Chapter Seven Wren
Chapter Seven
Wren
Each gift is specifically curated for its owner. The gift grants their greatest wishes.
—Aurilian History of Magical Objects, Chapter Two
The thicket had done well to cover me in scratches and thoroughly ruin my dress. It was nothing but tatters now, and it didn’t help my overall appearance that dirt caked my face.
It seemed I had a tendency as of late to destroy perfectly fine dresses and wear dirt as others wore expensive rouge.
Alarm bells rang from all sides as I fought the branches, scrambling to reach the wall. I lacked a plan for after I reached it, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. Obviously.
They could very well believe I had something to do with all that blood.
Was Dusk missing? Hurt? Dead? Was I the main suspect?
I’d just been sent to her domain, and the guards had my full name, so it wouldn’t be a stretch to make assumptions.
Selfish of me to think of myself instead of Dusk; my mind raced on its own accord, images of a prison moving through my sight faster than bolts of lightning.
The parchment I’d snatched in those last frantic moments peeked out from my neckline, the coarse paper reminding me of its sharp edges with each step. I desperately wanted to reach inside, unfold it, and read its words, but time felt precious, and the forest I wandered through was dim.
It bore my initials. Like Dusk had been expecting me. Or it could stand for something else entirely. The immortal might’ve simply been writing to someone with the same initials.
Then why had I felt the all-consuming need to take it?
I cursed, using my favorite word, which pissed Mother off no end. A lady shouldn’t speak in such coarse language, she would gasp, and I’d cover my smile with the back of my hand. Didn’t she get it yet? I had no plans to be one of the ladies she knew. I had my own idea in mind—to leave Andalay.
My foot slipped beneath a root, sending me flying forward with an oof. I screeched as I went down. Hard. My hands flew to protect my face, but I already felt the sting of something prickly pressing into my cheek. I angled my chin upward.
The parchment rolled out during my fall, now inches from my grasp.
Damn it.
If I was going to be hunted by soldiers and likely hauled away for questioning, I might as well take a second to pry.
Still on the ground, covered in filth and mud, I extended my arm and snatched the note.
Dirt smudged the fine paper as I carefully unfolded the letter, my touch gentle even if it no longer mattered that it had been ruined. Dusk had touched this. In my heart, it felt sacred.
I sucked in a gasp and squinted down at the page.
Little bird,
Some gifts are crafted with an abundance of magic. Others, very little. The gift you were meant to receive is composed of my own magic. Dangerous magic I originally had no intention to give.
There are two roads. Two outcomes.
Black and blue. Blue and black. Two sides of the same cursed coin.
One ends in cruel bliss, the other, with a destiny fulfilled.
Black and blue. What color will you choose?
Robbed of your right, find one cunning and deceptive enough to secure it once more. A dark soul with green hopes. I’ve chosen well, already placed you in their path. Another, an ocean carrying the brutal truth.
Choose, little bird, or life will choose for you.
Destroy this as soon as you’re done reading.
The bottom of the page lacked a signature, but Dusk had written this. To me. My father and mother had called me little bird since childhood because they claimed I was forever on the verge of flitting away, never able to sit still or cease daydreaming.
That last line, Destroy this as soon as you’re done reading, weighed on my chest, an uneasy sensation crawling up my spine. She clearly had meant for this note to be seen by my eyes alone.
Which, again, made absolutely no sense, given who I was.
I panted, a mess on the ground, my face smeared with Fates knew what.
The letter’s warning, of dangerous magic and cruel bliss, of finding the person they’d placed in my path—someone who could help me retrieve what had been stolen.
It made my head spin, an abundance of questions zipping across my mind without anyone to answer them.
Swallowing thickly, I shut my eyes, trying to center myself like my sister had taught me. Three big breaths, she’d say in that gentle voice of hers. Nice and slow, that’s it.
Thinking of Callie made me wish she were here with me now. She’d know what to do. She was the brave sister. The one who’d made the monsters go away when we were little and I crawled into her bed at night.
Still, Dusk’s demand haunted me, pressing me to locate the gift. Until then, I’d be unable to settle.
A dark soul with green hopes. I’ve chosen well, already placed you in their path.
A face popped into my head, but it couldn’t be right.
Recalling Dusk’s instructions, I reread the letter one more time before I took it in my hands and ripped it down the center.
Then I ripped it again. I shredded the paper until my fingers burned and not a single piece remained larger than a square inch.
Shoving the remains beneath the soil, I buried them, hoping the earth would swallow up the evidence.
Dusk hadn’t wished for anyone to read her letter. Just me.
A selfish thrill zipped through me.
“I do have a gift,” I murmured to myself, easing up. Dirt slipped from my skirts, my arms caked in speckles of it. My body itched and the small cuts from my race through the trees stung, but I didn’t care. “So where is it?”
I’d secretly feared it had been my own incompetence that prevented me from receiving a gift from the Fates, but something else, something—or someone—had gotten in the way. Had stolen my gift before I’d had a chance to claim it. Dusk decreed it powerful, and it had to be. It was created by her.
Elation mixed with my dread, my stomach nothing more than a twisting chaos of knots and tangled feelings.
My gut screamed at me to move, to hunt down the person Dusk mentioned. I would require someone cunning and cruel. Dangerous and deceitful. A person with a dark soul to find my gift.
And I couldn’t banish the face that continued to linger in my head like an unwanted guest.
Shouts rent the air, the guards closing in.
There’d be no escape. What I could control, however, was going to them.
Making it seem like I’d been just as much a victim as Dusk.
It was the truth, after all. While I never should have run—as it made me appear guilty—the past couldn’t be undone.
Ruminating over it now, I could’ve laughed at myself for believing that I of all people had the prowess to scale that imposing palace wall.
Hell, I couldn’t even scale the Lovetts’ fence.
With a sigh, I tilted my chin and turned in the direction of the shouting. On shaking limbs, I trudged through the woods, aiming for the guards, who’d likely arrest me.
Sometimes to win the game one had to surrender first. Father had told me that.
With the walls and forest surrounding me, the only way out of this was through.
“Help!” I called out, making my voice as frail as possible. Not a challenging task given the circumstances. “Please, somebody, help!”
I waited where I stood, tapping my foot impatiently. Not especially keen on being arrested, I desired to get the whole embarrassing debacle over with as soon as humanly possible. Father would hear about this and run to my aid, fervent to avoid further scandal.
Everything will be all right.
Ha. As if I truly believed that.
When the first soldier burst through the branches I allowed thick tears to slip free; a devious little trick I’d used several times to get what I wanted as a child.
“Help,” I rasped again, secretly thinking that Mother would be proud of my acting.
I looked like nothing but a helpless, lost noblewoman. An inconvenience, if anything.
The soldier reached me just as three more came barreling into the space. Their hulking frames fenced me in on all sides like a cage crafted of muscle.
Before they grabbed me, I fluttered my lashes theatrically and rolled my eyes back. This one is for you, Mother. I forced myself to fall, my eyelids closing as if I’d fainted.
I wished I had. The ground was not kind to my limbs.
The men weren’t gentle when they hauled me up and into their arms. They weren’t gentle when they carried me back toward the palace exit, and they certainly didn’t think of my well-being when they threw me into a waiting carriage.
I landed roughly on the floor, my cheek pressed against a thin carpet.
It smelled of the inside of shoes and other things I didn’t want to think about.
I peeked open an eye some minutes later, finding the window above my head. I ground my teeth. We were headed to a brick building I’d passed by hundreds of times without worry.
The main guard station neared—or in other words, the place where they kept the criminals waiting to be interrogated or processed for the mines.
I closed my eyes before a real tear could fall.