Page 82 of Thorns & Fire
– The Midrealms Chronicles
‘ISHOULD CRUSHyour tiny skull,’ Torj hissed at the chronicler, clutching a fistful of his robes.‘Come near her again, and I’ll do just that.’
He was throwing the scholar out of the study room when he heard a thud.And the sound of glass fracturing.
‘Wren!’He was back in the room and at her side in an instant, finding her unconscious.
She’d fainted.And some of the vials in her belt had shattered on impact with the hard floor.
Careful of the broken glass, he took her in his arms, so her back was against his chest.‘Wren, wake up...Talk to me, Embers...’
His heart was pounding.She looked so fragile, so small, and around her middle, blood was blooming across the linen of her gown and apron.She’d fallen right onto her belt of tinctures, breaking the glass with her fall.
He ran a thumb over her cheek, feeling the line of raised scar tissue there from the loyalty test she’d faced during the Gauntlet.
‘Embers,’ he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head without thinking.He couldn’t bear the thought of her hurting, and he hated that he’d been so busy delivering his version of justice that he’d let her fall.He cradled her, kissing her temple.‘Embers...’
Slowly, she came to.Her breaths came in quick and ragged, as though she were somewhere else in her mind.
Torj held her, stroking her hair.‘I’ve got you.I’ve got you.’
He stopped her from writhing and embedding any more glass in her midsection, waiting for her to ground herself in the present.He hated to think of what she might be reliving, even in the safety of his arms.
At last, she stilled, wincing with a hiss.‘What happened?’she asked, voice hoarse.She didn’t pull away from his hold – that was a small victory in itself.
‘You passed out,’ he told her, eying the broken potions with his heart in his throat.‘Your belt...Was there anything in there that could hurt you?’
Dazed, Wren looked down.‘Oh.’
‘Can any of this harm you?Do I need to take you to Farissa?’He couldn’t keep the urgency, the worry, from his voice.
‘No...’Wren said, reaching for a long shard of glass sticking out from her stomach.‘I’m immune to everything I keep in my belt.’
Torj batted her hand away.‘We’ll treat this when you’re back in your quarters.Or I could take you to a healer—’
‘My quarters.’Wren grimaced again.The colour hadn’t yet returned to her face.
‘You’re alright,’ he told her.‘We’ll get you fixed up.’The reassurance was more for him than her, he realized, but gods, he needed it.He had told her he’d never let her fall, and here she was—
‘Torj?’she said softly, interrupting his thoughts.‘Can you help me up?’
He didn’t need to be asked twice, but instead of planting her on her feet, he scooped her up behind the knees and carried her from the study room.
‘The books—’ she protested weakly.
‘Fuck the books.’
He should have crushed the damn chronicler’s skull.All it would have taken was a single flex of his hand.Standing outside the door, he had felt Wren’s distress.He didn’t know how else to describe it, but her magic had called to him, somehow signalling that she needed help.And then he hadn’t thought twice; he’d simply burst in.
Wren might have put on a brave face, but the war was an open wound to her, and that moronic scholar had rubbed salt in it.Torj wouldn’t stand for it.The prick was lucky he’d only been thrown from the room.Torj had wanted to do much worse.
He carried Wren to her quarters and sent the academy guard stationed at her door to collect the books she’d been reading.When they were inside, Torj laid her on the bed.Ignoring the ache in his chest at the sight of her in pain, he went to her workbench.There, he found a small steel tray and a small pair of tweezers among her tools, which he set down beside her, along with an additional lantern so he could see the lacerations in the light.With tender precision, he sat on the edge of the bed and sought those fine shards in her abdomen.Using the tweezers, he grasped the first fragment, feeling her sharp intake of breath beneath him.
‘We’re always patching each other up, it seems,’ she murmured.
They didn’t speak after that as Torj worked gently and methodically, each piece of glass yielding reluctantly beneath his ministrations.He dropped the fragments into the tray with a faint clatter and persisted, his focus unwavering, even as her discomfort seeped into him.As another shard surrendered, he exhaled, his heart heavy with each flicker of pain he had caused her.
‘Thank you...’she said softly.
