Page 70 of Silver & Smoke
Steeling himself, Torj swung down from his saddle and suppressed a groan at his aching body. He felt as though he’d been sparring with Vernich fucking Warner for several rounds, or the cursed bears he’d slain all those years ago. Then he remembered both of those opponents were dead, a thought that made that time in his life feel very far away.
‘We’ll make your cottage a makeshift alchemy workshop,’ he heard Thea tell Wren, but he was already stumbling away, determined not to let any of their forces see him like this – so suddenly weak, so useless—
A strong arm looped through his, pulling him upright.
Only a Warsword could lift him like that.
‘I’ve got you.’
Cal.
Torj could feel prying eyes on him as his former protégé guided him through the trees to some semblance of privacy. His surroundings were no more than a passing blur as he struggled to keep his feet underneath him.
Torj didn’t know how much time had passed, only coming back to himself as Cal spoke again. ‘Almost there.’
It wasn’t long before Torj was blinking up at a ceiling made of canvas, something soft beneath his head.
‘In here, Dessa!’ Cal called from close by, and the rustling of the tent flap sounded.
Something cool was pressed to Torj’s lips – a vial – but the taste on his tongue was bitter, and he turned his head away in protest.
‘It’s a tonic made of dried iruseed.’ Dessa’s voice sounded from somewhere above as gentle hands tried to coax his head to turn back towards the vial. ‘It’ll just keep you conscious—’
‘I don’t want to be conscious,’ Torj muttered, turning away again.
‘I can’t help you if I can’t talk to you. I need to find out what hurts,’ Dessa pleaded.
Torj drew a trembling breath. ‘Everything,’ he croaked, and then he passed out.
CHAPTER 38
Torj
‘For the soul-bonded, a glimpse across time’s veil reveals not just what was, but what is, and what always will be’
– Tethers and Magical Bonds Throughout History
HE DREAMED OFher. Ofthem.
A younger Torj Elderbrock strode through the corridors of Thezmarr, his hammer strapped to his back, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, following the shieldbearer Sebastos Barlowe. Ever since Thezmarr had accepted a woman into its training programme, Barlowe had been causing all kinds of trouble among the lower ranks. Torj was about ready to drag him before the Guild Master to answer for his horseshit hazing.
But just as he was about to bark out a command for Barlowe to halt, the shieldbearer paused outside the open door of an alchemy workshop, a sneer etched on his face.
Torj softened his steps and hung back, curious to see what the little prick was up to. Barlowe lingered in the doorway, leering at someone within.
‘Your sister says hello from combat practice,’ he taunted. ‘Though her bloody lip might shut her up for a bit.’
Torj’s skin prickled instantly, his fists curling at his sides. Herecognized that sick note of reverence, the one that relished the idea of a woman hurt. He took a step forwards. Forget the Guild Master. He’d show Barlowe the meaning of pain—
A voice sounded from inside the workshop, but Torj couldn’t make out her words. Whatever she’d said, it only seemed to rile Barlowe further. The shieldbearer stepped inside, a menacing gleam in his eyes now. ‘That prank you pulled had me in the infirmary for three days, bitch.’
Torj was at the door to the workshop in seconds, peering into the room.
His breath caught.
There she was.
Wren Zoltaire.
