Chapter 54 Wren #2
Finally, frustrated, he breathes out, “Prince?” The word is barely audible with his swollen tongue. Blood trickles from his mouth.
I freeze. The word stabs like a blade between my ribs.
“He’s safe,” I whisper, after too long. “I had to… do something. He’s safe. But I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive me.”
Zephyr reaches for my hand and squeezes it once.
“You love him.”
A breath catches in my throat. I nod.
“I didn’t mean to.”
His fingers twitch, resting in mine. His eyes close, his body sagging.
“We’ll rest for a moment,” I say, brushing his tight coils. “Just for a moment. Then we get out. We find a way out. I won’t let them hurt you again. I swear it.”
I press my forehead to his once more, swallowing back a few more tears. I can’t cry now. Not yet.
When I do, I don’t think I’ll ever stop.
I drag Zephyr through the corridor, his weight dragging on my shoulder. He stumbles, breathing shallowly, but doesn’t make a sound. He hasn’t made a sound since we left the dungeon. His eyes are dull with pain, dried blood flaking off his face as he limps along beside me.
When the corridor starts to change—rough stone giving way to smoother, older walls—I slow us down. I duck into a shallow alcove and ease him down against the wall. He slumps gratefully.
“Just a second,” I whisper, biting down hard on my thumb until blood wells up again.
I lift my hand, ready to draw another rune, but Zephyr catches my wrist. His grip is weak, but his fingers tremble with intent. His brow furrows. He doesn’t speak, but the question is clear. What are you doing?
“It’s nothing,” I say gently. “Just a little help.”
I draw the rune over his chest. Strength. The magic stirs faintly as I pull on the heat of the torch nearby. The rune pulses red once, then sinks into him like ink in water.
Zephyr exhales. Then, to my surprise, he straightens. He’s shaky, yes, but he’s standing on his own.
“This way,” I say, and lead us deeper.
We twist through a narrow corridor, past storage rooms and old servants’ halls. I count the steps in my head, retracing the path Dain showed me during my second week here—when I was still pretending to be nothing more than an eager recruit.
It’s our only way out.
We reach the far end of the corridor, where a short flight of steps leads down into the light. The stones are slick with moss. I unbar the gate. Fresh air rushes in, cold and wild and full of night. Zephyr freezes, uncertain, like he can sense the iron. I locate the lever and pull.
A grinding sound echoes through the tunnel as the old iron barrier groans and lifts, rising link by link.
“You can get out this way,” I tell him. “It’s safe, I promise. It’s a tunnel made for some old monarch’s fey lover, if you believe.”
Zephyr doesn’t look all that surprised, but I probably wouldn’t have much energy to look shocked if I were him, either.
A raven shoots past me, close enough that its feathers graze my cheek. It flies deeper into the tunnel without hesitation.
I go still.
Just a bird, I tell myself.
It’s entirely natural to be jumping at shadows, given what I’m doing. Given what I’ve done. I hover in the doorway, staring at the trees, at freedom, at escape. If I step outside, it’s over. I’ll be gone. Cassiel, his pain, his fury—I can leave all of it behind.
But my feet won’t move.
I can’t. I can’t leave him like that.
I promise I’d return, after all. I promised I wouldn’t leave, that I’d stay with him until he no longer wanted me. He probably doesn’t want me anymore, but I should still go to him. I should still explain, give him a chance to be furious—
I turn slightly, expecting to see Zephyr already stumbling towards the exit—but he hasn’t moved.
“Zeph?” I whisper.
He stands there, swaying, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Then his mouth opens, and he speaks.
Raw, broken, barely a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
I freeze.
“She knew,” he says, his voice catching, “you wouldn’t come for anyone but me.”
I frown. “What—?”
Realisation hits me like a sledgehammer.
The timing.
The tunnel.
The raven.
My grandmother is inside the castle.
She’s come for the queen. For Evander. She’s come to do what she knew I couldn’t.
Saints and stars, what have I done?
I run. The tunnel slips away behind me, the air sharp in my throat, feet slamming against the stone. I push harder, faster, barely noticing the ache in my legs or the stitch blooming in my side as I hit the courtyard. I have to find Queen Alessandra. I have to find her first.
My mind spins through the possibilities, desperate. If I were her, where would I go?
“Thornvale?” Riverspire steps into my path. “What’s wrong?”
“The Queen!” I rush. “Find the Queen! We’re under attack!”
I don’t stop to explain. How can I? How can I explain that there’s a fey in the castle for the first time in centuries, and I’m the one that let her in?
I don’t wait to see Riverspire’s reaction.
I plunge into the main building, racing down the corridors.
The war room? No—empty. The shrine? No sign of her.
Her private parlour? No. Stars, how I wish I was a bird, too, and could flit through the air like my grandmother.
She could have searched half the castle by now, virtually invisible…
I curse under my breath and take the stairs two at a time, charging through the upper corridors. People glance up in confusion, fear, alarm—I don’t stop. I can’t.
I skid to a halt just outside the east solar, heart hammering, and shove the door open.
There she is.
Alessandra stands near the hearth, speaking with Evander.
“Your Majesty—” I start. “Alessandra—”
She turns sharply. “Wren! What’s wrong? Where’s Cassiel—”
“He’s fine, he’s fine, but you’re not. Your Majesty, fey have breached—”
“Your Majesty, step away from her!”
Captain Fellwood storms in behind me, sword drawn.
And behind him—Cassiel.
I can only imagine how he’d look at me now if he could. My gut curls with guilt nonetheless, his silence speaking more than a battleaxe.
The captain points his blade straight at me. “Move away from Her Majesty.”
Alessandra recoils. “What is the meaning of this, Fellwood? How dare you point your sword at Ser Thornvale?”
“She is not Ser Thornvale,” the captain sneers. “She’s a fey halfblood, sent here to ruin us all.”
My stomach sinks.
“That is quite the claim,” Alessandra replies, voice sharp with warning—but her gaze flicks to Cassiel, as if she’s hoping he’ll deny it. Explain it. Defend me.
Cassiel says nothing.
“I have proof,” the captain presses. “I found Prince Cassiel in his chambers under some awful spell—she left him there completely paralysed by magic.”
Alessandra’s eyes snap back to mine. “Is this true?”
I can’t bring myself to lie.
“Yes,” I breathe. “But—”
“There’s more,” Fellwood interrupts, already pulling something from his belt. He tosses it down before us like a gauntlet.
Cassiel’s totem.
The room stills.
“What is it?” Cassiel asks. “He wouldn’t tell me what it is—”
Evander steps forward, his face pale. “It’s a totem,” he says. “In your likeness. It… it has pins in the eyes.”
Cassiel flinches. His voice comes slow, trembling. “Wren. Tell me it wasn’t you who—”
“It wasn’t!” I say, rushing forward. “I took it from those that did! I was trying to protect you—”
“A likely story,” Fellwood scoffs.
“You…” Alessandra’s voice trembles. “You knew who did this?”
“I was going to tell you.” The words taste hollow, even to me. And the truth was, I was never going to tell Alessandra, because she would never be able to understand.
I’m not sure I understand myself.
“Guards,” Alessandra says coldly, calling for the folk amassing outside the door, “seize Ser Thornvale. Lock her in the dungeons—”
“Your Majesty, please, you aren’t safe—”
Hands fasten around my arms. I mean to resist, but I can’t find the strength, just the awful, desperate need to make her understand.
“It is clear that none of us have been safe for some time now… since we took you into our home.”
“My—”
Before I can explain, before I can scream or beg or warn them—a shadow slashes across the window. It covers Alessandra’s face as she turns towards it—
The glass explodes inwards, and a figure lands in the centre of the room, shifting mid-air from raven to woman in a burst of feathers and smoke. The air turns cold. I shift instinctively, wanting to cover Cassiel. No one else in the room dares. No one else can.
“Unhand my granddaughter,” my grandmother commands, her voice ringing like a spell.
Or a war drum.
“Nubaia,” Alessandra breathes, her voice all horror and awe.
My grandmother raises her hand, calm as ever. “I will not ask again.”
Alessandra makes no move to release me. The guards grip my arms tighter. I stare at my grandmother, wanting to beg her not to do this…
But my grandmother, bound by her word, doesn’t ask again.
Shadows rise from behind her. The walls tremble with magic. Fey pour in through the broken window, shifting as they leap through windows and doors—wolves, crows, foxes, shadowed things.
The guards drop me, drawing their swords. I throw myself in front of Cassiel as a bolt of light rips through the air, shielding him with my body.
Everything breaks apart. The guards go flying. Tables smash against the walls.
Alessandra flees. Everyone splits off in multiple directions. No one seems interested in Cassiel. He’s not the prize today. They leave him be.
I don’t think he even understands what’s happening, or even if it was me who shielded him.
There’s no time to explain. I run after Nubaia—for she is Nubaia today, not my grandmother, but Nubaia, shapeshifter, faerie general—shoving past a wall of smoke, sprinting down the corridor she vanished through.
Her magic still pulses in the air, sharp and bright and unmistakable.
She’s going after the queen.
And I have to stop her.