Chapter 11 Wren
With expert ease, Marino Pegasi brought the Siren’s Secret to rest alongside the Gevran warship until both vessels drew level in the mist. The anchor whirred as it plunged down into the Sunless Sea, the sizeable chain almost running out entirely, until, at last, it settled on the ocean floor.
A gangway was erected between the ships. Wren stood at one end of it, waiting. Alarik stood at the other end, watching her.
‘Well?’ he called out. ‘Is there a reason you’re stalling?’
‘I was about to ask you the same thing,’ Wren called back. ‘Aren’t you coming?’
The king laughed. ‘The meeting will be on my ship.’
Wren folded her arms. ‘I’d prefer mine. It’s fancier.’
‘This is actually my ship,’ hissed Marino, who was standing behind her.
‘That’s not the point,’ she hissed back.
‘What is the point?’ he whispered. ‘Why aren’t you going over there?’
‘Because Alarik Felsing needs to know that he cannot simply snap his fingers and expect me to jump for him.’
Marino snorted.
‘What are you two conspiring about over there?’ shouted Alarik. Through the icy mist, Wren could see he had dressed well for their meeting. He was wearing a dark grey frockcoat, trimmed in silver ermine, with a high collar that brushed the underside of his jaw. Despite the fact he was sailing aboard the king’s official vessel, he had forgone his crown (or perhaps he had simply not yet replaced the one Oonagh Starcrest had stolen from him), making his wheat-blond hair look unusually unkempt. With the fog thickening between them, Wren couldn’t see his face properly, but she could hear the scowl in his voice. ‘Stop these childish games, Wren Greenrock, and come aboard my ship. We have urgent matters to discuss.’
‘No. You come over here.’ Wren stood her ground, even though she knew it was indeed childish. She was as safe on Marino’s boat as she would be a stone’s throw across the water, but now that she was faced with the daunting prospect of sitting down with Alarik Felsing again, she couldn’t help the sudden flurry of nerves. If she walked that gangway, her knees might tremble. Her hands might sweat. And he would see her, and know he had the upper hand. ‘I’m getting frostbite over here, Alarik! I’ve come all this way. This really is the least you could do!’
She heard him sigh, then mutter, ‘I don’t remember her being this irritating. Do you?’
Marino sidled over to Wren. ‘Just so you know, this feels a lot like flirting to me.’
‘It’s power play,’ Wren corrected him. ‘I’m resetting the balance between us. Alarik Felsing needs to learn how to meet me half—’
Thud.
She paused at the sound of footsteps on the plank. Wren smirked. ‘See?’
The gangway creaked as it bore new weight, the footsteps drawing closer, and then the mist shifted, revealing the figure stalking across it. It was not Alarik.
It was Tor.
Wren peered up into the soldier’s perfectly chiselled face and was suddenly all too aware of her heartbeat. Tor was impossibly tall and broad-shouldered, and dressed in his impeccable blue uniform. His tousled hair swept low across his storm-grey eyes. He raked it back to see her better, the hint of a smile softening the hard edge of his jaw.
Stars above.
Wren’s mind whirred, desperately searching for something clever to say, a greeting so alluring and disarming, it would flood him with the same rush of longing she was feeling just then. ‘Um, hi.’
‘Smooth,’ whispered Marino.
Wren shoved him aside. ‘Hi,’ she said again. ‘It’s good to see you.’
‘And you, Wren.’ Tor’s voice was huskier than she remembered. ‘As ever.’
Not for the first time, she found herself caught in the lightning of his gaze.
Tor paused on the edge of the gangway and offered his hand out to her. ‘Let me help you across.’
Wren stared at it.
He misread her hesitance. ‘I won’t let you fall.’
‘That’s not why I don’t want to come,’ she said, realizing she hadn’t won the battle of wills after all. Alarik had simply sent Tor to fetch her. ‘I’m … well, I’m making a point.’
‘Wren,’ he said, his voice stern. ‘This is not the time.’ Wren glowered up at him, but his frown was sharper. ‘Trust me,’ he said, and in the gravel of his voice, she heard a plea. She saw the worry in his eyes. ‘Please.’
She sighed, wavering.
‘You shouldn’t go over there by yourself,’ said Marino, his hand coming to the hilt of his sword. ‘I’d be happy to escort you.’
Tor’s jaw tensed. ‘She’s in no danger.’
‘Even so,’ said Marino, stepping forward. ‘The queen should have an escort.’
‘I am her escort,’ said Tor, shooting Marino a warning look.
‘I’m all right, Marino,’ said Wren, if only to quell the rising tension between them. ‘I’ll be back within the hour.’
Tor’s gloves were made of leather, but Wren could still feel the warmth of his touch as he took her hand, curling it inside his own. She clambered up on to the wooden plank and let him lead her through the mist, to where the king of Gevra was waiting.
Tor leaped easily off the gangway, then turned back to her. Even though Wren was confident enough to make the jump by herself, she hesitated, letting him curl his arms around her waist, holding her tight against his body, if only for a fleeting moment. When he set her down, she found herself momentarily breathless.
‘I knew you’d come for him.’ Alarik Felsing was leaning against the mainmast of his ship with his arms folded. His skin was almost as pale as his hair but his eyes were bright. Focused. ‘It took you long enough.’
Wren stalked towards him. ‘Tell me, Alarik, was it laziness or cowardice that kept you from my ship?’
‘Call it stubbornness,’ he said, mildly. ‘Speaking of which, thank you for surrendering yours.’
‘I didn’t want to make a scene.’
‘How unlike you.’
Wren looked him up and down, noting the hollows in his cheeks and the circles under his eyes. ‘You look dreadful.’
He flashed his teeth. ‘If I wasn’t such a gentleman, I’d say the same thing to you.’
Tor cleared his throat, stepping into the space between them. ‘If you insist on greeting each other with these childish insults, can I suggest we do it below deck before you both freeze to death?’
‘Fine by me,’ said Wren.
Alarik pushed off the mast and stumbled. Tor lunged, catching him by the arm.
‘I’m all right,’ he snapped, shrugging him off. Alarik barged ahead, taking the stairs below deck. Wren didn’t miss the way he held tightly to the banister, or how, when he finally released it, he veered a little to the left. The king was unsteady on his feet.
‘Oh,’ she said, quietly.
Tor glanced back at her, and she understood that worried look in his eyes, then. And why Alarik wouldn’t cross the gangway to Marino’s ship. He couldn’t trust himself not to fall. They followed the king downstairs into the captain’s cabin, which was full of ornate furniture draped in lavish furs. Candlelight flickered along the walls, setting an eerie glow about the room.
Alarik collapsed in an armchair by the window. He looked exhausted already.
Wren perched against the dark-wood dining table, unsure where to put herself, while Tor stood with his back against the door, guarding their privacy. Wren looked around for Elske, but there was no sign of the wolf.
‘She’s in the galley,’ said Tor, reading her thoughts. ‘Hunting for scraps.’
‘You should feed her better, then.’
‘I always give her the best cut of meat.’
Wren looked back at him, catching his smile. ‘She’s lucky you have such a soft spot for her.’
Alarik was unusually quiet. He was looking out to sea, trying to hide his discomfort. Wren poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on the table and brought it to him. ‘Here.’
He regarded the water as if it were poison.
‘I know you’re not well,’ said Wren. ‘Drink it.’
Alarik opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. He took the water, draining it in three gulps. ‘Thank you,’ he said, in a gruff voice.
Wren raised her eyebrows. With remarkable quickness, they had navigated the discomfort of seeing each other again and had arrived at civility. ‘You’re welcome.’
Looking brighter already, the king sat back in his chair and studied Wren. She fought the urge to tug her braid loose and hide her face. ‘It seems you are not well either.’
‘I’ve been better.’
Alarik cocked his head, still watching her. ‘I’ve been dreaming of you, Wren Greenrock.’
Wren saw Tor stiffen out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t tear her eyes from the king.
‘In pain,’ Alarik added. ‘You’re always in pain.’
Wren felt a curious twinge in her heart, as though Alarik had pricked it with a pin. They had gone through so much together back in Gevra and in many ways he had seen her more clearly these last few months than her own sister had. The thought of it made Wren want to cry. She bit down on her lip, waiting for the feeling to pass. ‘Yes,’ she said, quietly. ‘I’ve seen you, too.’
He didn’t look surprised by her revelation. He jerked his chin up, looking past her. ‘Iversen, can you give us a moment?’
Although it was phrased as a question, it was plainly an order and Tor didn’t look remotely pleased about it. He glanced between them, then turned on his heel, shutting the door behind him with a thud.
Alarik chuckled to himself. ‘It takes some work to break Captain Iversen’s composure.’
‘Was that necessary?’ said Wren.
The king smirked. ‘I’m afraid I’ll need your full attention.’
‘For what?’
‘See for yourself.’ Alarik rolled up his sleeve.
When Wren saw the silver crescent scar on his wrist, a gasp caught in her throat. She sank to her knees. Without thinking – without asking – she traced her thumb across it.
Alarik shuddered.
‘How is this possible?’ she whispered.
At his look of confusion, she removed her glove and showed him her matching scar. He took her wrist, tracing it as she had done. Instead of pain, Wren felt a strange tingle of warmth. She closed her eyes, trying to make sense of it.
‘Does it hurt?’ he asked.
‘Not now. But sometimes it does. Especially whenever I use my magic.’
‘I see.’
‘And yours?’
‘At night, mostly. I think it’s making me …’ He trailed off.
‘Ill?’
‘Weak.’ Alarik’s frown sharpened his cheekbones. In the flickering light, he looked a bit like a wolf. ‘I can’t afford to be weak right now.’
Wren realized his hand was still on her wrist. There was something soothing about his touch, about the nearness of his pain, so like her own. Then she thought of Tor, standing just outside the door.
She pulled her arm back and reached for her glove.
Alarik narrowed his eyes. ‘Whatever this thing is, it’s affecting both of us.’
‘Yes,’ said Wren, as she stood up. ‘Something must have happened when I was in Gevra to create this strange bond.’
‘I was thinking the same.’ Alarik cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps it was that day … after the mountain came down.’ Wren saw a memory spark in his eyes, heard the hunger in his voice. He was thinking of the blizzard, of the kiss that had swept them up. ‘When it began to snow—’
‘No,’ she said, quickly. She didn’t want to think about that. ‘It wasn’t the blizzard, Alarik. It was the blood spell. It must have happened when we raised Ansel from the dead.’
Alarik frowned. ‘Oh.’
Wren began to pace, building her theory. ‘It was your blood and my words. My magic. We messed with the dark side of power and did something unforgivable. And now we’re paying the price. With this pain … this scar. There’s something wrong.’
‘So, make it right.’ Alarik stood up, the hardness returning to his voice. ‘You’re the witch. Fix it.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ said Wren. ‘I can’t heal. I told you that.’
‘Your sister, then. She’s a healer.’
Wren shook her head. ‘Rose already tried to heal my scar. But it’s made of something else. Something deeper than skin, deeper than blood and bone. I don’t understand it myself.’
‘Figure it out, Wren.’ Alarik raked a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands around his temple. ‘My country is sick, too. My beasts are turning bad. My graveyards lie in ruins. Your ancestor stalks my kingdom. Day and night, my army has been searching for her. And finally, after months of searching, they spotted her on the cliffs of the Sundvik shore two days ago.’
Wren stilled. ‘You found her?’
‘We didn’t just find her, Wren. We tried to kill her.’ Alarik’s face was grim. ‘We fired forty steel arrows. Half of them found their mark, and yet not one could pierce her. My soldiers charged with their swords, but she was impervious to those, too.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Then she dived from the cliffs and let the sea swallow her whole. But she’s not gone, Wren. I can still hear her laugh on the wind. I feel it rumbling in the mountains.’
Wren curled her fists, trying to fight the sudden rush of her panic. ‘Do you mean she cannot be killed?’
Alarik’s lips twisted. ‘Not by Gevran steel. Evidently.’
‘This is bad.’ Far worse than she’d thought.
He gave a mirthless huff. ‘I had hoped she would give up eventually, find another mountain to crawl inside and die.’
Wren shook her head at the idea of her ancestor going anywhere quietly, of laying aside her claim to Eana, to power. ‘She must have been hiding all this time. Gathering her strength. Planning for what comes next.’
His face tightened. ‘Which is?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, in a whisper. And that was the worst of it.
‘Gevra needs a strong ruler now more than ever,’ said Alarik, a new bite in his voice. ‘I cannot be seen as weak, Wren.’
‘I’m not the one who made you weak.’
‘You’re the one who cast the spell.’
Wren bristled. Not this again. ‘You made me do it!’
‘You messed it up!’
‘Do you think I want to be like this? I’m supposed to be a witch and I can barely perform magic. Whenever I cast a spell, it hurts me. It wounds my soul. I’m tired all the time. Distracted. Anxious.’ Her anger flared, the unfairness of it all crowding in on her. ‘And then at night, when I can finally stop pretending and be alone, I dream of you. I can’t escape what we did at Grinstad. I cannot escape you.’
Alarik threw his head back and scoffed. ‘I suppose you think I enjoy hearing you scream when I fall asleep? That I like chasing you through the snow, night after night, trapped in a hellish maze I can’t escape?’ He glared at her. ‘You are the one haunting me, Wren.’
Wren braced her hands on the table, glaring right back. ‘Can you stop arguing with me for one second?’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Let’s be practical. We need to free ourselves from that wretched blood spell, once and for all.’
‘Clearly,’ said Wren.
‘I have a kingdom to run. And I don’t have the luxury of a twin sister who will do that for me.’
‘What about Anika?’
Alarik threw her a withering look. ‘Do not jest at a time like this. My sister would eat your nation for breakfast. All it takes is one bad mood.’
Wren slumped into a chair. ‘I don’t have any answers for you, Alarik. I was hoping you’d have answers for me.’
This time when Alarik laughed, Wren joined in. It suddenly felt so absurd, both of them stuck in the middle of the Sunless Sea, trying to muddle their way towards a miracle solution for something they didn’t remotely understand. This scar. This pain. This strange bond.
‘Maybe not an answer, but a direction will do. Isn’t there someone we can speak to? One of your kind?’
Wren frowned. She had been hoping to avoid involving Thea in this, but she could see no way around it now. Whatever this thing that had taken root inside them was, it was damaging Wren’s magic, and Alarik’s health. And it was getting worse. ‘My grandmother’s wife has been a healer all her life,’ she said, slowly. ‘She grew up in the Mishnick Mountains, an ancient place of teaching and meditation. Thea learned from the very best. She lives at Anadawn Palace now. You’ll have to come back there with me.’
The king raised his brows. ‘Can’t she come to me?’
Wren almost laughed in his face. ‘If you think I’m dragging my grandmother’s widow across the Sunless Sea to the frostbitten country that killed her wife, then you’re a lot sicker than I thought.’ Wren pointed to his wrist. ‘If you don’t like my plan, then feel free to go back to Gevra and rub some snow on that. Frankly, it will be a miracle if she agrees to see you at all.’
‘What an enthusiastic invitation.’ His voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘How could I say no?’
Wren rolled her eyes.
‘It will have to be a brief, clandestine visit,’ he went on. ‘And I warn you, Wren, if I travel all that way and you fail to help me, then—’
Wren flung a candlestick at him. It cracked against the wall. ‘For stars’ sake, Alarik. Stop threatening me!’
He smiled, sheepishly. ‘Sorry. Force of habit.’
Wren blew out a breath. ‘So, it’s decided, then. We can return on Marino’s ship for secrecy.’
He dragged a hand across his jaw. ‘I’ll have to consult with Captain Iversen first.’
Just then, the door flew open. Tor stood in the door frame, looking between them. ‘Ready and willing, Your Majesty.’
Wren’s smile died on her lips. She groaned.
‘What is it?’ they chorused.
‘Marino is going to be insufferable about this,’ she said, with a sigh.