CHAPTER 66 Wren
CHAPTER 66
Wren
‘From the smallest seed to the mightiest oak, every part of a plant holds a secret waiting to be discovered’
– From Root to Petal: Understanding Plants and Their Properties
I NSTEAD OF WRAPPED in the Warsword’s arms, Wren spent the evening with her experiments, coaxing blood from her arm and mixing it with more of the nauseating substance that had coated the enemy’s blades.
‘What have you used as your control variable?’ Farissa asked later that night, having answered Wren’s summons to her room. The older woman peered over her shoulder at the sample dishes, her worn expression brighter in the face of a potential discovery.
Wren was equally impassioned, forgetting the tension between them. ‘Oddly, the powdered leaves of a plant I brought from Delmira...I’ve found no mention of it in From Root to Petal or The Green Apothecary , but it seems to be an excellent binding agent. It helps balance out—’
‘From Delmira?’ Farissa cut in.
Wren nodded. ‘Strange, isn’t it? For the most part, the lands are ruined, but every now and then—’
‘Every now and then, something is more resilient...’
‘Exactly.’
Farissa smiled. ‘You’re onto something here,’ she said. ‘I’m sure of it.’
But the contents of Wren’s stomach were curdling. ‘I hope so,’ she replied. ‘I haven’t forgotten what they did to Blythe – that it was meant to be me. Torj told me that traces of this alchemy were found on her body. The rebels need to be stopped before more innocents become collateral.’
‘That wasn’t your fault,’ Farissa soothed.
‘She’s dead all the same,’ Wren said, using a dropper to add her blood to one of the shallow dishes. ‘Who else is working on an antidote?’
‘Myself and the other masters,’ Farissa replied. ‘And one or two other promising adepts.’
‘So, no one I know?’
Farissa shook her head. ‘Just keep at it...You’re on the verge of something here.’
Wren didn’t argue as her former mentor left her quarters. A counter to the weaponized alchemy was within her grasp, and she would not stop until she had it.
The next day, Cal refused to tell her where Torj had been summoned to. If she heard the term ‘Warsword business’ one more time, she’d throttle him. It was only the fact that neither he nor Kipp seemed all that concerned that kept her amiable. That was, until the pair started to interrogate her about the mark on her neck.
‘Someone’s been busy,’ Kipp remarked with a wiggle of his brows on the way to the dining hall that morning.
‘Piss off, Kristopher.’ But Wren couldn’t stop the blush staining her cheeks. She was still flustered, the unfinished business with Torj occupying her mind incessantly. There had been a smouldering intensity in his eyes as he’d left, one she was desperate to see unfold between them. For the first time in a long while, her thoughts were not of her studies and the upcoming Gauntlet, but of the silver-haired Bear Slayer and what he had done between her legs.
‘Oh, come on,’ Kipp whined. ‘I tell you all my secrets.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t,’ Wren muttered.
‘Seconded,’ Cal added, though Wren didn’t miss the way his eyes flitted to her neck.
She had fleetingly considered making up some cosmetics to cover it. Back at Thezmarr, she had done just that both for Ida and Sam when they’d needed to mask their romantic antics, and for Thea, when she had cuts and bruises from her secret training to hide from Audra. But when it had come to mixing the powders this morning, Wren had run her fingers over the mark instead, and had decided that she wouldn’t hide it – hide him – from the world.
Naturally, she regretted that choice now.
As they passed the points tally in the foyer, Wren was frustrated to see that her team was still in second place, with Jasper Greaves’s team closing in behind them; several shiny new black garnets had been added to their vessel. She meant to address it with her teammates over the breakfast table, but when she entered the dining hall, she was greeted by hushed whispers as quiet blanketed the tables. A quick scan of the room told her the silence was not for her. The High Chancellor had taken to the podium at the front of the hall and raised his hands to capture their attention.
‘Today marks two weeks exactly until our novices face the Gauntlet,’ he declared. ‘With the leaderboard as it currently stands, it can be anyone’s game. The team with the most points will receive a ninety-second head start for the challenge. The following teams will then enter in ninety-second intervals in the order of the leaderboard.’
Ninety seconds . A lot could happen in ninety seconds...It could mean the difference between life and death.
‘These next two weeks are crucial to your advantage in the Gauntlet. Do not waste them. Do not grow complacent. Knowledge is the victor over fate, and the mind is a blade. Be ready, novices. These challenges will be the fight of your lives.’
The High Chancellor stepped down from the podium and joined the other masters.
Dessa was particularly overexcited, and wanted to delve into every single possibility and outcome of the upcoming event. That was how Wren found herself next to Zavier, both of them sitting in silence, needing the reprieve from their teammate’s constant chatter. To Wren’s relief, Zavier said nothing about the mark on her neck, nor did he so much as look up as Kipp alluded to it again.
A little further down the table, a heated debate had unfolded, and Wren found herself listening.
‘It’s horseshit,’ Kyros said. ‘Previous cohorts were never expected to fit a year of study into six months. You can’t rush knowledge and experience.’
Zavier huffed a laugh. ‘Scared, Sorrell?’
‘More like realistic,’ Kyros answered, his eyes narrowing. ‘The only reason we’re working at this pace is because of the fucking royals.’
Wren’s cup of tea froze midway to her lips as several gazes slid to her.
Zavier leaned back in his chair. ‘You mean because of those so-called loyalists who attacked the rulers unprovoked?’
Wren almost did a double take. She forced herself to take a sip of tea and set her rattling cup back down on the table. But Zavier’s words only seemed to fuel the fire, and Kyros’ nostrils flared.
‘That group had a point. Everything bad that has ever happened in the damn midrealms is because of the rulers.’ He counted on his fingers. ‘The fall of Delmira and how its lands rot around it. The fall of Naarva to the shadow wraiths. The destruction of Thezmarr. And now the Warswords are being used to protect the very people who bring the conflict to our doorsteps. At least the Naarvian royals had the courtesy to run off and die in a hole somewhere—’
Two things happened at once.
Lightning shot from Wren’s fingertips, up towards the ceiling beams, causing several people to startle.
And a pair of salt and pepper shakers went flying.
Kyros sneered at Wren. ‘See? You can’t even keep it under control.’
Wren’s lightning winked out just as quickly as it had bloomed to life, but the storm surging through her was not her concern. She stared at the salt and pepper, now rolling down the length of the table. Her nape prickled. Her power had not done that.
Ignoring Kyros’ jeering, she slowly looked around, a strange sensation crawling across her skin. She’d felt it before, during the war. In Queen Reyna’s presence. In the presence of King Leiko, and of the late King Artos and Princess Jasira.
Royal magic.
Panic threatened to swallow her whole as the feeling brought her memories to the surface. She focused on her breathing and recalled Olsen Oakes’ words: train the body, tame the mind, transcend limitations .
‘Who knew you were so political, Sorrell?’ Kipp addressed Kyros dryly.
Zavier scoffed. ‘Anyone can be political once issues actually start to affect them.’ He looked to Wren and Dessa. ‘Let’s go. We’ve got some points to earn.’
For once, Wren didn’t argue with her teammate. She got to her feet and followed him from the hall, the taste of royal magic still on her tongue.