Chapter 9 Wren
After dinner, Wren followed Rose back to her bedroom, where her sister slumped on to the end of her bed and kicked off her shoes.
‘That odious prince,’ Rose huffed. Her hands flew to her temples, massaging the ache there. ‘For such fine food, I’ve never enjoyed a dinner less.’
‘I’m only sorry I missed the grand serenade earlier,’ said Wren. Indeed, she had spent the day preparing for her imminent trip to Sharkfin Point, sending word to Celeste’s brother Marino, the dauntless captain of the Siren’s Secret, to be ready for her, and secretly arranging for a carriage to take her to Wishbone Bay this very night. Her satchel was packed and ready. Now all she had to do was tell her sister.
Rose’s hand shot out. ‘Help me soothe this awful headache,’ she said, reaching for Wren’s hand.
Wren stiffened. ‘I can’t.’
Rose frowned. ‘What’s got into you?’
‘You know my healing strand is poor.’
‘It’s just a headache,’ she said, impatiently. ‘Can’t you at least try?’
‘I’m too tired,’ said Wren, a bolt of panic running through her. This was not the way she wished for Rose to find out she had no healing strand. ‘Prince Caro drove me to exhaustion.’
Rose did not relent. ‘Why are you being so difficult?’ she said, coming to her feet. ‘Even at dinner tonight. You were so distracted, so … so disagreeable.’
Wren recoiled, hating how the words wounded her. Only because they were the truth. ‘Maybe I have other things to think about,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t have time to swan around all day, obsessing about being queenly or whatever it is you spend all of your time thinking of.’
Rose bristled at the barb, and Wren regretted it at once.
‘I do not think about being queenly. I am queenly,’ Rose shot back. ‘And at least I care about Eana! These days, I feel as if I have to drag you everywhere against your will. I don’t know what you care about any more, Wren. You’re too selfish to even bother healing your own sister.’
Something inside Wren crumpled.
Rose stilled at the pain in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, quickly. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
Wren tried to blink away her tears, but her eyes were welling up, and so, too, was another more terrible truth. ‘I’m sorry, Rose. I want to help,’ she confessed, in a small voice. ‘But … I can’t. My healing strand is broken. There’s something wrong with me.’
Rose came towards her, her face tight with worry. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘This.’ With little ceremony, Wren rolled up the sleeve of her gown, revealing the angry silver scar that had been haunting her for weeks now. ‘It’s hurting me, Rose. It’s hurting my magic.’
A gasp stuck in Rose’s throat. ‘Stars,’ she muttered, looking more closely at the mark. ‘How did I miss this?’
‘I’ve been hiding it from you,’ Wren admitted.
Rose jerked her head up. ‘Why would you do that?’ she said, a bite of anger in her voice.
‘Because of the way you’re looking at me right now.’
Rose glared at her sister, fear and betrayal warring in her eyes. ‘How exactly am I looking at you?’ she said, crisply.
Wren pulled her arm back. ‘Like I’m Oonagh Starcrest.’
There was a beat of silence. Of more bitter truth.
Then Rose shook it off. ‘Show me the scar again,’ she said, reaching for her wrist.
Wren flinched as she traced the jagged mark with the pad of her thumb.
‘I can’t believe you hid this from me for three months. Goodness, Wren. What were you thinking?’
‘It’s barely noticeable.’
Rose’s nostrils flared. ‘You clearly didn’t want me to scold you.’
‘That may have been part of it,’ Wren admitted. ‘I thought if I ignored it, it might go away.’
Rose lowered her voice. ‘What happened in Gevra – with Ansel, with that blood spell – it wounded you.’ She returned her gaze to the scar, her frown deepening. ‘We have to fix this.’
‘You mean fix me,’ muttered Wren. She couldn’t help the sour taste – the sour feeling – in her heart. All she had ever done was try to help Prince Ansel and rescue Banba, but the blood spell she had performed with King Alarik had twisted something inside her. Not only had she accidentally woken Oonagh Starcrest, but she had woken something inside herself, too. A dark and angry creature that refused to go back to sleep.
Every time the pain in Wren’s scar flared, she was reminded of her mistake. Her own searing stupidity. And worse still, it had all been for nothing. Prince Ansel was dead and so was Banba. Wren’s grandmother had never made it out of the Fovarr Mountains. Instead, it was Oonagh who’d escaped.
She blinked again, determined not to cry. ‘What if I can’t be fixed, Rose?’ she said, voicing her deepest fear aloud for the first time.
Rose’s voice softened, the dent between her brows disappearing. ‘Hush now,’ she said gently. ‘Let me try to heal the wound.’
She laid her hand on Wren’s scar, her fingers circling her wrist. She closed her eyes, and a dent appeared between her brows. Wren closed her eyes, too. Her wrist began to tingle. She could feel Rose’s magic brushing against her own, like a breath of warm wind. Searching, careful.
‘Hmm,’ said Rose, after a moment. ‘It’s not a flesh wound. It feels … deeper than that …’
Wren felt a strange pressure. Rose was beginning to prod, making her magic go deeper. Under the surface of Wren’s skin. Under blood and bone. And still she prodded.
The pain in Wren’s wrist flared. ‘Rose.’
‘I can see your magic,’ Rose murmured. ‘There’s something wrong … something …’
The pain flared again, only it was worse now. Wren’s breath grew shallow in her chest and her head began to spin. Something inside her was bucking, trying to push Rose away, but Rose held her wrist in a vice-like grip, refusing to let go.
Wren slumped to the floor, pulling Rose with her. The pain was becoming unbearable. Rose’s magic had burrowed deep inside her. Now it felt as if it was plucking at the strings of her soul, trying to find the broken one.
‘Stop,’ Wren begged.
Rose’s breathing grew laboured, and she began to sway. ‘I almost have it …’ She gasped suddenly, her grip tightening. ‘There.’
Wren lurched. A blinding heat tore through her body, wrenching a scream from her.
‘No!’ cried Rose.
Wren snapped her eyes open.
Rose’s mouth slackened in horror as she watched a plume of smoke seep from the scar on Wren’s wrist. ‘It’s poison,’ she gasped, as tears streamed down her face. ‘I have to get it out.’
Words had deserted Wren. She could only watch in utter dread as the smoke twisted between them, growing thicker, darker. She heard Oonagh’s terrible laugh in her head.
Rose whimpered, and Wren knew she could hear it, too.
The smoke kept rising. She could feel it swelling between her ribcage now, pushing her breath from her lungs. There was too much poisoned magic to extract. Too much to heal. It was already hurting Rose. She was trembling on the floor. Her lids were heavy, her breathing, too. ‘I c-can’t. I … I …’
‘Stop,’ Wren managed to grit out. ‘Let go.’
Rose’s hand fell away as she lost consciousness. She collapsed, her head falling against Wren’s shoulder. Without the pull of her healing magic, the smoke had nowhere to go. It hissed as it rushed back inside Wren.
The pain tore another strangled scream from Wren. She felt as if someone was stabbing her with a white-hot poker, skewering the deepest, darkest part of her soul. And then everything went black, a familiar darkness crowding in on her and whisking her far, far away.
This time, she welcomed it.
Wren blinked to find herself in a cold cavernous room. It echoed with growling beasts. All around her, huge white pillars climbed towards a domed ceiling. The hall was dark and full of shadows, but she knew where she was. She had been here before. Grinstad Palace.
She saw the empty throne sitting high on the dais before she spotted the king on his knees in front of it. Alarik was slumped against the marble steps, fisting his hair in his hands.
Wren heard him cry out.
She ran for the dais but with every step she got further away. The throne room grew bigger and wider, the king’s scream echoing from every alcove. The floor cracked at Wren’s feet, a chasm opening beneath her. She fell before she could jump, spiralling down, down, down into a pit of choking dark smoke.
‘WREN! WAKE UP!’
Wren gasped herself awake to find Rose’s tear-stained face inches from her own. ‘You passed out.’ Rose’s eyes were glassy, her bottom lip trembling. ‘We both did.’
There was a sharp knock at her bedroom door, but Rose shouted back, sending the guards who had come to check on them away.
‘That awful smoke … there was so much of it …’ she said, dropping her voice. ‘I was scared of it. My magic was scared of it. I couldn’t do it … I wasn’t strong enough …’
Wren swallowed against the scorched dryness of her throat. ‘What did you see when you passed out?’
‘Just … nothingness.’ Rose frowned, her voice turning cautious. ‘Why?’
‘Because I saw something. Someone.’ Wren sat up and laid her head back against the wall, coming at last to the point of her visit. ‘Promise you won’t be angry at me …’
‘I’ll promise nothing of the sort,’ said Rose at once. ‘Now do go on.’
And Wren did, confiding in her sister about the king of Gevra and her strange visions. ‘I need answers about what’s going on with me,’ she said, then.
‘We certainly do,’ Rose murmured.
Wren blew out a breath. ‘So, I’m going to Sharkfin Point. To see King Alarik.’
Rose snapped her chin up. ‘What? When?’
‘Tonight.’ At her sister’s look of abject horror, Wren added, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be quick. And careful.’
Rose huffed a mirthless laugh. ‘You don’t know the meaning of careful. And for that matter, neither does Alarik Felsing.’
Wren was silent, then. Her sister was right.
There was nothing careful about Alarik Felsing.
A short while later, they embraced in the courtyard under the midnight moon, Rose stiffening as Wren threw her arms around her.
‘Please don’t be like this,’ said Wren, only squeezing her harder. ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’
‘It just feels all too familiar.’ Rose’s eyes prickled as she traced the streak of silver in her sister’s hair. ‘The last time you took to the Sunless Sea, I almost lost you.’
‘It’s different this time. I’m only going as far as Sharkfin Point.’
Rose wriggled out of Wren’s grasp. ‘I just don’t understand why you think someone like Alarik Felsing will have answers for you.’
‘Neither do I,’ confessed Wren. But the king of Gevra had fallen into her dreams for a reason and she intended to find out why. ‘At least you won’t be bored without me,’ she went on, at Rose’s scowling face. ‘You’ll have the charming Caro prince to keep you company.’
‘That is not funny.’
Wren chuckled. ‘That poor wretch is probably already in love with you.’
Rose smirked a little at the compliment. ‘All these proposals are frankly exhausting.’
‘If only I could relate.’
‘You’d better not.’ Rose raised a warning finger.
They embraced again.
This time, Rose hugged her back. ‘Be safe, Wren.’
‘You too, Rose.’
It was almost dawn when Wren arrived at the Siren’s Secret, one of the sleekest merchant vessels in all of Eana. She had travelled undercover to Wishbone Bay, in an unadorned wooden carriage, escorted by four royal soldiers dressed in plain clothing. She wore dark trousers and a loose-fitting shirt under a grey spun cloak with a large hood to cover her face. She pulled it tightly around her as she made her way across the gangway.
Captain Marino Pegasi was waiting for her on deck, his smile as wide and bright as ever. His dark curly hair was slightly longer now, and his jaw was lightly stubbled. He was dressed impeccably, in a magnificent sapphire frockcoat with gold buttons, black fitted trousers and matching laced boots. His black hat was trimmed in gold threading, mirroring the ornate handle of the sword at his hip. The sword had been a recent gift from Wren, to thank him for getting her safely home from Gevra some months before.
Since then, Marino had visited the palace several times as a favoured guest of the queens.
‘Welcome back to the roiling seas, Your Majesty,’ he said now, splaying his arms in welcome. ‘I trust you remember your way around my humble ship.’
‘This fancy ship is about as humble as you are, Marino,’ said Wren, taking his arm as they walked along the deck. ‘Although it is nice not to be a stowaway this time.’
The crew of the Siren’s Secret scurried around them like dutiful mice, preparing to set sail. Before long, they were pulling away from the dock. The bay turned amber and gold, reflecting the rising sun as they made for the open sea. The morning breeze was warm and gentle, feathering Wren’s cheeks as she stood on the upper deck.
As much as she enjoyed Marino’s company, she was hoping for a quick journey to Sharkfin Point, the towering white glacier that jutted up from the middle of the Sunless Sea. She might not have feared the king of Gevra, but she didn’t want to keep him waiting either. She gripped the railings and leaned over the still water, trying to cast away her doubt. Her face stared up at her, pallid, nervous. Perhaps Rose was right – maybe this was a bad idea. After all, Wren didn’t exactly have a history of making good decisions. And what could the king of Gevra possibly tell her about her own magic? He didn’t possess any of his own.
‘Are you angry at the sea?’ Marino’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
Wren snapped her chin up. ‘What?’
‘It’s just, well, you’re looking at it kind of … murderously.’
Wren frowned. ‘No. It’s not that. I’m just …’
‘Anxious?’ guessed Marino. ‘You never did mention why we’re taking this little dawn excursion,’ he said, conversationally. ‘When I asked Celeste about it, she told me to mind my own business.’
Wren tugged on her sleeve, self-consciously, suddenly afraid Marino could sense the scar burning underneath it. ‘The less you know about this meeting the better.’
Marino chuckled. ‘I knew it.’
Wren glanced at him over her shoulder. ‘What?’
He smirked. Somehow, it made him look even more handsome. ‘I had an inkling already, of course. I saw the way he looked at you the last time you sailed to meet him on the Sunless Sea. He was watching you so intently he wasn’t even blinking!’ He laughed again. ‘It was as if he was afraid he’d miss something if he did. He looked so … thirsty. And now this.’ Marino waggled his eyebrows. ‘A clandestine meeting … you hardly thought I wouldn’t figure it out. I’m far too clever. Not to mention well versed in the art of romance.’
Wren turned around. ‘What on earth are you talking about, Marino?’
‘The Gevran king.’ Marino glanced side to side then lowered his voice, making sure his crew were out of earshot. ‘It’s obvious. You two are embroiled in a secret love affair.’
Wren stared at Marino for a long moment, waiting for him to smile. His face only grew more serious.
‘That’s absurd,’ she said at last. ‘It’s laughable.’
He crooked a brow. ‘Then why aren’t you laughing?’
‘Because I’m traumatized by the mere suggestion!’ said Wren, far too shrilly. Her cheeks blazed as she remembered her blizzard kiss with King Alarik. The devastating grief that had swept them both up, wrapping them in each other’s arms for a brief moment of comfort. It had happened several months ago now, but every so often the memory of that kiss would explode in her mind like a wayward firework. It was a terrible mistake. And yet no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to forget it.
‘Consider me unconvinced,’ said Marino.
‘I do not have feelings for Alarik Felsing.’
‘Fine. My mistake.’
‘It is,’ said Wren, firmly.
‘If you say so.’
‘Marino! Stop smirking at me!’
‘I can’t help it. It’s just my face.’
Wren scowled at him, then stomped away. The thud of Marino’s boots told Wren that he was following her. She went to the prow, where the wooden mermaid peered over the water, as if she were marvelling at her own reflection. ‘If you want to talk about love affairs, let’s discuss your mermaid,’ Wren challenged.
Marino’s face fell. ‘Alas, I still haven’t found her.’
‘Don’t you think it’s time you settled down with … oh, I don’t know … someone with legs?’
‘Such as who?’
Wren shrugged. ‘It’s a pretty low bar, Marino. What about Rowena? She never shuts up about you.’
Marino shook his head. ‘Too temperamental. She’d blow me away in a storm.’
‘She did uproot an apple tree last week when she lost a game of cards against Bryony,’ Wren conceded. ‘Well, you could have your pick of anyone.’
‘Why settle?’ The captain folded his arms. ‘One day the sea will lead me to my true love.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’
‘Then I shall die alone. And rich. Very, very rich.’
Wren snorted. ‘That is tragic.’
‘At least I’m not in love with a Gevran.’
Wren raised a warning finger. ‘I am not in love with King Alarik.’
‘I didn’t say the king this time,’ said Marino, with a wink.
Wren was silent, then. Her thoughts turned to Tor, the feel of his strong hands sliding up her back, the heady press of his lips against hers, desperate, searching. A new heat stole through her body, casting a blush in her cheeks. She couldn’t deny her feelings for him. She wore them too plainly, thought of him too often to lie about it. And anyway, she didn’t want to lie about him. He deserved better than that. Better than her.
Marino’s brown eyes danced. ‘This is going to be a fun voyage.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ groaned Wren. ‘Can’t you make this bloody ship go faster?’
‘I can certainly try,’ he said, with a grin. He raised his hands, as though he were reaching for the moon. ‘Rowena’s been helping me with my tempest magic.’
Learning Marino Pegasi was a witch had come as a surprise to everyone at Anadawn, especially his sister Celeste. Celeste had spent so many years denying her own seer abilities, which she had unknowingly inherited from her mother, that she never thought to find out whether her older brother might be a witch, too. Marino said he had been star-gazing all his life, thinking nothing of the shapes that used to appear in the night sky out at sea. He considered himself a gifted sailor who could read the constellations, not a witch who could read the future.
But once the witches’ curse had been broken, and the five strands of power restored to every witch in Eana, Marino began to notice other things about himself. Other abilities.
Magic bloomed inside him, and he welcomed it.
He closed his eyes now and opened his fists, frowning as he concentrated. Wren watched him in silence, curious to see what he could do. A minute passed and then another. A rogue breeze whipped up, but it died almost as quickly. ‘Slippery little thing,’ Marino muttered. ‘I almost had it.’
Wren cleared her throat. ‘Do you want me to—?’
‘I can do it,’ he said. ‘I’ve done it before.’
Wren doubted that but she wasn’t going to argue with him in front of his crew. They were lingering nearby, watching him struggle. Some of the swabbies were laughing among themselves. Wren shooed them away with a glare.
She turned back to Marino. ‘Picture the storm in your mind. The clearer you see it, the quicker it will come.’
‘Wind is invisible,’ he huffed. ‘How am I supposed to picture it?’
‘Don’t think of the wind on its own. Think of what it does,’ urged Wren. ‘Imagine the mainsail, full and straining. Or your fancy new hat, flying off your head. Think of the waves slapping against the ship, spitting sea foam in our faces.’
Marino’s shoulders relaxed, and his frown loosened.
‘Once you conjure the image of what you need, your magic will know what to do,’ said Wren. ‘It just takes a little practice. Concentrate. And keep your palms open. Good. Just like that.’
Marino smiled. ‘You’re a good tutor.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Wren.
After a minute, she felt the wind pick up. It yanked the hood from her face and sent her hair streaming through the air. ‘It’s working!’
Marino laughed as his frockcoat rippled behind him. ‘I can feel the storm inside me!’
The wind howled, as if it were laughing, too. It punched the mainsail taut, sending the ship skittering along the waves. They were growing, slapping against the hull as if the wind was urging them faster. Before long, Wren had to grab on to the railings for balance.
‘I think that’s enough!’ she called over the roaring sea.
‘I could do this all night!’ roared Marino, gleefully.
Wren yelped as the ship veered to the left, heading for a cluster of sea rocks. ‘You might want to try steering now!’
Marino snapped his eyes open. ‘Good idea!’ he yelled, sprinting for the wheel.
Wren ran after him, grabbing a rung to help him steady the ship. They narrowly avoided the rocks, adjusting the course four notches to the left, where the open sea was calling them. When Wren looked back, Wishbone Bay had disappeared. Eana was behind them, their voyage well and truly under way.
Wren stayed by Marino’s side as the morning sun arced over them, and the sky changed from amber to blue. When her stomach began to grumble, she ventured below deck, where a bowl of fragrant fish stew was waiting for her in the captain’s cabin. She devoured it in ten bites before collapsing into bed, grateful that Marino had offered her his cabin with all of its finery and luxurious comfort. The waves soon rocked her to sleep.
Mercifully, she was too tired to dream.
When Wren awoke, there was a chill in the air. The cabin was silent. The candles had dwindled to nothing. She could tell by the frost webbing the porthole and the eerie stillness of the ship that they had reached the Sunless Sea. The sun had set, a slant of greying evening light slipping through the window.
Wren washed and then dressed in her leathers, before shrugging on a fur-lined cloak. She donned her sturdiest boots and the gloves Celeste had gifted her for Yulemas – as though she had known even then that Wren would be returning to the Sunless Sea. As Wren stood in front of the mirror, braiding her hair away from her face, she traced the silver streak self-consciously, trying not to linger on the shadows under her eyes.
Up on deck, Marino was bright-eyed and good-tempered, despite a full day of rough sailing. He was standing at the wheel, sipping on a mug of coffee.
‘You look nice,’ he said, by way of greeting. ‘Not that it matters, of course. Since this is definitely not a secret romantic meeting.’
‘Please don’t start that again.’ Wren snatched the mug from him and took a long, leisurely sip. The coffee zipped through her bloodstream, warming her fingers and toes. ‘How much longer?’
Marino nodded at something over her shoulder. ‘See for yourself.’
Wren turned and squinted through the evening mist. And suddenly there it was – a towering white rock jutting up from the sea in the shape of a shark’s fin. They had made it to the meeting point. It took her another moment to spot the warship floating just beyond the mighty rock, and the Gevran king’s flag, rippling atop the mast pole.
And there, below the flag, standing side by side, were King Alarik and his fateful captain. Wren couldn’t help it. The moment she saw Tor, her face broke into a smile.
Alarik smiled back.
Behind Wren, Marino chuckled. ‘This is going to be fun.’