Page 123 of Silver & Smoke
She kissed him hard, desperately, as though she could pour allthe strength she had into him to keep him going. She memorized the taste of him, the hitch in his breath, the bruising press of his fingers as he clutched her body to his.
The kiss was brutal, each of them trying to devour the other, as though the more marks they left on their skin, the more tethered they were to the world, to each other. The bond was a taut, living thing between them, vibrating with their need, their anguish.
Wren untucked his shirt, slipping her hands beneath the fabric, aching to trace the heat of his bare skin. But she couldn’t do this, not without him knowing that she wouldn’t stand for a world without him.
She broke away, panting. ‘When this is over—’
‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep.’ Torj pressed closer, cupping her face in his hand. ‘Just... be here. With me. Now.’
Outside, she heard footsteps on the cobbles, and Wren pulled back, bracing herself against the pain that lanced through her chest.
A quiet knock sounded at the door, and Thea peered inside. ‘They’re ready for you, Wren,’ she said softly, glancing between her and the Bear Slayer before ducking away.
Wren closed her eyes and inhaled deeply to steady herself. How had dusk come so quickly? Outside, a broken army waited. And her kingdom hung in the balance.
But she opened her eyes and turned to the warrior before her, letting him see the resilience, the determination she had forged throughout her years of grief and solitude.
‘You are mine to protect,’ she told him. ‘And you always have been.’
CHAPTER 63
Wren
‘Sovereigns of the midrealms must be crowned in the capital of their kingdoms, with a crown of precious metal to mark the occasion. So states the midrealms law’
– The Midrealms Chronicles
AQUEEN OF RUINS, Wren thought as she was brought to what remained of her ancestors’ throne room. The debris that had lain dormant for decades had been cleared away to the best of their forces’ abilities, and the throne itself had been...mendedwith odds and ends from the deserted city. What had once been an ornate high-backed chair was now a collage of warped metal and timber planks, welded together to create what Wren could only describe as a monstrosity. She supposed that, at least, was rather fitting.
‘Leaves a bit to be desired, I’ll admit,’ Vernich said gruffly from nearby.
Wren had never witnessed a coronation before, had never given what she considered an unnecessary display of wealth and power much thought – until now. She was under no illusions – she knew that hers would be a far cry from those that had come before. But perhaps that was how it was meant to be. Maybe that was how shecould make her peace with her fate. She wouldn’tbelike those who had come before.
‘What happens now?’ she asked Zavier, who was watching with a strange expression.
He shifted from foot to foot, shoving his hands in his pockets. ‘Mine was more, well... justmore,’ he said with a note of defeat. ‘There was a vigil of preparation where I was supposed to meditate. Then there was what they calledthe robing– where I was dressed in a bunch of ceremonial regalia. And when I say “was dressed” I mean byother people. They wouldn’t let me put on my own damn tunic.’
‘I would have paid to see that,’ Cal muttered from the prince’s side.
‘I’m sure you would have,’ Zavier retorted, before turning back to Wren. ‘I had to make the journey from the people’s square in the outer city to the castle before I made the sacred vow and was crowned in the great hall. For what it’s worth,’ he said, gesturing to the sparse setting, ‘I prefer this.’
‘As do I,’ Wren murmured, the back of her neck prickling as their forces gathered around the outskirts of the rubble.
‘We at least got you a crown,’ Thea declared as she approached, one hand on the hilt of her sword, the other grasping something wrapped in a scrap of fabric. Kipp followed close behind, an unnerving grin on his face.
Wren gaped at her. ‘How? From where?’
Thea shrugged. ‘Kipp and I figured it out.’
‘Probably means it’s stolen,’ Cal offered.
‘Or melted down from a tankard or two,’ Zavier added.
Wren ignored them, looking to her sister again. ‘Who even has the authority to do this?’
‘I do,’ came a sharp and familiar voice.
Audra, Guild Master of Thezmarr, swung down from her horse and crossed the remains of the throne room. Her hair was pulled back in its usual severe bun, but her spectacles were nowhere tobe seen, and there was an impressive scythe strapped to her back. It reminded Wren of Anya, who’d wielded the same weapon in the shadow war.
