CHAPTER 67 Wren
CHAPTER 67
Wren
‘From poisoned fog to the fury of arcane explosive devices, a battlefield can become a canvas upon which the alchemist paints their masterpiece of devastation’
– Alchemy Unbound
D AYS LATER, W REN was still reeling from that hint of foreign magic. As far as she knew, the rulers of Aveum, Tver, and Harenth were all a thousand leagues or more from Drevenor, as were any magic-blooded relatives they might have. Had she imagined it? Had it been her own power after all?
Not even the ongoing success of her private experiments could tear her mind away from the strange sensation that had crept over her. By nightfall on the third day since, she still hadn’t let it go, and so, with Cal on her heels, she went to see Farissa.
Leaving Cal outside to guard the door, Wren entered her former mentor’s chambers. They were almost as messy as hers, with every surface covered in books and potions and instruments. Wren distantly wondered if she’d learned her chaotic habits from the Master Alchemist herself.
Farissa was seated beneath the window, scribbling on a piece of parchment with a feathered quill. ‘What is it, Elwren?’
Their relationship had been fraught since the war, and Wren still hadn’t forgiven Farissa for interfering with her Drevenor applications for all these years. And yet...the Master Alchemist had known her since she was an infant. It had been Farissa whom Wren had confided in long before the rest about her heritage, her storm magic...
‘Elwren?’ Farissa prompted, brows knitting together in concern.
‘Something happened,’ Wren replied, approaching the desk and shifting a pile of books to the floor so she could sit. As soon as she did, the words came tumbling out, explaining what had happened in the dining hall. She finished, ‘I could have sworn...’
‘Sworn what?’
Wren rubbed her temples. ‘That I felt the presence of royal magic.’
Farissa stared at her.
‘It’s ridiculous, I know. Queen Reyna is in Aveum, King Leiko in Tver, and Queen Regent Liora in Harenth...You said Thea is somewhere else, and Anya is dead. None of the royals have children wandering about the academy, I’m assuming?’
‘You assume correctly. None of the rulers have been blessed with heirs yet – it’s a point of contention throughout the midrealms. But the shadow war left its scars upon everyone.’
‘So there are no other royal-blooded folk in existence?’ Wren pressed.
Farissa shrugged. ‘Can we be certain? No, of course not. It was only before the war that we discovered you and your sisters. But is it likely that if such a person exists, they were in the dining hall of Drevenor Academy with you? I think not.’
‘I know it’s not likely ,’ Wren replied between gritted teeth. ‘What do you suggest, then?’
Farissa sighed, looking suddenly weary. ‘I suggest you put it from your mind and focus on the upcoming Gauntlet.’
‘That’s it?’
‘You said so yourself: you might have imagined it.’
‘But...’
‘Elwren. With or without the accolades of being a student here, you have been an alchemist your whole life. The Gauntlet will determine how far you go in that endeavour. Do not stray from the path now.’
‘I’m—’
‘Go and find your teammates. It is their help you need; it is in them you must trust.’
Wren stared at Farissa, unsure if she was looking at the same alchemist who had practically raised her all those years.
Only when Wren reached the door did her former mentor speak again. ‘Knowledge is the victor over fate,’ she said. ‘The mind is a blade.’
Begrudgingly, Wren took Farissa’s advice and met with Zavier and Dessa in the archives. The trio sat in one of the private study rooms, dozens of books splayed out before them as they tried to find accounts of the previous Gauntlets.
Zavier sat with a scowl on his face as he massaged his temples, while Dessa held her head in her hands, looking bleary-eyed. ‘We’re not going to find anything,’ she said for the third time.
‘Not if you keep complaining as opposed to reading,’ Zavier muttered.
‘We’ve been at it for hours,’ Dessa moaned.
‘She’s right.’ Wren leaned back in her chair. ‘Anything worth our while would be in the masters’ section. We know that.’
‘Then why didn’t you use your connections to gain access?’ Zavier retorted.
‘My connections?’ Wren laughed. ‘What are you talking about?’
Zavier started counting on his fingers. ‘You know all the Warswords personally. You know all the rulers. You’re a fucking heir of Delmira – surely there are strings you could pull? Not to mention, you used to be the apprentice of Farissa Tremaine herself. You can be damn sure the other teams will be leveraging anything they’ve got for an advantage. Why aren’t we?’
Wren frowned. ‘Is that how you want to win?’
‘Winning is winning,’ Zavier said. ‘Doing whatever it takes to pass the Gauntlet is winning.’ As he spoke, Wren noticed the unkemptness of his sable hair, the dark circles beneath his eyes.
‘I want to win as much as you,’ she told him. ‘But you’re tired...’
‘We’re all fucking tired, Wren,’ he sighed. ‘So why—’
Ever the peacekeeper, Dessa put her hands up. ‘Zavier, please...’
But Wren pinned him with a hard stare. ‘Why aren’t I using my “connections”?’ She gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Warswords know fuck all about alchemy. Until recently, most wouldn’t have been aware of this academy’s existence. The rulers? What do you expect them to do, write me a fucking note? And Farissa? Farissa and I haven’t been on good terms since the war. She was the one who kept me from attending Drevenor for the last five years. So no, I don’t have any fucking connections to leverage. What about you? What are you bringing to the table?’
Zavier stared at her for a moment before a broken chuckle escaped him. ‘Jeez, Wren, why didn’t you just say so?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re a pain in my arse, Zavier.’
‘The feeling’s mutual,’ he replied, though there was no bite to his words. He rubbed his temples again. ‘You’re right. We’re tired. Let’s call it a day and start fresh tomorrow.’
‘Thank the Furies,’ Dessa said, already on her feet.
‘You two go ahead. I’m going to stay a while,’ Wren told them.
Zavier gathered his books. ‘Suit yourself.’
When her teammates had left, Wren told Cal, who was waiting outside the private room, that she wanted to peruse the shelves, and he followed her dutifully.
Nothing could dull the awe Wren felt every time she wandered the archives. The sheer volume of books, the history, the smell of parchment and leather...The small room at Thezmarr full of military histories was nothing in comparison. She forgot about Cal trailing after her and immersed herself in the rows and rows of titles, imagining the alchemist she might have been with resources like these at her fingertips from the very beginning. Perhaps she would not have become the Poisoner, but something else entirely.
A tome with a red spine caught her eye on a higher shelf, just out of reach. She strained on her tip-toes to reach it – only for a large hand to stretch above hers and pull the book from its place.
‘Is this what you wanted?’ a familiar husky voice said.