Page 135 of Shadow & Storms

‘Where’s Wren?’ Torj asked suddenly.

Frowning, Thea looked to the seat Wren had occupied only moments ago.

It was empty.

‘Shit,’ Torj said, already on his feet. ‘Osiris.’

He bolted from the room, and Thea found herself sprinting after him through the fortress, Wilder close behind. She wasn’t sure she understood what the Bear Slayer was so panicked about, but it was enough to spike fear in her own chest.

They skidded to a stop before one of the old alchemy workshops, the door guarded by two of Audra’s warriors.

‘Is someone in there with him?’ Torj demanded. ‘Is someone in there with Osiris?’

The women eyed him suspiciously. ‘Four of our sisters keep watch inside.’

‘And?’ Thea pressed, her heart racing.

‘And the alchemist. She came just moments ago.’

‘Did you search her?’ Wilder asked. ‘Did she have any weapons?’

‘Wren needs no weapons,’ Torj muttered, forcing his way between the guards and using his shoulder to cave the door in.

They barged inside, startling the guards stationed around the perimeter of the room, to find Wren seated at a workbench with the former Guild Master of Thezmarr, a pot of tea between them.

Thea heard the others from the meeting fill the room behind her while Wren sipped daintily from her cup, not in the least surprised by their dramatic entrance.

‘W-What’s going on?’ Osiris stammered, placing his own cup back down on the bench. His face still bore the scabbed-over cuts from Anya’s scythe, but he hadn’t been harmed further in their custody.

‘You left our meeting to have tea with our prisoner?’ Esyllt barked from the door.

Tea. The word reverberated through Thea as her gaze dropped to the seemingly innocent pot.

But there was nothing innocent about it. It was Wren’s own invention.

The Ladies’ Luncheon.

Esyllt’s harsh tone didn’t faze Wren. Instead, she took another sip and looked to Osiris, who was growing paler by the second.

He covered his mouth to cough. Once, then twice, before he drank from his teacup again.

Suddenly, his eyes bulged, and his hands flew to his throat as he gasped for air. The ceramic cup shattered into a hundred pieces as it hit the ground.

‘Good gods,’ someone muttered behind Thea, but she was transfixed by the purpling of Osiris’ face. Coughing and spluttering violently, the former Guild Master fell from his stool onto his knees, his hands clawing at his throat.

White spittle foamed at the corners of his mouth as he wheezed, crawling to Wren, tugging on the hem of her skirt. The alchemist drank her tea as she watched on.

Crimson lined his teeth.

Blood clotted in the corners of his eyes.

‘Help me,’ he choked, dribble running down his chin.

When Osiris had rasped his final breath, Wren pushed him from her skirts with the tip of her boot in disgust.

He fell back, slumping to the floor, dead.

‘Elwren…’ Farissa murmured, pushing to the front of the crowd, her mouth agape at her apprentice.

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