Chapter 25 Wren
Wren stood up abruptly, rivulets of water cascading from her sopping underclothes as she stepped away from Alarik and climbed out of the bath.
‘Please call for Maeva,’ she said, looking everywhere but at Tor. ‘The healing water isn’t working. We need to try something else.’
‘Oh, stop glowering, Iversen,’ said Alarik, with a chuckle. ‘We were improvising. Trying to make these waters do their job.’
Tor said nothing at all.
Wren scurried off to the side chamber, all too aware of the soldier’s eyes on her as she went. She couldn’t shake the look of betrayal on his face. Her cheeks burned as she waited for Maeva to return. Her heart burned. What had she been thinking, curling up with Alarik like that? As if they were lovers, indulging in a secret embrace.
She paced back and forth, waiting for her heart to stop rioting. But the pounding only got worse. It was in her head, too. She was getting dizzy again. She knew it would pass – or at least pause – if she returned to Alarik’s side, but she couldn’t bear to see the hurt on Tor’s face again.
She had to explain what happened.
She would explain.
This thing inside her – this curse – was clearly more twisted than she thought.
After what seemed like an eternity, Maeva arrived with a fresh set of green robes and matching slippers for Wren.
The young witch looked her up and down. ‘You don’t look well, Your Majesty.’
‘I’m not well.’ Wren snatched the robes from her and got dressed in a hurry. ‘I need to see Willa.’ She flung a hand out to steady herself against the wall. ‘And tea,’ she added. ‘I’ll need some more of that lavender tea.’
Willa was waiting for them in her chamber, where a platter of sandwiches and a fresh pot of herbal tea had been laid out. She took one look at Wren and Alarik as they shuffled inside and sighed. ‘Oh dear. You’d better sit down.’
Wren slumped on to the couch, and Alarik collapsed beside her, sitting so close their legs were brushing.
Tor hovered in the doorway, his hands curled into white-knuckled fists. Willa crooked her brow as though she was reading the cloud of tension in the air, but she made no more of it. ‘You may remain, soldier. If you so choose.’
He dipped his chin but did not come inside.
‘The water made it worse,’ said Wren, quickly. ‘It’s like it aggravated the curse.’
Willa sipped her tea. ‘I was afraid of that.’
‘Then why did you send us down there in the first place?’ demanded Alarik.
‘Because you asked for my help,’ she said, calmly. ‘Sometimes the water does not heal. But it does bring clarity.’ She looked between them. ‘I can see the bond more clearly now.’
‘Then break it,’ said Wren.
Willa considered them a moment, her eyes wide above the rim of her mug. ‘If the water cannot heal you, then we must use the flame.’
Alarik quailed. ‘Gevrans do not do well in heat.’
Willa smiled tightly. ‘Nor do curses.’
After an awkward lunch, Willa led them to a small room in the very pit of the mountain. There was no water down here. In fact, there was no sound at all. The space was barely big enough for all four of them to fit. Thankfully, Tor had left Elske back up in the dining quarter, where she was being fawned over by every healer in the mountain.
In the middle of the room, a silver everlight flickered in a tall earthen bowl. It was a bonfire all on its own, the flame so bright it stung tears in Wren’s eyes. She passed her hand over it and felt her fingers tingle. There was magic here. Ancient, rippling magic.
‘What is this place?’ she whispered.
Willa moved to the other side of the everlight, her face flickering through the flame. ‘This was once Eana’s sanctuary.’ She raised her hand, making the flame dance. Wren recognized the enchantment magic at once. The healer was good at it, too, easily turning the fire into her puppet. Each sliver of flame, a string to manipulate. ‘When Eana first came to the Mishnick Mountains, she made a home for herself here. She sought shelter from the bitter cold and howling winds, and in the darkness of this mountain, she cast this very flame. It warmed her on the darkest nights and reminded her of all the light that lay ahead of her. It became a beacon of hope, a symbol of the thriving kingdom that this land would one day come to be.’
The flame took on the outline of a woman. She was kneeling, her face tipped back to the sky. Wren looked down, half expecting to see her ancestor kneeling on the ground beside her. But there was only the edge of Alarik’s slipper, and the stone beneath.
She looked back at the flame. ‘This is Eana’s everlight?’ she said in disbelief. ‘The very same?’
Willa nodded. ‘It has burned here for thousands of years.’
Wren closed her eyes, feeling for the presence of her ancestor. Here was Eana’s magic. Her firelight. It had burned for eons, through war and death and suffering, through the banishment of the witches and the restoration of its queens. It had seen a great kingdom rise and fall, and still, it remained. The thought filled Wren with such a sense of hope, she smiled.
A laugh bubbled out of her.
‘What’s so funny?’ said Alarik.
‘Eana will save us,’ said Wren, feeling sure of it in her bones. ‘Eana will cure us.’
When Wren looked at Willa, the Healer on High was smiling, too. Hope danced in the air between them, as high and bright as the flame.
‘So, what now?’ said Alarik, impatiently. ‘Do we hurl ourselves into the flame to see if we burn?’
‘Your scars will do,’ said Willa, gesturing for them to hold hands. Alarik took Wren’s without hesitation, his fingers threading through hers with such sureness it sent a ripple of warmth up Wren’s spine.
Tor cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the little cavern, and took a step back.
‘The fire will chase the darkness inside you,’ said Willa. ‘It will drag the curse into the light.’ She reached into the pouch at her waist and cast a handful of salt crystals into the flames. She began to mutter under her breath. The fire hissed as it grew.
Willa reached through the flame as though it were nothing but air and took their hands in hers. She pulled them into the middle of the blaze and they stood – all three of them – at the mouth of Eana’s fire, watching the silver flames lick their skin.
At first, Wren felt nothing. Just a slight tingling around her wrist. Then the pain came hot and lancing through her bones, and a bloodcurdling scream filled the chamber. It took her a moment to realize it was her own.
She tried to jerk backwards but Willa held her hand to the flame. The healer’s words grew harsher, as though she was calling to the thing inside her. Then the black smoke came, just as before. Alarik shouted in fear but he was rooted to the flame, too. He watched as the curse poured out of the wound in Wren’s skin.
Wren screamed again.
‘Release her!’ shouted Tor.
But Willa was determined. They had come too far to stop now. Her grip on Wren tightened as Alarik leaped backwards, breaking away from her. He slumped against the wall.
Willa kept her gaze on the gathering smoke. ‘SHOW YOURSELF!’
Wren screamed as another plume of smoke ripped out of her. Her legs buckled but Tor lunged, catching her before she hit the ground. He wrapped his arms around her middle as the smoke formed a face before them. At first Wren thought it was Eana, the first witch, but the longer she stared at the gathering smoke, the more familiar it became.
The face was just like her own. Its mouth opened in laughter, the piercing sound rattling around the cavern.
‘Oonagh Starcrest,’ breathed Willa, in shock. ‘This curse is ancient.’
Wren tried to recoil from her ancestor. It was no use. Somehow, Oonagh had buried a part of herself – of her curse – in Wren. She had left her shadow behind, and it was that which haunted Wren. Harmed Wren.
She began to tremble violently. The smoke was inside her body, too. It filled her lungs, pouring from her mouth and her nose. She was choking. But Willa wouldn’t let go. The healer’s brown eyes had turned white, her irises rolling back in her head. She was foaming at the mouth, stuck in a trance. Wren had the horrible thought that the curse was trying to claim her, too.
‘Help!’ Wren screamed. ‘Make it stop!’
With a hard tug, Tor yanked her away from Willa, breaking the connection. The healer reeled backwards, collapsing in a heap against the wall. The flames lashed out, whipping Tor’s cheek as he curled his body around Wren. But he couldn’t protect her from the smoke rushing back inside her.
Wren collapsed against him, grasping feebly at the lapels of his shirt. He slid his hand through her hair, holding her head up. She opened her eyes to see the storm in his gaze.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, low and calm. ‘I’ve got you.’
She opened her mouth, searching for words, but a strangled moan seeped out. The everlight was dangerously low, the chamber half choked with smoke. Wren squeezed her eyes closed, trying to shut out her fear. The smoke was making her lids heavy.
Tor touched his forehead against hers. ‘It’s over,’ he whispered. ‘Rest now.’
As she drifted off, his words lifted her above the tide of her panic, even though, deep down, Wren knew they weren’t true. It wasn’t over. The curse was still inside her, writhing, laughing.
The darkness had only just begun.
When Wren came to, she was back in Willa’s chamber. She opened her eyes to a dark ceiling and the muffled sound of voices. She sat up, and became immediately aware of her headache.
She flinched. ‘Ugh.’
‘You’re awake.’ Tor was sitting in the chair across from her, with Elske at his feet. They were both watching her with the same look of concern. There was a fresh gash along Tor’s cheek, the cut bright red against the paleness of his skin.
‘You’re hurt,’ said Wren, in horror.
‘It’s only a scratch.’
‘Iversen’s seen far worse. Believe me,’ said Alarik, who was sitting at the other end of the couch, sipping a cup of lavender tea.
Wren reached for her own cup. ‘How long was I unconscious for?’
‘A couple of hours,’ said Alarik, handing it to her. ‘Iversen carried you back.’
‘Thank you,’ said Wren.
‘It was nothing,’ he muttered.
‘What happened to you?’ Wren asked Alarik.
‘Untold pain and suffering,’ he said, between sips. ‘No creepy black smoke, though. Still, whatever that healing spell was … I could hardly stand it.’
‘I’m afraid none of us could stand it,’ said Willa, who returned presently. Perhaps it was Wren’s imagination, but she swore she could trace new crevices in the healer’s face and the hair around her temples looked greyer than before. ‘When you told me about your blood spell this morning, you never mentioned Oonagh Starcrest.’
Wren bit her lip. ‘Didn’t I?’
Willa shot her an admonishing look. ‘You really didn’t think it was pertinent to reveal that your long-dead, famously cursed ancestor was reawakened by your ill-advised blood spell in the wilds of Gevra?’
Wren looked at her hands. ‘I don’t even know how it happened … We weren’t trying to find Oonagh. It was almost as if …’
‘She found us,’ said Alarik.
Willa grimaced. ‘This curse is more ancient than any I have seen.’ She shook her head, as if she was still trying to make sense of it. ‘The day you cast that blood spell to awaken Prince Ansel, you woke someone else, too. Someone who had long been waiting for a whisper of magic to find her in those icy mountains.’
‘Bad luck,’ muttered Alarik.
‘Or fate,’ said Willa, darkly.
Wren tried not to squirm. ‘Oonagh was right there all along. Waiting.’
‘She must have sensed the blood spell and found a way to attach herself to it,’ said Willa, confirming Wren’s worst fear. ‘She used your magic like a rope to pull herself back to life. She anchored herself to your spell. To you.’
Wren and Alarik looked at each other. Half of Wren wanted to reach for his hand and squeeze it, to say sorry for her part in the blood spell. The other half wanted to punch him for dragging her into this mess in the first place. By the strained look on his face, Wren guessed the king was probably experiencing the same internal conflict.
The Healer on High leaned towards them, until the rest of the world faded away and all Wren could see was the warning in her eyes. ‘The curse binds both of you to Oonagh Starcrest just as it binds you to each other. The longer it survives, the stronger it will become. It will kill you, eventually.’ She looked at Wren. ‘It is already killing your magic.’
Wren pinched the back of her hand to keep from crying, but there was a rock in her throat, and her breath was coming short and sharp. ‘What can we do?’
‘Break the link,’ said Willa. ‘Before it destroys you.’
‘How?’ said Wren, Tor and Alarik, all at the same time.
Willa pulled back, hesitating.
Alarik read her silence. ‘Ah. You mean for us to kill each other. Or rather, you mean for your queen to kill the interloper. Me. To cut her losses, so to speak.’
Wren slammed her cup down. ‘Don’t be so dramatic. That’s not at all what she’s saying.’
Willa pressed her lips together. ‘Your Majesty,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘Perhaps we should speak—’
‘Don’t bother,’ said Alarik. ‘Your meaning is quite clear. It seems I am in more danger here than I thought.’
Tor’s hand flew to his waist, grasping for the hilt of his sword. But he was weaponless, just like Alarik. He jerked his head, watching the doorway as if he was expecting an army to come rushing in. Sensing the change in his mood, Elske rose to her haunches.
‘Calm down, both of you,’ said Wren. She turned back to Willa. ‘This can’t be the only way to survive this.’
‘There is only one other way.’
‘Tell us,’ said Alarik, a growl in his voice.
Willa shifted in her seat. ‘Oonagh Starcrest walks this earth just as she did over a thousand years ago. Your ancestor’s curse lives inside you because she lives. You woke her up. To break the curse and set things right, you must kill her.’
‘Fine,’ said Wren at once. ‘I was going to do that anyway.’
‘We have to find her first,’ said Alarik.
‘And best her,’ said Willa, grimly.
‘With pleasure.’ Tor cracked his knuckles, readying himself for the task.
Willa rose from her seat, looking down on each one of them in turn. ‘There is your cure, though the cost is great. If Oonagh dies, for good this time, the blood debt will be repaid and the curse will shatter.’
Wren frowned as something else occurred to her. The healer’s promise reminded her of another – a prophecy once uttered by a dying seer called Glenna. ‘Break the ice to free the curse,’ she recalled. ‘Kill one twin to save another …’
They all looked at her.
A wash of understanding came over Wren. The day Oonagh Starcrest broke out of her icy tomb in Gevra, her curse was freed, too. That much was certain. But Wren had been grappling with the second part of the prophecy ever since. Kill one twin to save another. ‘It was never about me and Rose,’ she said, more to herself than to the others. ‘It’s Oonagh who must die. She is Ortha’s sister, one of the original twin queens of Eana.’ She clapped her hands together, a laugh springing from her before she could stop it. ‘Rose will live and so will I! Once we kill Oonagh, all will be well again.’
Alarik regarded her as though she had just sprouted horns. ‘Have you forgotten we have no idea where your wayward ancestor is? Or indeed how to kill her?’
Wren batted his concern away, the flood of her relief momentarily buoying her spirits. ‘So, we’ll look for her. And sooner or later, we’ll find her.’
‘How simple you make it sound,’ mused Alarik.
‘Well, it’s a lot simpler than killing each other. Don’t you think?’
He offered the ghost of a smile. ‘I want to know what Iversen thinks.’
Tor was already on his feet. ‘I think it’s time to go hunting.’