Chapter 35 Wren
When Wren arrived at Anadawn, the golden gates were already open. Tor stiffened as he surveyed the drawn faces of the guards, the servants lingering in the courtyard, wringing their hands.
Wren sat up straighter. ‘Something’s wrong.’
She gripped the hilt of Night’s Edge, letting its magic strengthen her. But it could do nothing for her growing feeling of unease. There were far too many people milling about and yet despite the increase in activity, a strange hush had fallen over the palace. No one was looking at her. In fact, they were looking everywhere but at her.
Wren was about to call out to a passing maidservant when Shen Lo appeared, hurrying from the palace with a look of such horror on his face, Wren’s heart lurched.
Rose was not with him.
‘Wren!’ A terrible coldness swept through Wren as Shen sprinted towards her. She threw herself from the horse, stumbling as she landed. He grabbed her shoulders, hoisting her to her feet. ‘It’s Rose.’ His voice cracked on her name. ‘I’m sorry, Wren. I’m so sorry.’ He shook his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was saying. ‘I couldn’t save her. It all happened so fast.’
‘What the hell are you—?’
‘I failed her,’ he said. ‘I failed you. She’s—’ He stopped, choking on the word.
‘No.’ The word burst from Wren like a cry. She shook him off, pushing her way into the palace. ‘Where’s my sister?’ she called out. ‘Rose! Come down, Rose!’
Shen lunged for her hand, pulling her back. ‘Wren, she’s gone.’
The coldness in Wren sparked to flame, dread replaced by the white-hot rush of panic. She spun around. ‘She can’t just be gone, Shen. You’re talking nonsense.’ She tried to wrench her hand free. ‘Get off me. I need to see Rose. I need to see my sister.’
‘Listen to me, Wren. Please,’ Shen said, refusing to let her go. His voice was as ragged as the look on his face. In all the time Wren had known Shen Lo, she had never seen him look so … defeated. The maidservants drifted closer, the soldiers, too. Tor was at her back, a steadying hand braced on her shoulder. It suddenly felt as if the world was crowding in on Wren. And yet for all the faces that surrounded her, she could not find the only one she wished to see. ‘You all need to get out of my way right now,’ she said, through her teeth. ‘Or I swear I’ll run you through with this sword.’
No one moved.
Shen kept talking. Wren closed her eyes, trying to unhear the words as they burrowed into her mind, painting a story she did not want to know. ‘We were so close to land. We thought we were safe, that Oonagh had travelled inland, but she was skulking in the water near Wishbone Bay, waiting to strike.’
‘What does any of this have to do with my sister?’ Wren demanded.
‘Rose was on the prow when Oonagh came up from the deep. She grabbed hold of Rose. Pulled her down into the water and—’
Wren whirled on Shen, grabbing him by the scruff. ‘And you let her go?’
He let her shake him. ‘I couldn’t get to her in time.’
‘You were on a boat!’ Wren was shouting but she didn’t care who heard her. ‘You’re one of the best swimmers I know! Not to mention you trail after Rose every time you’re together! And now you’re telling me she went overboard and you were nowhere near her!’
‘Wren,’ said Tor, in a low voice. ‘Take a breath.’
But there was no air to breathe. Her fear was smothering her, grief sharpening her temper like a blade.
‘I tried to save her,’ said Shen, his voice hitching with guilt. ‘I nearly swam to my own death searching for her down there. I did everything I could. I swear it, Wren. I promise—’
‘Save your promises,’ said Wren, viciously. She could feel the curse feeding on her pain. It reared up like a dragon, willing to burn anyone who came close to her. ‘I don’t want to hear any more.’
This time, when she shook Shen off he let her go. So did Tor, both men falling back as Wren stalked into the palace, looking for answers. Though she knew, just like her sister, she would not find them there.
Rose was not dead, Wren decided in the throne room a short while later. She knew what Shen had told her – a story echoed by a stricken Celeste and an unusually morose Kai – that Rose had been dragged into the deep by Oonagh. But even so, Wren could not bring herself to believe it.
‘If Rose were dead, I would feel it,’ she said, as she sat half slumped in her throne.
Shen had followed Wren to the throne room but he was out on the balcony now, his hands braced on the balustrade, his head dropped as though he could no longer bear to hold it up. Kai was with him, a supportive hand resting on his cousin’s shoulder. Tor was standing straight-backed at the doors, guarding Wren’s privacy. Though she knew by the concern on his face, he was watching over her, too. Ready to catch her if she fell, to soothe her if she screamed.
Celeste was perched on the arm of Wren’s throne, staring vacantly at the floor. She hadn’t said all that much since Wren had arrived, both of them sitting together in the pooling silence, trying to fathom what had happened.
Though the palace was thrumming with activity, it felt strangely empty without Rose, as if even the proud stone walls missed the determined sweep of her skirts, the trill of her voice echoing down the hallways, the sound of her humming as she tended to her roses.
Wren ached for Rose’s presence now, hating all the moments she had been short with her sister or acted disinterested in her plans, her dreams. She missed Rose’s gentle warmth and clever mind, her unwavering loyalty and clear-eyed optimism. All these months she had taken Rose for granted, sure that she would lead the way, planning their future with the unerring sureness for which Wren had come to trust her.
Ever since their reunion last year, Wren had never even imagined a world where they would not be together, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand. Ruling. Laughing. Living side by side as their parents would have wished. If Banba had been one half of Wren’s heart, Rose was the other, and Wren could not – would not – simply go on without her.
No. She refused to believe it.
‘She’s not dead,’ she said, even as her voice broke. She scrubbed the tear from her cheek but another one slipped out. And then another. ‘She can’t be dead.’
Celeste raised her head, revealing her swollen eyes and tear-streaked face. ‘I saw Rose dragged beneath the waves myself. She didn’t surface. We searched for hours, but Oonagh moved so fast we never had a chance.’ She raked her hands through her hair, pulling salt crystals from the coils. ‘She’s gone. Nobody can survive that long beneath the water.’
‘Oonagh can,’ said Wren, recalling the vision she had once seen of her ancestor. How, following the altercation between Oonagh and Ortha Starcrest on the banks of the Silvertongue, Oonagh had fallen into the river only to enchant gills in her neck and swim as a merrow all the way to Gevra. Everyone thought she was dead but the truth was, Oonagh never died – not really. She simply swam. Not as herself, but as a creature made to breathe underwater.
‘Oonagh is already dead,’ said Celeste. ‘Or undead. The point is, the same rules don’t apply to her.’
Wren frowned. ‘She still would have needed a spell.’ In fact, Wren had cast that very same enchantment herself as a child, swimming in the Ortha Sea for hours until Banba’s voice went hoarse trying to call her home. Which meant it was possible – if not wholly plausible – that Rose had learned that enchantment, too. She had been practising, after all.
‘Rose didn’t drown.’ Wren stood up, and wiped her cheeks again. Steadied her voice. ‘I would feel it if she did. I know it.’ She gripped her sword, willing herself to believe it. ‘I know my sister. She wouldn’t have given up so easily.’ She turned back to Celeste. ‘Have you seen anything? If not in the sea, then in the starcrests?’
Celeste’s brows knitted. ‘Only the forest I glimpsed in the fire at Carrig.’ She shook her head. ‘I saw it before we lost Rose.’
‘Forest?’ said Wren, coming closer. ‘What kind of forest?’
‘One that weeps,’ said Celeste, meaningfully, and Wren knew at once what she meant. The Weeping Forest that bordered the Whisperwind Cliffs. ‘That’s where we thought Oonagh was going when we set sail,’ Celeste went on. ‘It’s why we left Carrig in such a hurry.’
‘Of course that’s where she’s going,’ muttered Wren, as understanding dawned. ‘Oonagh is taking Rose to the forest of dead witches.’ At Celeste’s frown, she went on. ‘Oonagh’s raising an undead army. And what’s better than a single undead witch?’ She swallowed thickly. ‘Thousands of dead witches.’
‘But what does any of that have to do with Rose?’ said Celeste.
Wren froze. Suddenly she knew it had everything to do with Rose.
Celeste came to her feet, reading the look on her face. ‘What is it … ?’
‘To raise that many witches, Oonagh will need a huge spell. A great sacrifice …’ And what was more powerful than a queen of the realm? The ancestor of not just Eana the first witch, but Ortha Starcrest, too. Wren’s cheeks began to prickle. Her head spun as her legs started to tremble. The curse devoured her fear, grasping for more. Tor moved like a wolf, catching Wren before she buckled. She steadied herself on his arm, giving voice to her terror. ‘I think she intends to use Rose.’
Celeste’s dark eyes widened. ‘Do you really think Rose is still alive?’
Wren nodded, grimly. ‘If she is, she won’t be for long.’ There wasn’t a moment to lose. If Wren’s hunch was right, then Rose was in danger, and about as far from help as the country allowed. ‘We have to go now. We have to hurry.’ She turned to Tor, grabbing his lapels. ‘I need you to go to the Captain of the Anadawn Guard, at once. Tell him to raise our army. The queen rides at dusk. And we’ll need provisions if we’re to cut through the desert.’
Tor was gone in the next heartbeat, marching purposefully through the halls of Anadawn and carrying her urgency as his own.
‘I’ll send word to Anika,’ said Celeste, who was halfway to the door already.
Wren made a beeline for the balcony. She closed the door behind her but Shen didn’t raise his head. If he sensed her there, he made no sign of it.
Kai looked at Wren over his shoulder, brows raised.
‘I need a moment with Shen.’
To her surprise, Kai didn’t argue. He stepped away, leaving them alone on the balcony together.
‘I’m sorry for shouting at you,’ said Wren, breaking the stony silence. ‘What happened to Rose wasn’t your fault. The truth is, I’m angry at myself for leaving her in the first place.’ She bit her lip. ‘For always leaving her. I haven’t been a good sister these past few months.’
Shen turned around to face her. ‘I was there, Wren. And she slipped through my fingers.’ He bit off a curse. ‘You were right to yell at me. Hell, you should have skewered me with that fancy new sword of yours. I deserve it.’
‘No, you don’t,’ said Wren, and she meant it. ‘You’re the only person in this world who loves Rose as much as I do.’ She grabbed his arms, trying to tug him from his cloud of melancholy. ‘You have to help me save her, Shen.’
He frowned. ‘But she’s gone.’
‘Not yet,’ said Wren, hoping she was right. ‘Oonagh is going to the Weeping Forest. I think she’s taking Rose with her.’
Shen’s mouth was a hard line. ‘And what if you’re wrong?’ he said, clearly not wanting to raise his hopes in vain.
‘Then we go anyway,’ said Wren. ‘Rose would want us to fight, Shen. For Eana. For the witches. For her.’
Shen’s eyes flashed, determination straightening his spine. He looked past Wren, to the sun climbing over the distant trees. ‘You’re right,’ he said, more to himself than to her. ‘Let’s cut that vicious creature down once and for all. For Rose. For Banba.’ He returned his gaze to Wren. ‘For you.’
Wren gripped the hilt of her sword, summoning the ghost of a smile. ‘There’s my best friend.’
‘Always,’ said Shen, returning it. ‘Now we fight. And we don’t stop until the war is won.’