CHAPTER 4 Wren
Wren
‘The slow boil heats a crucible just as surely as the rapid one. Both waters reach the same deadly temperature; one simply allows an alchemist to mistake gradual inevitability for safety’
– Toxic Tales: Chronicles of Lethal Elixirs
WREN AND THE Devereux company left the academy by carriage in the night, well after Wilder and Torj had departed under Audra’s orders.
It was for the best. It had taken over a decade, but Wren now understood that she couldn’t help herself when it came to the Bear Slayer – and so, with Lord Lucian watching her like a hawk, removing herself from the situation was the only option.
One slip-up and she’d condemn Torj to death.
One mistake and there would be no army at her back to defend Delmira.
Wren would maintain the ruse for as long as she could, to buy them all time.
She glanced at the travel case by her feet.
Dessa had equipped her with ample supplies of Torj’s blood, the cure she’d used on Queen Reyna and a generous store of silvertide roses wrapped in silkspore.
Her notebook was open in her lap, a mess of scribbled calculations and variables, along with a list of agricultural experts to write to.
As the carriage rattled over the uneven road, she could feel Lucian’s disdain from where he sat opposite her, wrinkling his nose at the ink smudges on her fingers.
She would have to keep her experiments hidden from her noble company, but no one was going to keep her from her work, not even a fucking Devereux.
Their carriages drew to an abrupt halt the following nightfall at the first bannerman’s manor.
It was an imposing building, with several groundskeepers still at work in the sprawling gardens and a dozen servants lined up at the sweeping staircase to receive them.
Wren knew little about their hosts, only that they had been loyal to House Devereux for over a century and had contributed men on several occasions where local confrontations called for it.
‘Welcome to the Briar estate,’ Darian told her, exiting the carriage and offering her his hand.
‘Briar?’ she echoed with a frown, accepting his help. The prickling of her nape told her people were watching, so she quickly schooled her face into a more neutral expression. She didn’t have the energy to bat her lashes at her supposed fiancé, though.
Darian didn’t seem to notice. ‘They’re a noble house from Harenth, though they have estates all over the midrealms.’
Harenth. A bitter taste spread across Wren’s tongue as she recalled the ring bearing the Briar family sigil in her box of keepsakes back at Drevenor, souvenirs from a job well done.
Wren once again took in the sight of the stately manor.
Climbing roses sprawled across intricate latticework while frescoes and mosaic tiles adorned the outer walls, leading to beautiful arches embellished with filigree detailing.
‘And they’re your bannermen?’ she asked.
‘Who is the head of the house? I need to be able to formally greet our gracious hosts, don’t I? ’
‘Hamond Briar and his wife, Agnes,’ Darian told her. ‘He took over the estates and the relationship with the Devereux name after his brother passed away a few years ago.’
Briar. One of the many names on her ledger. One of the many she had struck from its pages.
‘I look forwards to meeting them,’ Wren replied, allowing Darian to usher her towards the entrance.
‘Agnes loves to host,’ he said. ‘And loves to plan a wedding even more. I expect she’ll want to give her input before the night is over.’
Wren was shown to lavish guest quarters to freshen up before a formal engagement dinner to be hosted in their honour.
Thankfully, the nobility could be counted on for their numerous rooms and their preference to separate unmarried men and women.
Thea went in first and did the usual security sweep, the action causing Wren’s heart to ache, her hand drifting to the dagger at her belt as memories of Torj surged forth.
‘You’re invading my privacy,’ she hissed. ‘You have no right to go through my things, to—’
‘No right?’ He rounded on her, halting his sweep of the bathing room. ‘I have every damn right. I vowed to protect you, and that’s exactly what I’m doing . . .’
‘Ridiculous doesn’t even cover it! You’re rifling through my things! You’re attacking random men in the corridor—’
Torj crossed the room in seconds. ‘He wasn’t a man.’
Wren glared up at him. ‘No? You’re suddenly an expert?’
Torj laughed darkly. ‘If you need a comparison between a boy and a man, I can definitely help with that . . .’
‘Looks like your future husband thinks of everything,’ Thea said stiffly, snatching Wren from her train of thought.
She blinked, the word husband echoing in her mind. ‘What?’
Thea pointed to a garment bag hanging on the wardrobe door. Shimmering blue fabric spilled out from where it had been opened.
‘Furies save me,’ Wren cursed quietly. ‘No wonder the common folk are angry. Once more we’re on the brink of war, and all the nobility can think to do is throw a fucking party?’
Thea sighed. ‘It was always this way.’
‘Then you’d think we would have learned something by now,’ Wren quipped, reaching for the buckle of her potion belt. While she got dressed, Thea went to the elaborate drinks cart by the window overlooking the grounds below and poured them both a glass of something clear.
She tapped her drink against Wren’s. ‘Perhaps you’ll be the one to break the cycle.’
Wren said nothing. Instead, she tipped the liquor back, nearly choking at the searing burn down her throat. ‘Gods,’ she spluttered, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth as her eyes watered. ‘That’s like something out of the poisons dungeon.’
Thea winced. ‘And I thought fire extract was bad . . .’
Wren had come to appreciate the harsh taste of the amber liquid in the years after the war – a far cry from her first experience, when she’d spat a mouthful all over Ida – but the stuff from the drinks cart was lethal.
Still, she couldn’t help thinking of her friends, for a moment imagining them here with her and Thea like they had been for so many years before.
‘What would they think of me now?’ she asked quietly, as Thea laced up the back of her dress.
‘Who?’
‘Sam and Ida . . .’ Wren sucked in a breath as the corset tightened around her midsection. ‘Do you think they would have laughed at the idea of me being a queen of the midrealms?’
‘I think they would have been a damn sight more useful with these fucking laces,’ Thea gritted out as she nearly broke Wren’s ribs with her ministrations.
‘I won’t argue that,’ Wren wheezed.
‘But no, they wouldn’t have laughed,’ Thea replied. ‘They would have been proud. They would have found a place in your court and never left your side.’
Tears stung Wren’s eyes. ‘You really think that?’
‘I do.’ Thea squeezed her shoulder. ‘Now let’s get you to the—’
‘Wait,’ Wren interrupted, reaching for her belt.
She popped a vial down her cleavage as she usually did, but then took her dagger as well.
She felt Thea’s eyes on her as she treated the blade with a coating of poison before returning it to its sheath and securing it around her thigh beneath her skirts.
Torj’s warm words came back to her, soothing her like a balm over a wound.
‘Have you ever heard of the warrior’s second? It’s the intake of breath before the slice of a blade, or the swing of a hammer . . . The warrior’s second is where we make our actions count, make them worthy of legend . . .’
‘Ready?’ Thea prompted from the door.
Wren glanced longingly at the travel case that contained her alchemy tools and her work on the cure, desperate to plant herself at a desk and start.
Instead, she scooped up a bundle of envelopes from her belongings and pushed them into Thea’s hands.
‘Can you make sure these are sent? The addresses are all there.’
‘Who are they for?’ her sister asked, brow furrowed as she skimmed the names. ‘More Master Alchemists?’
Wren shook her head. ‘No, they’re letters to renowned rosarians.’
Thea gave her a blank look.
‘Rosarians,’ Wren repeated. ‘Experts on roses – people from all over the midrealms and beyond who have a reputation in caring for and cultivating them.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’ Thea pocketed the squares of parchment. ‘Now, are you ready?’
Wren lifted her chin and nodded. ‘As I’ll ever be.’
Lord Darian Devereux was waiting for her just outside her chambers, offering his arm. ‘You look breathtaking, love.’
‘Thank you,’ Wren replied stiffly as he led her down the corridor.
‘And I look rather handsome, wouldn’t you say?’ he added, a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
‘Dashing,’ Wren added blandly. ‘How long until we can talk numbers with the new Lord Briar? I want to be back at Drevenor as soon as possible.’
‘There are formalities to respect here, Elwren. And from what I hear, there have been issues with the supply lines to various allied forces in the midrealms. My father and his bannermen will want to discuss solutions as well.’
‘Over sparkling wine and roasted game?’
‘Is there any other way?’ Darian quipped as they descended the stairs, Thea close behind.
Lord and Lady Briar had indeed hosted an extravagant affair in their honour.
The tables were adorned with silk linens and embroidered runners, silverware with pearl handles and tiered displays of delicious delicacies.
Musicians played in a corner of the large space, the light melodic notes drifting through air thick with perfume.
Men and women circled the hall: courtiers, diplomats, nobles, all with spiced wines in hand, jewels glimmering on their fingers, faces polished and powdered.
Wren had never thought she’d miss Thezmarr again, but here she was, yearning for the mud of the Bloodwoods and the constant shouting of the shieldbearer training drills from the yard.