Page 27 of Silver & Smoke
‘Darling.’ Darian’s voice dropped slightly, a practised skill to appear to whisper but to do so loud enough for others to still hear. ‘You know you can trust me to handle our military affairs. Go and catch up with the prince – I’m sure there’s much to talk about.’ He dropped his voice to a true whisper then. ‘You know we’re more likely to gain the numbers you require if it looks like a man is at the helm.’
Wren stifled a cry of frustration, masking her rage with a pliant smile. ‘Take Kipp with you,’ she said calmly. ‘He knows the terrain of Delmira better than most.’
Darian nodded and dropped her hand, walking ahead of his father.
As Lord Lucian rose, he brushed past Wren and murmured, ‘Remember what I said about making us look the fool...’ His words were light, but the threat between them was anything but.
For a moment, Wren could feel the heat of Torj’s gaze lingering on her as Lucian moved away. She could feel the Bear Slayer in the air around her, but she didn’t so much as glance his way, not when Lord Lucian’s menacing remark was still fresh in her ear.
Thankfully, Zavier approached. ‘It’s good to see you, Wren,’ he said, sounding as tired as she felt.
‘You too, Zave,’ she replied. ‘Was everything alright on the road?’
‘You mean besides the madness of fury-inducing dark alchemy?’
‘Yes, besides that.’
‘Then it was just grand,’ he told her dryly. ‘You want to show me what you’ve been working on?’
Wren had been heartened to see her friend with Torj and the others, though she found herself worrying for Dessa, who’d been left at the academy to guard her potions alone. It was Dessa who’d scarcely left her side since they’d met as novices, who had travelled with her to Delmira and seen the flourishing lands with her. Wren’s stomach churned with unease. It felt wrong for them all to be here without her. But she showed Zavier to her quarters anyway, eager to talk with another alchemist. If the shadow war had taught her anything, it was that there was no such thing as too many medical supplies. With an extra pair of hands, she could start that afternoon. There was no doubt in her mind that they would need them all: fever reducers, pain relievers, sleeping drafts...
‘I’ve been limited to what I could take on the road,’ she explained as Zavier surveyed her rudimentary set-up. ‘But along with some healing basics, I’ve been able to brew several doses of the cure I used on Queen Reyna during my opus.’
‘Can it be used as a preventative, or only an antidote?’ Zavier asked.
‘In its current form, only an antidote, but with more silvertide roses, I’ll be able to adjust the formula so that it can be used toneutralize Silas’s attacks. Finding more roses is crucial to our victory.’
‘Dessa was working on the same thing when I left,’ Zavier told her.
Wren sighed with relief. ‘Good. The more of us working on it the better.’
Zavier went to wash his hands in the nearby basin. ‘If you show me what to do, I can start right now.’
Wren desperately wanted to see Torj, to talk to him after they’d been interrupted the night before, but there was no way she could risk seeking him out so soon. She tried calling out to him with her mind, but all that came back to her was the echo of her own voice. And so she chose to distract herself with work, showing Zavier the first part of her method for creating the cure, noting that her remaining supplies of silvertide were dwindling.
It wasn’t until Wren’s vision blurred with exhaustion that she thought to retire to her bedroom. When she closed the door behind her and turned to face the canopy bed, she stopped in her tracks. There was a small, black box atop the silk sheets. Frowning, she stepped towards it. Thea had done the usual security sweep of her rooms before she and Zavier had entered, so whatever it was, her sister had deemed it safe to leave behind.
Wren tore open the box and lifted its rather intimate contents from the wrappings within, her mouth agape.
‘Are these...’ She dropped the box and examined the black lace with a shocked expression, the item hanging off her finger.
A note fluttered down from the fabric. And for the first time in weeks, Wren laughed. She laughed until her belly ached and tears tracked down her cheeks.
Wear some damn undergarments, Embers, the note read.
CHAPTER 14
Torj
‘A Warsword’s strength represents that of the midrealms, and the favour of the Furies themselves’
– The Midrealms Chronicles
TORJ TOLD HIMSELFthat he had only left the gift to make Wren laugh, not to stake his claim on her from afar. But as she entered the ballroom the next night, wearing another gown that hugged every inch of her curves, he knew she hadn’t worn the undergarments, and the very thought drove him to the brink of insanity. For the briefest of seconds, her mask of indifference slipped, and she shot him a coy smile from across the room, one that sang with challenge, before she schooled her features back into a neutral expression.
He tried to avert his gaze, tried to keep his eyes off her, but she was mesmerizing, and she left him utterly unfocused, even from a distance.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Thea said at his side, catching him staring at her sister across the ballroom.
