A House of Cloaks & Daggers (The Gift War #1)

22. Wren

Chapter twenty-two

Wren

W inter arrived in Faerie that night.

It was early spring in the human world, and from what I had gleaned from the Court of Light so far, the seasons seemed to work the same, but snow had dusted my windowpane when I woke at dawn the next morning to shooting pains of hunger, squeezing and releasing my stomach with an iron fist.

I didn’t remember falling asleep the previous night, nor did I recall tucking myself in underneath the blankets when the temperature had plummeted.

The faelight orb had guided me around a shallow balcony walled by a swirling gold railing until I found another glass door, at which point the House took over and led me back to my bedroom by manipulating the candlelight. I’d locked the door from the inside myself and leapt onto the bed, muffling my cries with the feather-down pillows.

I had half expected Wren to storm into my room at some point during the night and throw me out of the House, but nobody had come to my door. There wasn’t a single sound above the howling wind as the snowstorm seized control and drove icicles into the heart of the land.

Breath clouding in front of me, I pushed myself into a sitting position and tried to peer through the fern frost on my window.

Instead of light and colour, the sky was a cool shade of dark grey, and the clouds were heavy and thick, throwing snowflakes between them rather than crystals. Pulling the blankets up to my chin, I swallowed down a wave of nausea as my stomach growled again. I hadn’t touched any of the food the night before, and I couldn’t bring myself to get out of bed and go downstairs in search of breakfast—not after what I had said to the High King.

Lucais’s deafening silence had remained in my head like part of my brain had gone quiet and shut down. Wren’s roaring, too, like he had vocalised the agony that had caused his High King to be lost for words.

Did I hurt him?

Would it hurt to have the mating bond rejected in such a sudden and careless way?

There was no love between us. Perhaps a shared nightmare or two, and maybe even the most basic and carnal form of attraction. Lucais was handsome and had behaved decently enough, so it wasn’t because I found him repulsive, but…

It was ridiculous; the entire story was absurd.

And yet, I had offended both of them with my questions about their thoughts. Faerie customs were so peculiar to my human brain, and some of the things Wren had said and done were deeply offensive to humans, but I supposed that High Fae were a race of people with their own culture and customs, and they should be treated as such.

Magic and madness aside, they were a people, and I was a guest in their home. A tourist in their homeland. And my behaviour…

My behaviour had been appalling. So appalling that even in some human countries, it might have gotten me thrown into a dungeon.

I couldn’t face either of them after that. Even if it meant that I would die from starvation as my stomach twisted again.

As if the House was privy to my thoughts, a breakfast tray appeared in front of me a moment later, filled with plates of pancakes and fried eggs and chopped fruits. It was only the rich, greasy smell that stopped me from accidentally knocking it over in surprise. My hands were reaching for a slice of buttered toast before the rest of my body could react.

“Thank you,” I told the House, hoping it could understand me through a mouthful of pancakes drenched in syrup.

A pot of black coffee, pitcher of milk, and dish of sugar cubes appeared in reply.

I devoured everything on the tray, though there was enough food to feed three adults, and put all the milk and sugar cubes into the coffee pot, stirring it with one hand as I used my other to finish the last of the raspberry crumpets.

After drinking as much of the sweet caffeine as I could stomach, I pushed the tray to the end of the bed and curled up on my side.

Belly filled, fingers and toes warming beneath the blankets, I closed my eyes against the blinding white snowstorm whipping against my window and fell back to sleep to the melancholy lullaby of the howling wind.

I had no idea how much time had passed when I woke again, yanked from my sleep by an ear-splitting crack of thunder.

The snowstorm was over.

It was like it had never happened at all. The sky had turned a dark and malicious seaweed green colour as black clouds rolled across the horizon at double their natural speed. Ultraviolet streaks of jagged lightning split the clouds in two, and rain began to fall, pounding against the House with so much force that I began to worry that hail would smash through the window.

In wild weather back home, I would have curled up with Brynn in my mother’s bed and waited for the storm to pass. But I was alone, and a little elemental temper tantrum would not spook me.

The House had cleared away my breakfast dishes, so I threw back the coverlet and hurried into the bathroom, where it had drawn me another hot bubble bath. I saw to all of my other needs before climbing into the tub and sinking below the surface of the water to drown out the sounds of the storm.

It was still raging when I resurfaced a moment later, and a fluffy white robe appeared folded up on the edge of the marble tub. I closed my eyes and leaned back, soaking up the heat.

Something brushed against my arm.

Opening one eye, I found the robe had been moved closer to me.

The House was bossing me around. Mothering me.

I was inclined to ignore it, but the storm was intensifying outside. It had grown so dark that I could no longer tell if it was night or day, and each stroke of lightning illuminated the room in a harsh, violet light.

After quickly washing and drying myself, I found that a new set of clothes in black velvet had been plucked from the wardrobe and placed on the edge of the tub. It wasn’t until I dressed and strode back into the bedroom that I understood why the House had been in such a hurry to get me out of the bath and presentable.

Wren was standing by the bed, studying the titles of books on the shelves in the corner.

Orbs of faelight danced around him, the same molten gold colour of his eyes. He turned towards me, and they flared bright enough to light up the whole room in a soft, warm glow.

Strikingly handsome in a neatly pressed black shirt and pants, Wren was without his weapon belt and his usual revolting smirk. His blond hair was combed up, fringe hanging over his forehead in thick strands as if it had been gelled, and he was unshaven, the stubble along his chiselled jawline glittering beneath the faelight.

“I’m sorry about the storm,” he said quietly, as the glowing orbs settled up against the ceiling like light globes. “The High King is in a bad mood. It’ll pass soon.”

I frowned. “What does that—oh.” Lucais had inferred that the High King’s original Court stood to gain the most from his reign, and that the crown fed into the land. Perhaps his Court also stood to lose the most, then. “He meant that literally.”

Wren nodded once in confirmation. His eyes were weighed down by something that almost looked like apprehension. He was quieter than normal, too, and standing back instead of getting right in my face.

“It’s that…intense?” I queried, risking a step forward. “Having a High King in Faerie? He—his moods?”

I could not imagine the death and destruction that would occur if human leaders had such an intricate and primal connection to their lands, but then again, we had shunned the High Mother long ago, while the High Fae still lived in worship.

“Not always,” Wren murmured, tugging at the collar of his shirt like it was scratching him. “The bond between the High King and the land is tenuous, both linked as equals to the High Mother. You can judge his strength based on the prosperity brought to the land during his reign, and occasionally acquire an inkling as to his overall mood or health. He can’t control it, and most of the time, it’s a very mild flow-on effect. But, sometimes, like right now,” he continued, making a sheepish gesture towards the storm-lashed window, “it’s just downright embarrassing.”

Glancing at the lightning whipping the sky outside, I swallowed a fat ball of acid guilt.

The blizzard-slashed winter morning. The electrical summer storm. Both occurred on the same day.

The day after I had said those words to him.

“I must have upset him very much, then,” I lamented, standing on the tips of my toes as I crossed my ankles and stared at the floor.

My hair spilled over my shoulders, already dried after the bath, and I balanced on one foot as I straightened up and gazed back at the High King’s right-hand man with as much resolution as I could muster.

I did not regret my words, but perhaps I did regret the way I’d delivered them.

Wren shrugged, a fluid motion across his broad shoulders. “It’s not as personal as you might think.” Slowly, he dragged a finger across a shelf in the bookcase like he was absentmindedly checking for dust. “I could tell you that Lucais Starfire has been waiting to meet his mate for his entire life, that he’s a sappy old romantic for how much he’s looked forward to it. But he didn’t know it was you until the moment he laid eyes on you for the first time, and you were looking right back at him.”

Blinking, I recalled the look of realisation I had seen crossing Lucais’s face when I’d arrived.

“The Oracle doesn’t show faces,” Wren explained, sensing my confusion. “You might catch a whiff of their scent, maybe a blurry memory from a former life with vague details like flame-red hair, but it wasn’t about having you. Or loving you. Or even wanting you. It was the idea of you. And you would not be the first person who rejected the idea of falling in love with your soulmate because you were told to do so by some external force. This is exactly why I kept it from you.”

Clouds filled my mind, dripping with knowledge and feelings. Hazy and profuse, like searching for signposts on a fog-consumed road.

Lucais hadn’t been dreaming of me.

He knew who I was because of the mating bond, because some Oracle had shown him—

“When?” I stumbled forward, steadying myself against the closest bedpost. “When did this Oracle—”

“Three months ago.” Wren bowed his head to me. “I’d wager it was around the same time your dreams started.”

Soulmate.

Were my dreams a memory, like the Oracle had shown Lucais? Did he suffer like that, or is it yet to happen? How many beatings has he endured—or will he endure? And, above all, did the idea of me help him survive that, like I tried to do when I screamed for him every night? Or is that why I’m here now?

Without answers, without anything but the feeling that lingered on my skin like perfume, I was emptied and completed at once.

Blank and bursting with colour.

“Look,” Wren said tightly, halting my motionless downwards fall. “Forget him. The mating bond has been primarily used to produce strong, healthy faelings, but it’s not uncommon for the crown to switch Courts between reigns, so having an heir doesn’t really matter. It’s the modern age now, anyway, and nobody is going to tell you what to do. Not even the High King of Faerie.”

Eyeing him warily, I wrapped an arm around the bedpost and sagged against it. “You sound like you know an awful lot about this.”

A wistful look gleamed in his eyes. “He’s my best friend. My brother. We’ve been through everything together. All of this, and all the years beforehand.” Shaking off the memories, he gave me an appraising look. “He’s disappointed, but he’ll get over it. And besides, his foul mood is not just about you.” He waved a hand towards the window again. “There’s an awful lot happening at the moment, and by no means should you feel guilty for any of it. You have every right to say no.” His hand fell back to his side, and he heaved a deep breath. “To go home.”

I jerked my head towards him, my throat tightening. “Is that why you’re here?”

He ran his tongue along his lower lip, then his teeth, and he broke our stare for a second before offering me a small, sad smile. “Would you like me to take you home, bookworm?”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. All I could do was stare at him as that one potential, budding truth began to bloom between us until all of his lies were buried beneath it.

But they were buried in a shallow grave.

Still, I couldn’t form an answer.

Is it smarter to go home now? Can I ask him to make me forget?

There was still hope for that life in a quiet town far away from the gateways into Faerie, where my mother and sister could live in safety, and I could…

I could be safe, too. Safe in stories I could close and walk away from without elemental repercussions or feelings so strong that they demanded a sacrifice. Like I’d always desired. Like I’d always told myself that I desired.

“Do you want me to go home?” The words came out before I could stop them, the question posed before I could make sense of it.

Wren’s reply was immediate and final. “No.”

Reassurance flooded through me, opening up my lungs and steadying my hands. I’d braced myself for a different answer, although I didn’t know why. Of course he wouldn’t want to take me back. He didn’t want to carry me while he evanesced, and he hated the long walk.

And of course I couldn’t go home. Not yet, not after what I’d said the night before. I couldn’t leave when I still hadn’t discovered how or when Lucais had or would become a prisoner, or if his best friend had anything to do with it.

“Then we’re agreed.” I tried, and failed, to make my voice sound light.

He smiled again, soft and affectionate, and I started saying his name in my head over and over again so I wouldn’t forget who he was. The man who likely tortured people, the butcher in the hallway; not this, whatever it was, presenting itself to me draped in sheepskin and romantic faelight by the bookcase.

“What is it you want?” I asked suddenly. His warning look, though not harsh, immediately cured me of longing for an answer. “Never mind. Sorry.”

Wren’s sensual chuckle filled the room as he turned away and plucked a book from the shelf. “This has always helped me get through the storms,” he mused, extending it to me as he closed the space between us in a few long steps.

I reached for the book, entitled The Sins of Stars , and his thumb brushed mine as he released it and pulled back his hand.

The only part of my brain still functioning in spite of my confusion awakened to the sense of that thing circling back to me again, filled with magic or memories that I rejected with a tall wall of mental adamant.

“We have quite a few meetings coming up,” he informed me softly. “If you need one of us, we’ll come as soon as we can. But, in the meantime, we’ll send a maid up to check on you. Her name is Delia. I think you’ll get on well.”

I watched as Wren put one hand in his pocket, leaving the enormous hardcover book in my grasp, and hesitated before pulling his other hand away.

Before I could react, his fingers threaded into my hair, palm cupped around the side of my head as he brushed it behind my ear.

“For what it’s worth,” he whispered, stroking my temple with his thumb, “I wish it was different, bookworm. I really do.”

Wish what was different?

Then he was gone. His touch was missing like someone had ripped the blankets off me right as I was beginning to fall asleep, and he disappeared through the open doorway.

The magic swirling around me reached for him, stretching between us as far as it could go before it just… snapped . Like thread against a blade. Dissipating into thin air as the faelights dimmed and eventually disappeared with Wren and everything else he had taken with him.

Suddenly exposed to the dark and cold again, I hugged the book close to my chest, ignoring the way its hard corners dug into my skin, and swung around the post until I collapsed onto the mattress.

Wren, Wren, Wren, Wren.

There was a final, almighty groan of thunder outside like the creaky slam of a door flying off its hinges.

And then, as if it had been sucked out of the sky by a holy vacuum, the storm stopped.