Chapter 16 Wren
Long after Cassiel goes to bed, I lie awake in my narrow cot. The cramps have faded into a mere wisp of an ache—whatever was in that potion worked fast. I try not to think about how potent it was, or how quickly he managed to find it.
I’m trying not to think about a lot of things, actually—like how nice it was to be surrounded by his family, how welcoming they were, how easily they’d let me in.
Or how soft my name sounded on his lips.
In the whole of the Moonhollow, there are only three people who’ve ever shown me real affection: Zephyr, my grandmother, and Moira.
And even with the last two, it can be a prickly, cautious thing.
It’s not cruelty that keeps the others at arm’s length—it’s their inability to lie, and my ease with it.
They can’t say ‘it’s good to meet you’ when it isn’t.
They can’t say ‘I’m sorry’ when they aren’t.
They can’t tell me things will be all right.
But I can say whatever I want.
“How can we trust anything you say?” my aunt asked me once. It wasn’t even malicious. It was a genuine question. She did not know of any way she could trust me.
I’d cried from the sheer unfairness of it. Just because I can lie, doesn’t mean I always do.
The children in the village weren’t much better.
My heritage was meant to be a secret, and most folk wouldn’t turn in a fey—especially not a child and one whose ancestry couldn’t be proven—but there were rumours, of course.
Despite my ability to lie and withstand iron, I was always a little strange.
They laughed at the way I’d stand barefoot in the soil…
and they feared the way fires burned hotter when I was near.
They were right to fear me, in the end. But that didn’t stop it from hurting. It didn’t stop the heartbreak of dreaming I might one day be embraced by the fey, only to be feared by them too.
The fear softened with time, but the chill in their gazes never did.
I expected things to be the same here—especially when I first met Cassiel. I thought the nobles would be cold, and the servants distant. I was used to disappointment.
I wasn’t prepared for… whatever this is.
Why did you ask him to call you Wren?
Because it was nice, hearing my name again. I have no connection to Thornvale, and, in any case, I was told to befriend him if I could.
But that’s not why I asked. I know that, and as much as Cassiel is meant to trust me, I’m not supposed to trust him.
Especially if—
No. This isn’t working. I can’t go on like this, not knowing what my grandmother expects. Not knowing if I’ll be asked to take his life. It’s already hard enough imagining it. Harder, still, to imagine hurting him at all.
I get out of bed and find a scrap of parchment. My writing comes fast, sharp.
I need to know—am I going to have to kill Prince Cassiel?
I roll up the parchment, sealing it with a flick of magic and a few choice runes.
There’s a soft tug as I pull on the elements.
There’s a decent wind to channel tonight.
A ward wraps around it, the paper weatherproof, tamper-proof, keyed to the addressee alone.
I open the window, summon a raven from the rooftop with a whisper.
He lands softly on my hand. I tie the message to his leg, murmur another spell into his feathers, and send him into the night.
A reply arrives before morning.
I have no immediate plans for Prince Cassiel’s death. Much as I do not care if he lives or dies, I am assuming, at this point, that I will likely not need to order you to take his life. Stay close to him, little bird, and stay alert.
It’s a faerie answer, if ever there was one. But I smile anyway as I settle back down in my cot.
Maybe this job won’t be so terrible after all.
I wake to someone poking me in the arm.
“I think this is the first time I’ve ever woken up before you,” Cassiel says. “Are you still alive?”
I groan and shove my head under the pillow. The cramps are back in earnest, gripping low and mean. “What time is it?”
“You realise who you’re asking, right?”
I retreat further into my little pillow nest.
“Dain hasn’t knocked to say he’s off duty yet, so I suppose you’re allowed to wallow a bit longer, but still… are you all right?”
“I promise you, I am perfectly capable of apprehending any assassins that might seek to harm you… but I really, really don’t want to today.”
He disappears for a moment and returns, pressing a vial into my hand and offering a cup of water. I grumble my thanks, sit up, and promptly spill half of it down my front.
“Shit.”
“What happened?” he asks.
“I just spilled half the water.”
“Don’t worry,” Cassiel says, “I didn’t see anything.”
I snort.
“You all right now? Don’t need me to rub your belly—”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. Just give me a moment. And possibly a nicer pillow. These are awful.”
He heads to his own bed and grabs a cushion. I snatch it from his hands and curl around it, ignoring how it smells like him.
It is not unpleasant.
Okay, maybe I’m not ignoring it.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“You’re welcome,” Cassiel murmurs, still hovering nearby. “To be honest, it’s quite nice to be useful for a change.”
He turns to leave, but I squirm out of the nest and catch his sleeve. He stops, stunned, and I stare up at him, surprised by my own actions.
Let go, says a small, wise voice that I really ought to listen to. Pretend it was an accident. Say it’s nothing. Open your mouth, Wren. Brush this off—
“Cassiel?” My voice is soft and gentle and hardly feels like my own.
“Hmm?”
“You don’t have to be useful to be worthwhile.”
He gives me a smile, small and tired. “I know,” he says. “But it does help.”