Page 142 of Silver & Smoke
She kicked a pebble from her path as they walked, trying to summon the courage to voice the question that had been plaguing her ever since the final battle. ‘What will you do now?’ she asked.
Thea glanced at her, offering a wry smile. ‘I’m considering a trip to the Laughing Fox, just to get a meal that wasn’t made by Warswords.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘I know.’ Thea looked out onto the rest of the capital, its ruins stark against the dewy morning light. ‘Wilder and I have been talking...’
‘And?’ Wren pressed with a note of frustration.
‘We were thinking we might carry on the work you started as the Poisoner.’
‘What?’ Wren snorted. ‘No offence, Thea, but you and the Hand of Death aren’t exactly known for your subtlety – or for your expertise in alchemy.’
Thea laughed. ‘True enough. What I meant was... we want to hunt down those responsible for the corruption in the midrealms. Anyone who is digging up old shadow magic artefacts, anyone who may have funded Silas, Lucian or the People’s Vanguard... We want to find them and end them. You took on that responsibility; you did that work alone. You’re not alone any more.’
Wren’s gaze followed her sister’s to the entrance of the city, where she had torn Silas’s flag from its pole. Beneath its shadow, Torj stood by the gates with Wilder.
‘No, I’m not,’ Wren replied with a smile, drinking in the sight of her husband, his silver hair gleaming in the sun’s rays, that part of her singing out to him, always.
After a moment, she could feel Thea’s eyes on her.
Wren raised a brow. ‘What?’
‘How did you do it? How did you save him in the end?’ her sister asked. ‘He was dying.’
‘I saw it happen. I felt it happen... but I don’t think we’ll ever know for sure,’ Wren said slowly. ‘I suspect that Silas was trying to summon Torj’s strength, but then the soul bond... It evolved somehow. It purified him of all the remaining poison inside him. It healed his wounds.’
Thea was beaming. ‘Ancient power long forgotten, eh?’
‘Apparently.’
As though sensing their attention, Torj and Wilder glanced up as the Embervale sisters approached. Catching her eye, Torj smiled, and Wren had never seen him look more beautiful, morehers. He’d rolled his sleeves up to the elbow, the muscles of his forearms bunching as he pulled a rope rhythmically through his hands.
A lump formed in Wren’s throat as she watched a square of fabric steadily climb the post, catching in the wind, growing taut.
A silvertide rose against a lightning-struck war hammer.
The new flag of Delmira, flying proudly overhead.
In the aftermath of the battle, it took far too long to get time alone with Torj. But at long last they stood together on the bloodstained field where Silas had burned away the crop of silvertide roses, where so many had died.
‘I keep waiting for a lull,’ Wren admitted as she surveyed the scorched earth. ‘A period where we’re given the grace to process, to grieve... and it never comes.’
Beside her, Torj made a noise of agreement, his warm fingers lacing through hers. ‘Such is life, Embers. It goes on. Always.’
‘I know.’ She sighed, squeezing his hand. ‘Ironic, wasn’t it? That I spent so much time searching for a solution to the poison, to the alchemy, when it was within me all along.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that too,’ Torj replied as they walked across the ashes. ‘It makes perfect sense really.’
Wren glanced up at him, brow furrowed. ‘Does it?’
‘You’ve always been a healer at heart... I don’t think that part of you ever went away, even in your darkest moments. You couldn’t find a cure, so you became one.’
‘If only you’d had that realization months ago,’ she said wryly.
Torj huffed a laugh. ‘If only.’
‘How do you feel now?’ Wren had been monitoring him closely over the past few days and had seen no sign of tremors, no darkness surging through his veins.
