Page 85 of Silver & Smoke
Halfway across, her mare lost its footing on the slick riverbed. For one heart-stopping moment, they were swimming, the current threatening to pull them under. She forced herself to stay calm, to keep her grip on the reins light as her mount fought to regain its balance. Water swelled around them, and Wren realized that no storm magic or alchemy could save her from drowning. It was her and her horse at the mercy of the current, and she had to close her eyes briefly, handing over her fate to the mare beneath her.
Finally, mercifully, the horse’s hooves found purchase on the far bank. They scrambled up, water streaming from her clothes and tack, both of them trembling from cold and exertion. Wren was already dreading the second crossing on the way back.
More water sprayed as Torj’s stallion leapt up onto the shore. The Warsword’s gaze went straight to her, assessing her.
You’re alright?
Cold, but in one piece, she replied.You?
My blood always runs hot with you around anyway.His lips curved in a suggestive smile.
Wren’s heart lifted. Even soaked to the bone, it was good to seehim joke. If she could keep him in decent spirits while she figured out a solution, it would help keep her mind fresh.
So she answered through their bond with a smug smile of her own.I’m well aware... but control yourself, Warsword. We’re on a mission.
They paused on the far bank only long enough to wring out their cloaks and check their weapons hadn’t been compromised by the water. Wren’s teeth chattered as she tipped half the river from her boots and checked the potions at her belt. Thankfully, all of her vials were airtight by design.
Torj gave her one last heated look.The things I’d do to get you out of those wet clothes and into a warm bed,he murmured into her mind before he urged his horse forwards. ‘Cal,’ he called. ‘Lead the way.’
Cal pointed ahead. ‘There,’ he said quietly. ‘There’s a good place to set up camp just beyond that rise.’
Even with the changes, Wren recognized the land. She had sat on that very ridge, sharing her rations with her horse because there was no grass for grazing. Only parched, yellowed fields had stretched out before her, echoing her loneliness and grief back to her. It hadn’t been the first time she’d cried after the war, but it had been one of the more significant outpourings of her sorrow.
The piercing sound of her own scream came back to her, carving through all else, followed by the near-deafening clap of thunder. Her storm had raged all night, washing her tears into the earth, striking lightning so hard into the ground that smoke drifted in ribbons from the soil. Yes, she knew this place like she knew the shape of the pain in her own chest.
The others reached the crest in the land before she did, and she heard their murmurs of surprise.
Dessa was the first to turn back to her. ‘Wren...’ she croaked, her voice thick with emotion.
Still shivering from the cold, Wren urged her horse to close the gap, and before she knew it, the plains were there – but they were not the same.
Silvertide roses dotted the land before them, their luminescentpetals dancing in the gentle breeze. For a moment, all Wren could do was stare. She’d spent so long cultivating pots of these flowers back at Drevenor, carefully tending to each bloom. But this...
‘I can’t believe it,’ she murmured to Dessa, shaking her head at the scattered flowers.
‘Nor can I,’ Dessa replied, tears lining her eyes. ‘This is going to help us win. I... I didn’t know if we could.’
Wren reached across and squeezed her friend’s icy hand. ‘We did it once before. We can do it again. And now...’ She motioned to the modest crop of roses, words failing her.
Zavier brought his horse up alongside hers and spoke to Dessa, motioning to their group of chosen harvesters. ‘Are you sure about the method you taught them? That they’re capable?’
Cal brandished his dagger in a show of confidence, reciting Dessa’s instructions: ‘Cut at the second node, leave the roots intact. Work in pairs – one cuts while the other gathers and packs.’
‘That’s it,’ Dessa said encouragingly. ‘Right, Wren?’
Wren nodded, but her attention had landed on Torj, who now stood with his stallion slightly apart from the group, his hands flexing and unflexing at his sides.
At last, Wren dismounted and slipped into the crop with the other harvesters, unsheathing her knife. She worked alongside Dessa. Cut, gather, pack. The rhythm of it was almost hypnotic, especially when the rest of their group moved with the precision Dessa had drilled into them during their forced march here.
‘They would make the Master of Lifelore proud,’ Wren told her friend.
Dessa gave a sad smile. ‘And yet, Drevenor is no more... Lifelore, warfare, healing, design... What will become of those pillars of alchemy now? Of the alchemists who wanted to learn?’
‘Perhaps you will teach them,’ Wren said gently, flicking her knife across another stem, careful of the thorns.
They harvested all that they could before moving on to flatter terrain. There, they set up camp, including a makeshift alchemy workshop for Wren and the others. It wasn’t long before they were de-thorning the silvertide roses and starting new batches of Wren’s cure for the dark alchemy.
‘I wish you didn’t have to do this tonight,’ Torj said quietly, coming to stand beside her. ‘You need rest.’
