Page 57 of Silver & Smoke
The marriage of two Warswords, two heroes of the midrealms, was all anyone could talk about. Even though the days were taken up with council meetings, correspondence and managing weaponry supplies and rations, Wren felt lighter than she had in a long time, and the quiet moments in between battle planning were beautiful. Thea washappy.And if nothing else, that was something good in the world.
‘We want to get married here,’ Thea declared over breakfast one morning.
Wren wasn’t surprised. Thezmarr had always been special to her sister. ‘When?’ she asked, bringing her cup to her lips.
‘The day after next—’
Wren spat her tea across her plate, choking. ‘What?Are you mad?’
Thea gave her a sheepish smile. ‘You’re not the first person to ask that, but no. I want to be his wife, Wren. I don’t want to waste any more time. Another war is upon us... This might be the only chance we get.’
‘Thea—’ Wren started to protest.
But Thea shook her head. ‘Don’t deny it. Besides, it’s veryus,isn’t it? Getting married at a warrior fortress before a battle?’
A laugh bubbled from Wren’s lips. ‘That’s true...’
‘You haven’t heard the best part,’ Kipp interjected, turning from his conversation with Cal on the opposite side of the table. He put a hand on his chest proudly. ‘I get to perform the ceremony.’
‘Youwhat?’ Wilder barked from the far end.
Thea grimaced, shooting her husband-to-be an apologetic look. ‘Imayhave lost a bet with him a few years ago...’
Wilder stared at her in disbelief, shaking his head, but Wren burst out laughing. Her sister and the Hand of Death were getting married. And Kipp would be the one to do it. It was perfect.
The ludicrous joyful feeling lasted for most of the day, even as Wren sat in meeting after meeting with Darian, discussing Silas’s supposed inner circle of influence.
‘It’s made up of alchemists and military commanders he brought with him from beyond the former Veil border. That is where his warfare tactics stem from, and it is these men, of whom there are fifty or so, who organize the rest of his forces,’ the nobleman told her, reading from a letter stamped with the Devereux sigil.
But when Darian suggested yet another gathering in the war room, Wren finally lost her patience, and instead of justifying her decisions, she found herself retracing an old, familiar path to the herb garden in the Bloodwoods.
There she fell into old habits, crouching down in the dirt andgathering supplies. The familiar scents of rosemary and sage filled her nostrils, mingling with the aroma of fresh sap from the trees that gave the Bloodwoods their name. Her fingers remembered the patterns – which stems to pinch, which leaves to pluck, what foliage needed the keen blade of her harvesting knife. Healing herbs, fighting herbs, herbs for sleep and strength and clarity of mind. They would need them all before long.
All the alchemists were gone from Thezmarr, and so the garden was wilder now, far less tended than in her memories. Chamomile had spread beyond its beds, tiny white flowers dotting the path like stars fallen to earth. Nightshade and wolfsbane twisted together in dark corners – beautiful and deadly, just like the women who had once cared for this place. Sam and Ida, even Thea for a time.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ Torj called out as he strode into the clearing. The late afternoon light caught his silver hair and the iron of his hammer, and for a moment Wren was reliving the first time they’d met in these very woods. Her heart lifted at the sight of him. It felt like an age since they’d shared a private moment together, even just a quiet aside. Gods, she missed him. She missed his sturdy presence, his gentle words, his lightning-kissed touch. The garden seemed to hold its breath, remembering other meetings, other touches.
But he wasn’t on his own. Zavier and Dessa followed close behind him, their boots crushing herbs and releasing bursts of fragrance into the air.
When Torj reached her, he didn’t touch her – though everything in her ached for it. Instead, he simply said quietly, ‘Even if I can’t be with you, I didn’t want you to be alone.’
Zavier dropped to his knees beside her, immediately identifying some of the herbs she’d gathered. ‘Bloodroot and feverfew,’ he said, examining her pile. ‘Planning for the worst?’
‘Always.’ Wren managed a wry smile. ‘Though I was thinking we might need something more festive first...’ She held up a sprig of rosemary.
‘Isn’t that rosemary?’ Torj interjected with a frown.
Wren fought the smile tempting her lips. ‘Someone’s been studying.’
‘In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve spent the better part of a year at an alchemy academy,’ Torj replied dryly. ‘Not that I’m complaining,’ he added.
Wren did smile then. ‘Long ago, rosemary was often woven into bridal crowns... A symbol of fidelity and remembrance.’
Dessa nodded enthusiastically. ‘My mother sewed it into her veil...’ She paused. ‘I don’t think Thea will have a veil, do you?’
Wren snorted. ‘No, I don’t think that’s likely, Dess.’
‘What about this?’ Torj held out a stem of lavender, its purple floret bright and aromatic. ‘Does this have a meaning?’
