Page 58 of Silver & Smoke
‘Some say it signifies love and devotion,’ she told him quietly.
His throat bobbed. ‘Right.’
‘A warrior’s wedding needs a warrior’s garland,’ Dessa declared, settling on Wren’s other side. She pulled a leatherbound book from her satchel – one Wren recognized from Thezmarr’s library; one she had studied as a girl. It made her heart seize. She’d thought everything in the library had been destroyed in the final battle. It was oddly moving to her that this, of all things, had been the item to survive.
Dessa forged on. ‘Your sister should have all of it – protection, strength, victory...’
‘And love,’ Torj added softly, offering the alchemists the lavender he had gathered. ‘She should have that too.’
Wren took it, her gaze falling to where the Warsword had placed a single sprig in the laces of his jerkin.
He watched them for a moment, his expression softening. ‘I’ll leave you to your gardening, then.’ He turned to go, then paused. ‘Just... try not to poison anyone before the ceremony?’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ Wren retorted, but Torj was already striding away.
As Wren returned to her harvesting, Dessa spread the book openbetween them. The pages were covered in flowing script, recipes and warnings intermingled with personal observations. ‘Look,’ she said, pointing to a particular entry. ‘A blessing wreath. We could adapt it...’
They worked in comfortable silence for a while, gathering, sorting and weaving. It felt good to lose herself in the familiar rhythms, to let her hands remember what her mind sometimes wanted to forget.
‘You know,’ Zavier said eventually, ‘there’s something fitting about this. Collecting healing supplies and making a bridal crown in the same breath.’
Wren looked up at the darkening sky, where the first stars were beginning to appear. ‘That’s what we fought for last time,’ she replied softly. ‘Not just survival. The right to have moments like this, even in the dark.’
CHAPTER 31
Torj
‘The strongest bonds between Warswords are forged not when standing shoulder to shoulder in triumph, but when lifting each other from the dust of defeat’
– The Warsword’s Way
AMESSAGE WASwaiting for him back at the fortress:Northern training arena. Bring liquor.
Beneath the scratchy handwriting was a sketch of a fox’s head.
The strategist had a set of balls on him, alright. He was probably the only person Torj knew who would leave orders for a Warsword concerning drinks amid planning for battle.
‘Fuck it.’ Torj stuffed the piece of parchment in his pocket before turning towards the steps to the cellar.
Soon after, he emerged with two bottles of wine in each hand and a flagon of fire extract wedged under his arm. If he knew anything about Kipp, it was that it was always better to be oversupplied. The fortress’s private stock would have to do – and if anyone had complaints about him raiding it, they could take it up with his hammer.
The walk to the northern arena gave him too much time to think. About the war councils that morning. Abouther. About howfucking complicated everything had become. The bottles clinked with each step, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding in his head.
As he approached the arena, sounds carried on the wind – the clash of steel, grunts of exertion and barked commands from below.Shieldbearers. He’d forgotten about the evening training sessions. The sound transported him back to his own days as a newcomer to the fortress, before titles and soul bonds and the weight of impossible choices. It was also where he had trained Cal, Kipp and Thea in their early days... The unlikely trio had always been intent on getting into trouble.
The arena stood at the base of the black mountains, not just a clearing, but a space designed for watching bloody victories and defeats from above. It was surreal, standing at the vantage point and surveying the next generation of Thezmarrian warriors. There was one noticeable difference in this cohort... Women. For the first time in a long while, Torj saw how many women fighters there were in the ranks. Gone were the days of laws against women wielding blades; here they swung them with deadly precision and pride. Thea would be proud. In fact, she was probably down there somewhere amid the chaos. He made to step into view when a pebble struck his shoulder.
‘Elderbrock, get your ass over here,’ came Kipp’s whisper from a cluster of bushes above the training ground.
Torj ducked into the shadows, bottles clinking. ‘What in the midrealms are you doing up here hiding like a—’
The words died in his throat as he registered who exactly was huddled in the underbrush. Wilder sat cross-legged on a fallen log, his usual stern expression cracked by a lazy smile. And beside him, Talemir Starling lounged against a boulder, his wings draped out behind him, looking far too amused for a man of his status.
‘Didn’t think I’d miss my apprentice’s wedding, did you?’ he said with a grin.
Even Wilder’s brother Malik was there, his dog Dax sprawled athis feet. And Cal, who, to Torj’s knowledge, wassupposedto be inspecting Thezmarr’s long-range weapons supply, was sitting on the ground, scratching calculations in the dirt with a stick.
‘Surprise,’ Kipp declared, reaching for one of the bottles. ‘The Hand of Death is getting married.’
