Page 115 of Silver & Smoke
‘Now you’ll never know.’ Lord Lucian motioned to Darian, Lord Briar and Lord Pendelton. ‘Gather our men. We’re leaving. Let the Delmirian heir fight this war alone and see how she fares.’ He pinned Torj with a look of disgust. ‘You’re nothing.’
A current surged forth, and Torj felt Wren’s hand thread through his, her power rising around them.
‘He’s my husband,’ she said quietly. She didn’t need to raise her voice; the lightning flashing at her fingertips spoke volumes. ‘Get out, Lucian. Leave now before you’re no longer able to.’
Torj’s chest swelled with pride as he watched his soul-bonded lift her chin in defiance. Clutching his cloak around her, Wren turned to the bewildered faces before them and addressed her allies.
‘I cannot stand before you good people and ask you to risk your lives for a lie. Not when it would make me every bit the kind of ruler Silas the Kingsbane makes us out to be – putting my need for forces above your freedom, your right to choose with all the facts in hand.’
‘So what are the facts?’ someone yelled.
Gods, it was all his fault. Torj had done this. He had turned her own allies against her with his big mouth and stupid soul-bonded heart.
As if in answer to the thought, a spark of magic flickered in his chest, and the glance from Wren told him she had felt it as well.
‘The facts...’ Wren scanned the people before her. ‘The facts are these,’ she said. ‘I am married to the Bear Slayer of Thezmarr. We were married by the captain ofTheFuries’ Willon the way from Naarva. And together we will fight Silas the Kingsbane. We will do everything within our power to ensure the survival of the five kingdoms.’
The camp descended into chaos.
CHAPTER 59
Wren
‘No crown rests upon a faultless head’
– The Midrealms Chronicles
BRAZIERS AND THICKtallow candles illuminated the inside of the war camp armoury, and the bare, muscular shoulders bunching with each strike of the hammer within. Wren stood at the entrance of the large canvas tent, watching her Warsword mend a shield, rivulets of perspiration running down the broad expanse of his back. Strength poured from him; she could feel it down the bond, thrumming alongside her storm magic.
‘What are you doing here, Embers?’ Torj’s voice was a sultry promise, and yet he didn’t turn around. She could sense the self-blame roiling in him.
‘Looking for my husband.’ Wren took another step inside, dismissing the guards behind her with a nod as the flap dropped closed. It smelled of leather and steel, of smoke and oil. It smelled ofhim– of belonging.
‘I’m sorry.’ He struck another dent from the shield. ‘I didn’t mean... I’m sorry for what I’ve cost you.’
‘You cost me nothing I wasn’t willing to give, nothing I hadn’t already set in motion myself.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I was done with that lie the moment you became my husband aboard that ship.’
He blinked at her. ‘What about Darian? The resources? The allies?’
‘It was never about that, and you know it. It was always about saving your life, about buying time to find out more about the poison inside you. Lucian—’ The name made her flinch, even after scrubbing the imprint of his hands from her skin. She sighed. ‘I don’t want to talk about him right now.’
For a moment, she said nothing, simply admiring how Torj worked – the confident swing of the blacksmith’s hammer; the meticulous shifting of the shield, ensuring it yielded back into the correct shape. Locks of the Bear Slayer’s silver hair had come loose and fell into his eyes as he moved. Wren drank in the sight of him as she circled the bench, her gaze dipping to the hard line of his mouth, the sculpted ridges of his tattooed chest.
Warsword. Bear Slayer. Lightning-kissed.
Husband.
At last, he looked up and caught her staring. ‘Keep looking at me like that, and the forge won’t be the only fire in here...’
Wren felt the bond hum between them, a living connection that seemed to answer the yearning of her own body. She watched as Torj set down the hammer and moved the shield aside, and without thinking, she closed the gap between them.
The Bear Slayer tensed. ‘What are you doing?’
Wren reached for him, trailing a finger from the hollow of his throat down through the perspiration on his chest, and lower still. She traced a line down his chiselled abdomen, between the grooves that pointed below the laces of his leathers. Gods, he was everything.
