Thread of Ash and Fire

Ch. 63: A Final Stand

A knot tightened in his stomach.

He didn't want to ask. But he had to know.

"Will it be difficult for you?" Tristan asked. "To see him?"

Owain shook his head. "My feelings for Halson vanished a long time ago." He paused. "I know I should say that I wish my ex-boyfriend the best, but I actually hope he dies today. Brutally, and with a significant amount of suffering."

Tristan's laugh was startled. "I hope you never say that about me."

Owain raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"

Tristan flushed. Shit. He didn't mean for that to sound... like it sounded. "Not that we're..." He waved a hand. "I mean, it's presumptuous of me to assume..."

Owain's smile grew. "I'd never say that about you, Tristan." His eyes were the shade of cloudless skies in summer. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that some loves are deserved. Others are not."

Tristan's heart hammered. "What are you saying?"

"I love you," Owain said, and it was not a statement, but an oath. "I don't know where we'll be in a year's time, or even a month's time, but I know that I want to be there with you. I want to be standing at your side."

Tristan blinked, searching for words. None of them sounded nearly as beautiful and elegant as whatever Owain had just come out with.

He licked his dry lips. "I..."

Owain clasped his shoulder. "Don't say anything now. Tell me after." He withdrew a sword. "They're here."

Tristan followed his gaze. Enemy soldiers streaked down the hill, their silver blades flashing like stars in the morning light. Sunhounds snarled, their paws eating up the grass. Tristan fumbled for the explosive in his pocket: his only real defense.

And then Tristan saw him.

Halson emerged from the pack. He was dressed in black armour, and his curly hair looked disturbingly boyish against his helmet. Foam flew from his horse's mouth. He leaned low over the steed, his gaze fixed on Anna, who stood calmly at the front of their army.

A figure broke loose from their side.

Penny streaked across the battlefield, her red hair streaming behind her like a torrent of flame. She was dressed in only light armour, a sword clutched in one hand. Her eyes were narrowed in determination.

Time seemed to slow.

Too late, Tristan put the pieces together: Halson had killed Grayson. Halson had taken the person that Penny loved most in the entire world. It didn't take a genius to work out what was about to happen next.

She was making a final stand.

Next to him, Owain tensed. "She's not seriously about to—?"

"Penny," Tristan breathed.

And he broke into a sprint.

**

Penny streaked across the battlefield.

Blood sang in her ears. She was dimly aware of Ryne shouting her name, of soldiers shifting in confusion, but she didn't care. Her gaze was fixed on Halson. The sword trembled in her hand. She was a shit swordswoman — there was no chance she'd beat Halson in combat — but that wasn't her only weapon.

Penny planted her feet.

And she waited.

"You again," Halson called, his eyes glittering. "How delightful. I take it you've come to avenge your boyfriend?"