Chapter 13 Wren
Wren and Rose made their way to the throne room. There were too many prying eyes out in the courtyard, too many listening ears. Wren was still reeling from what her sister had told her about Oonagh. She couldn’t believe their ancestor had used her magic to slip unnoticed into Rose’s bedroom and threaten her while Wren was away.
After escaping the Gevran army, Oonagh Starcrest had managed to breach the golden gates of Anadawn with worrying ease, and left no trace of herself afterwards, save for the marks on Rose’s neck. As they walked through the winding hallways, Wren could tell her sister was trying to hold her nerve, but her hands were trembling at her sides, and she was being unusually quiet.
Tor and Alarik followed a few steps behind them, pretending not to notice the alarmed faces of the palace guards or the servants muttering as they passed. Elske padded at Tor’s side, studying every shadow, ready to pounce. Oonagh might have disappeared, but it seemed the wolf could still scent her.
Wren couldn’t stop staring at the marks on Rose’s neck. ‘We should have Thea look at those.’
Rose waved the suggestion away. ‘Nonsense. Your problem is far more pressing.’ She glanced over her shoulder at Alarik before dropping her voice. ‘Not to mention delicate. We don’t want anyone here to get the wrong idea. Anadawn has had enough potential suitors for one week.’
Alarik snorted. ‘I’d sooner marry Borvil. And that bear is half feral.’
‘Just like you, then,’ said Wren.
Tor chuckled. Alarik rolled his eyes. ‘Very mature.’
‘Well, I’m glad you’re all finding this so amusing,’ said Rose, glaring back and forth between them. ‘For all we know, that terrible resurrection spell has done irreparable damage to both of you. And right at the very moment we need our wits about us!’
Wren bit her lip, while the Gevrans cleared their throats, too, duly chastened. They walked on in silence. When they reached the throne room, Rose cleared every soldier and servant, closed all the windows and shut the doors. Much to his dismay, even Chapman was turned away.
Then they sent for Thea.
While they waited for her to arrive, Alarik walked the perimeter of the room, taking in the corniced ceilings and lavish paintings as the syrupy spring sunlight poured through the arched windows. ‘Hmmph,’ he said, to no one in particular. ‘It’s smaller than I expected.’
Rose bristled.
‘Don’t take the bait,’ Wren warned her. ‘He’s just trying to needle you.’
Wren knelt by Elske and buried her face in her fur. ‘You truly are the only Gevran that doesn’t find a way to unsettle me,’ she whispered.
Wren watched Tor’s boots in her periphery, moving closer. He crouched down beside her, letting his arm brush against hers as he scratched under Elske’s ears. ‘I think she’s been missing you.’
Wren looked up at him. ‘What makes you so sure?’
Tor held her gaze. ‘I know the feeling.’
‘Please do not touch the artwork!’ snapped Rose from halfway across the room. ‘It is irreplaceable. My ancestor Thormund Valhart painted that landscape.’
‘Artistic talent clearly does not run in your family,’ said Alarik, tracing the gilt frame. ‘What are these supposed to be? Deer? The colour palette on those trees is all wrong.’
‘I suppose you’d rather it was a big, bloody battle scene on some kind of glacier,’ said Rose, sourly.
‘Well, that would be an improvement.’
‘So would your silence. How about we all stay quiet until Thea arrives?’
Wren giggled into Elske’s fur. ‘He’s going to get himself thrown out of Anadawn if he’s not careful.’
‘This is the most fun he’s had in months,’ said Tor.
‘Me, too,’ said Wren. ‘Nobody here dares to boss Rose around. This is thoroughly entertaining.’
Alarik sauntered over to the dais and sat in Rose’s throne. At her look of utter annoyance, he flashed her a wolfish grin. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
She folded her arms but said nothing.
Alarik squirmed in her seat. ‘It’s not even comfortable.’
‘Shall I get Cam to bring up a big block of ice for you to perch on instead?’ Rose offered.
‘That depends. Will your ancestor burst out of it again?’
Rose rolled her eyes. ‘Stars save us. I feel as if I’m in a nursery.’
The bickering ceased when Thea arrived. She bustled through the door, her frown deepening as she surveyed the scene before her. The king of Gevra lounging on the throne of Eana under Rose’s admonishing glare, while Wren crouched at the other end of the room with his Captain of the Guard, laughing like a pair of guilty children.
‘What exactly is going on in here?’ said Thea.
Wren stood and went to her, like a prisoner approaching the gallows. She rolled up her sleeve and told Thea everything. About the spell she and Alarik had cast all those months ago in Gevra; about the scar that had appeared on her wrist shortly afterwards. The same one that he bore. She spoke of her harrowing nightmares, how Oonagh’s laugh often rang in her ears, how Wren had begun to see Alarik in her dreams, often doubled over in the same pain.
Thea listened in grave silence, before summoning Alarik. He went to her, willingly, revealing the matching scar on his wrist.
She brushed her thumb over it. ‘Goodness,’ she muttered.
‘Can you heal it?’ he asked, anxiously.
‘I’ll do my best,’ she said, sounding unsure. She jerked her chin up, then, shooing the others from the room. ‘Leave us.’
‘I’d rather stay,’ said Rose. ‘I want to learn how to heal this kind of ailment. And also … I don’t trust Alarik.’
Thea shook her head. ‘The king’s privacy is as important as any other’s, love.’
‘More important, actually,’ said Alarik.
Wren rolled her eyes. ‘Come on,’ she said, tugging Rose away. Tor fell into step with her while Elske padded behind them. They closed the door to the throne room and waited on the other side of it.
‘This is ridiculous,’ fumed Rose, as she paced the corridor. ‘To be kicked out of my own throne room! By a foreign king!’
‘It’s better this way,’ said Wren, quietly. ‘For everyone.’
Tor leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He looked her up and down. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Me?’ Wren didn’t realize she was wringing her hands until she caught him looking at them. She scrunched them into fists. ‘Of course. I’m fine.’
‘Come here,’ he said, reaching for her.
Wren stepped into the heat of him and laid her cheek against his chest. She had almost forgotten how tall he was, how broad and sure. He curled his arm around her, bringing his chin to rest on the crown of her head. Elske settled at their feet, guarding this moment, this peace.
‘It’s going to be all right,’ Tor murmured.
Wren wasn’t sure she believed him, but she felt a little better anyway.
The minutes passed in strained silence. Rose continued to pace. ‘It shouldn’t be taking this long,’ she said, more to herself than to Wren. ‘Thea’s the most skilled healer I know. She’s quick. After all, she’s had years of—’
Alarik screamed.
Rose froze.
The king’s agony filled the hallway like a terrible aria. Wren turned into Tor’s chest, trying to remember how to breathe. The scream felt close enough to be her own.
Tor tightened his embrace, holding her on her feet. But Wren could feel the sudden stiffness in his shoulders, and heard the tremor in his voice.
Then all at once, the scream stopped.
‘Stars!’ cried Rose. ‘What on earth is happening in there?’
Wren couldn’t take it any more. The screaming. The silence. The not knowing. She shoved through the doors and marched into the throne room. Alarik was on his knees with his head in his hands. An all too familiar sight. Thea was crouched beside him, rubbing his back.
She looked up at Wren, then shook her head. ‘I’m afraid the wound is too deep. I cannot heal it without killing him.’
Wren waited for Alarik to raise his head and say something sharp or clever, but he just sat there in a daze.
Tor wordlessly lifted the king to his feet, easily shouldering his weight as he guided Alarik to the thrones. Rose and Wren went to Thea, helping her to her feet. She was breathing heavily, the lines in her face much deeper than before.
‘Do you want to sit down?’ said Rose, anxiously. ‘I’ll have someone fetch you a cup of tea. A biscuit, too. You look terribly pale.’ She glanced back at Alarik, who was slumped in her throne. ‘You both do.’
Thea’s smile was shaky. ‘That’s a fine idea, love. But let’s not wait for the servants. We don’t want anyone getting wind of what’s happening in here. Perhaps you might fetch the tea yourself?’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Rose, in a bluster. ‘I’ll go now. I won’t be a moment!’
Rose scampered off with Elske in tow.
Thea waited until she was gone before turning back to Wren. ‘Show me your scar.’
Wren hesitated. ‘I don’t think that’s a good—’
‘Let me see it,’ said Thea, reaching for her arm. ‘Perhaps I can do for you what I could not do for him.’
‘You heard what happened when Rose tried to heal it,’ said Wren. ‘It was too much. And you’re barely standing as it is.’
Thea regarded Wren with uncharacteristic sternness. ‘I’ve been healing ever since I could walk, Wren Greenrock. I know my own limits. And besides, you are a witch, which means you are stronger than the king. You can withstand what he could not.’
Wren wasn’t convinced, but Thea wasn’t taking no for an answer. Reluctantly, Wren rolled up her sleeve. Thea took her hand and closed her eye. Her brow furrowed, and Wren felt the first prick of heat in her arm.
She sucked in a breath, steeling herself as it grew sharper, deeper.
Thea began to mutter to herself.
Wren did her best not to scream but the pain was like a burning poker searing through her flesh. ‘STOP!’ she cried out.
Thea tightened her grip.
Wren’s knees buckled. ‘LET GO!’
But Thea would not.
Somewhere in the distance, Wren heard the thrum of footsteps. Someone was running to her, calling her name, but she couldn’t see beyond the pain. When her scar opened and the black smoke came, it wrenched a scream so agonizing from her that it scorched her throat.
This time, Thea cried out. She snapped her hand away and scrabbled backwards, like the smoke was a beast come to devour her. The second she let go, it rushed back inside Wren, taking the pain with it.
Wren collapsed in a heap, listening to the echoes of her scream die away. The ceiling blurred in and out of focus.
Then Tor’s face appeared above hers. He was pale as mountain snow, but his eyes were as dark as storm clouds. ‘Wren?’ he said, hoarsely.
Wren summoned a weak smile. ‘Well, that was embarrassing.’
‘Not to mention horrifying,’ croaked Alarik, from across the room. ‘What in freezing hell was that?’
It was Thea who answered them. She was sitting on the floor beside Wren. ‘That, Alarik Felsing, was a curse.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I’m afraid our worst fears have been confirmed.’
Wren closed her eyes, trying to hide her anguish as Thea went on. ‘The blood spell you cast on Prince Ansel must have twisted. It didn’t just curse the young prince. It cursed you, too.’ She looked to Alarik. ‘Both of you.’
The king swore under his breath.
Wren reached for Thea but the old healer looked frightened now. Of the curse. Of Wren. She wouldn’t take her hand. Wren’s eyes pricked with tears. Her own family was afraid of her. Now that she had glimpsed the thing inside her, she was afraid of herself.
Tor tried to help Wren up, but she pushed him away. ‘I’m all right. Help Thea.’
Wren staggered to her feet and made her way to her throne. Alarik watched her stumble towards him with the same haunted look on his face. When she sat down, he leaned over. ‘I take it back. Maybe this velvet isn’t so bad after all.’
Wren was too worried to laugh.
‘Speak plainly, healer,’ said Alarik. ‘Are we lost causes?’
Thea took a long time to answer. ‘There is another place you can try,’ she said at last. ‘The Mishnick Mountains in the north were once home to Eana, the first witch. Eana was the founder of this kingdom, the maker of this island.’ She looked to Wren, confirming what she already suspected. That true help waited far beyond the gates of Anadawn. ‘The waters there are blessed by the first witch,’ Thea went on, for Alarik’s benefit. ‘Their healing properties are unmatched. As is the magic of the Healer on High, who oversees the mountains and knows best their secrets … their power. If there is a way to break this curse, the Healer on High will know it.’
‘Just what I wanted to hear,’ muttered Alarik. ‘Another journey.’
‘When you reach the mountains, look for bloom and birdsong, and the opening will reveal itself to you. But you must go in secret.’ Thea’s gaze darkened and so, too, did her voice. ‘No one must know about the curse. It would threaten the very fabric of this kingdom.’ She turned on Alarik. ‘And yours.’
Alarik’s lips twisted as he tasted her words.
Wren turned to him. ‘What’s your answer?’
He frowned, seemingly weighing his response.
‘There is only one answer,’ said Tor, decisively. ‘If there’s a way to break this curse, then we will go to the ends of the earth to do it.’
Wren thought he was speaking for his king but when she looked up, he was staring at her. Worry strained the hard line of his jaw, and in his eyes she saw her own pain reflected back. She understood what he was saying. He would go to the ends of the earth for her. And she would go, too, so long as he was there.
‘Very well,’ said Alarik, giving in to reason.
‘Then it’s decided,’ said Wren, squaring herself to the task. Her face fell as something else occurred to her. ‘Ugh. Rose is going to hate this.’
Just then, the throne room doors creaked open, and Rose tiptoed in, struggling to balance a tray of macarons and several wobbly cups of tea.
‘Hate what?’ she said, brows furrowed in suspicion.
Alarik chuckled under his breath. ‘This honour is all yours, Wren.’