Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr, #2)

by Helen Scheuerer

there were only three Warswords in existence: Vernich Warner, Torj Elderbrock, and Wilder Hawthorne. The Bloodletter, the Bear Slayer, and the Hand of Death fought valiantly against tyranny and emerged triumphant from the harrowing final battle.”

A golden thread joined them, a bond that went deeper than love, and it was now the very thing that was killing her.

He’d hurt her, hurt her to save her, and now… he’d never have her.

“A gift from your poisoner,” Wilder replied, uncorking the vial. “She’s not my anything,” Torj bit out.

“Every reign has its end.”

“The solution I gave Zavier worked. It saved his life! Yet two weeks later, I still can’t replicate it… What am I missing?”

Each adept was to work on one—a major project within their particular area of interest, which they would present to the masters at the end of the semester in order to graduate to the rank of sage.

Darkness. Shadow. Remnants of the previous war, laced with poison and chemicals, their deadliest elements combined. A fusion that explained the enemy’s ability to mute the magic of royals and Warswords alike.

But this is not your forever. This is not the day to base all other days on.”

“You must return to Delmira.”

He’d done it for her. To save her. But it ached no less for that fact. He knew in his bones that, bond or no, it would never end. He would be cursed to want the poisoner until the end of his days.

“Lord Silas, leader of the people.” That delicate hint of an accent slipped through again. “Liberator of the midrealms.”

“Gold will turn to silver in a blaze of iron and embers, giving rise to ancient power long forgotten…”

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.

But it made no sense to her. She had always felt connected to the Warsword.

“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.”

“You…” The word slipped from Wren’s lips while her fingernails cut half-moons into her palms. As he reached them, Torj Elderbrock blocked out the sun. “Me.”

Because of him, Wren’s magic was out of control… Unbeknownst to her, their severed bond had left her power jagged and wild. The tempest threatening to break around them was a mirror to the pain swimming in her gaze, pain he had caused.

but not before she heard his parting words to her sister… “I’d die before I let anything happen to her.”

“Not a chance, Bear Slayer. I don’t give a shit who you are or what you did to me, I’d never leave someone behind. If you think I would, that’s a bigger insult than everything that came before.”

“That’s your argument? A technicality on how many times you actually fucked me?” He flinched at her coarse words. “I’m here to protect you, not your feelings, Embervale.” “Feelings? I have none of those left for you, Bear Slayer, beyond resentment that you’re here at all.”

“Have I ever done anything to give you that impression? Did you truly think that fucking you once—or twice—or a thousand times, had I been so lucky—would make me want to fuck you less?”

As a barren territory, Delmira had been safe… She glanced to her left, her gaze meeting eyes of striking sea-blue. “You understand, don’t you?” Torj said quietly. Slowly, she took in the thriving parcels of land around them and nodded. “No one wanted it before. But now…” she managed. “Now it’s a prize.”

“Fancier?” Dessa nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, it’s got beautiful outdoor day beds and⁠—” Kipp shook his head in disbelief, gaping at her as though she were a stranger. “I think we should see other people,” he said flatly. Behind him, Wren burst out laughing, the sound like notes of music to Torj’s ears.

“And you?” Wren asked her friend with a glare. “Who are you meant to be?” “Who do you think?” Kipp gave her an incredulous look as an ornate carriage pulled up at the end of the alley. “I’m Kristopher fucking Snowden.” “Furies save us all,” Torj muttered, striding toward the carriage.

“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.”

“I’d never let you fall,” he said, his gaze dropping to her mouth. Despite everything, Wren wanted to kiss him, every part of her calling out for his touch. She shoved those feelings deep down and replied in a cold, flat voice, “But you’re more than willing to walk away.”

“That man burns for you, Wren. The sooner you both catch alight the better, lest you set the whole world ablaze.”

“Take your hands off my wife.” “That’s hardly the way to greet an old friend,” the nobleman said, his silken voice carrying a note of amusement.

“This is Darian Devereux, Lord of Larkwood Valley. Darian, I suspect you know who Wren is, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“We came up here to fuck,” Wren said bluntly. “So yes, I’d say so.” Devereux gave her a sultry smile. “I do love a foul mouth on a princess.”

“The location you requested, Your Queenliness.” “What have I told you about calling me that?” she hissed. “Besides, aren’t I meant to be Lady Hargrave this evening?” Kipp shrugged. “Be whoever you want, Wren. It’s of no consequence to me.”

“Absolutely none. I suspected that evidence Torj wanted was long gone already.” “I could kill you,” Wren seethed. “But then who would meddle in your terrible love life?” he asked sweetly.

“Darian was the son of a nobleman, and my mother was a maid in their manor.”

Because of him, I lost my grandmother. Because of him, I wasn’t there to protect her… He became more and more like his father. He had the women’s shelter that helped my mother knocked down, the one that my grandmother worked at.”

“No matter what happened between us…” Torj had to get the words out, had to let her know. “You’ll always be mine to protect.”

“Delmirian air was good for you, then?” Dessa blanched.

Wren watched him go with the distinct feeling that something had changed in the Prince of Naarva.

Fire and ashes, scorched fields and thorns. A blend of what she’d seen in the past war and what might now loom close in the future. The promise of violence was thick, polluting her lungs after breathing in the fresh air of her homeland.

“Delmira just became the most valuable asset in all the midrealms, didn’t it?” she asked. Torj dipped his head in confirmation. “And you, the most valuable target.”

“It’s an honor to be invited to contribute, you know,” Dessa said quietly. “I’d be glad to do so if I was asked.” Wren’s breakfast turned sour in her gut. She knew Dessa didn’t mean anything personal by it, that the comment was born of her own inner battles, but it still stung. She had relived her darkest memories over and over for the better part of half a decade already. She didn’t want to keep doing so.

“You know,” Dessa said thoughtfully, “it just struck me that I’m rather unimportant next to two guarded royals all the time.”

“No, Dessa,” he wheezed, his eyes bright with amusement. “There’s no need to look so shocked. I’ve had plenty of sex. Just never with a woman.

“Zave…” she murmured, forlorn. Wren tensed. She hadn’t expected this from Dessa. But Dessa grabbed Zavier’s arm, her eyes full of accusation. “I don’t even know who your type is.” An undignified noise escaped Zavier at that. “You really want to know that?” he said, brows raised.

“Everyone’s got a thing for the Bear Slayer,” Dessa declared with a shake of her head. “Not him,” Zavier replied, his eyes on the leaner of the two warriors. Wren’s eyes bulged. “Cal?” Zavier shrugged with a smile. “He’s as straight as the arrows he shoots, but a man can dream, can’t he?”

“My position?” Wren blinked. “I was apprentice to Farissa Tremaine, as you already stated. I held no other official title during the war.” “And yet you partook in the battles? I have several firsthand accounts of you wielding both storm magic and alchemy in the heart of the conflict, both on the Aveum plains and at Thezmarr.”

And as Wren’s breath flickered against his lips, as his desire nearly consumed him, he saw it… That thread of gold linking them once more. Wren was oblivious to it, her fists balled in his shirt, her mouth reclaiming his.

She couldn’t explain it, she didn’t understand it, but somehow, in her bones, she knew it to be true. In spite of the brutal way he’d ended things, and all his protests and mixed signals since, the Bear Slayer loved her. He may not have said the words aloud, but she had felt them in his kiss.

“You are immune,” she explained slowly. “At least to the majority of things I use.”

“I’ve been exposing you to each one little by little, to create immunity.” “So what you’re telling me is that you’ve been poisoning me bit by bit, every day?” There was a wry note to Torj’s voice.