You asked for a queen,” she said. “Now you have one.”
With trembling hands, Torj took hers in his as he knelt, pressing his lips to her knuckles before looking up at her. He lay his war hammer at her feet and unsheathed the dagger he’d had altered, offering it, and his whole heart, to her. “Then tell me how to serve you, my queen.” “You stand at my side.” Wren’s fingers closed over his, gold and lightning joining them as one. “And we destroy them all. Together.”
