Chapter 43 Wren
Dread coursed through Wren as she charged headlong at her sister. She tried to fight her own body, to cast her sword aside and fling herself to the earth to keep from harming Rose, but Oonagh’s grip on her mind was too strong. The curse inside Wren was wide awake, listening to its master.
Wren sobbed as she ran, tears streaming from her eyes.
Rose was so startled by the sight, she didn’t even move. She just stared at Wren as if she was trying to work out who she was.
Move, Wren wanted to scream. Get out of the way!
She was barely ten steps from skewering her sister with the point of her sword when Shen jumped in front of Rose, drawing his dagger. He sank into a protective crouch, his eyes on Wren.
‘Don’t make me fight you, Greenrock,’ he said, warily. ‘You know I don’t want to.’
But Wren couldn’t stop. She swung wildly, the sword whistling as it cut through the air. Shen leaped, narrowly avoiding the blade as he landed a spinning kick to her shoulder. Wren was knocked off-kilter, giving him enough time to catch her right arm and deftly trap it behind her back.
A scream ripped out of her as he twisted her wrist.
‘You have to drop it,’ he said, close to her ear. ‘Try, Wren.’
Wren closed her eyes, willing her body to listen to her and not Oonagh. But she began to thrash, violently, trying to regain control of the sword. She knew if Shen dared let go, she would stab him in the next breath.
Shen seemed to know it, too. He crushed her against him, pinning her arms to her body. Then he spun her away from Rose. Together, they faced Oonagh across the long grass. ‘Just hold on a little longer,’ he whispered. ‘Help is coming.’ She jerked and thrashed as he walked her forward, easily weathering her attempts to flee. ‘There, Wren. Do you see the grey sails down in the bay?’
Wren couldn’t respond but her heart gladdened at the sight of the Gevran warships below them and the fact that for all her blood-soaked power, Oonagh Starcrest had not yet spotted them. She was too busy leering at Wren, enjoying the struggle between her and Shen.
‘Isn’t one sister enough for you?’ Oonagh crowed. ‘That one belongs to me.’
Shen ignored the taunt. His hand came to the hilt of Night’s Edge. ‘Can you drop it?’
Wren tried but it was no use. She clenched her teeth, fighting through the shadows inside her, trying to find a precious kernel of free will. She knew it was buried in there somewhere, hidden deep in the recesses of her soul. She crafted her words, pushed them out on to her tongue, and with all the strength in her body, managed to eke out a single plea. ‘Take it.’
Shen ripped the sword from her grasp and a new scream poured from Wren. She slumped on to the grass, cradling her twisted wrist.
‘Wren!’ Rose was pacing at the treeline, too frightened to go to her sister, too rooted to turn and run back into the trees. It was just as well because Wren glimpsed a sea of red eyes gathering in the forest, the dead rising again to finish their task. Oonagh’s army was back and waiting for her next command.
Shen arced around Wren, angling Night’s Edge at Oonagh. ‘You can’t control me,’ he roared with such anger, Wren hardly recognized him. ‘Let’s finish this!’
Oonagh shrieked in amusement. ‘Such arrogance!’ She brewed a gust between her hands and flung it at him like a boulder, knocking him back. Shen lost ground but kept his footing, coming at her again and again, until Oonagh tired of her own tricks.
The next time she called down the wind, it came like a hurricane, bending the trees as it swept over them. Rose was thrown backwards, where she landed in a heap in the long grass. Wren was rolled across the earth, over and over, spitting grass from her mouth. While Shen was the most seasoned warrior among them, he was no match for the ancient power of Oonagh Starcrest. She flicked him like a gnat, sending him back towards the forest where he lost his grip on Eana’s sword and slammed head first into a trunk.
When he came to, he crawled through the rising storm to Rose.
‘So, the desert king has made his choice,’ said Oonagh, as she stopped in the grass beside Wren. She looked down on her, pulling an exaggerated pout. ‘How sad it is to be rendered second best, but I have always found it to be a motivation for greatness.’ She plucked Wren from the grass by her hair and lifted her to her feet. ‘Or perhaps we should make a martyr of you instead,’ she said, angling her dagger at her throat. ‘What do you think, dear puppet?’
‘I think you’re a hateful soulless creature who has far outlived her welcome on these shores!’ Rose burst out. She shook Shen off and started towards Oonagh, clutching Daybreak. This was her chance.
Wren felt the bite of Oonagh’s blade as it punctured her skin. ‘Keep talking,’ taunted Oonagh. ‘Every step pushes my blade deeper into your sister. You can kill her yourself.’
Rose froze. ‘What do you want from us?’ she shouted.
‘Well, now that you mention it, there is something I want—’ Oonagh stopped suddenly. She snapped her chin up, scenting the wind. At that same moment, Wren felt the curse jerk inside her, as if something – or someone – was tugging at her soul.
‘Ah,’ said Oonagh. ‘My other plaything has arrived.’
‘I hope I haven’t missed the tea party,’ came Alarik Felsing’s unmistakable drawl. ‘I’ve been meaning to jab a butter knife in your eye.’
Oonagh swung Wren around to find the king of Gevra standing on the edge of the cliff, looking worse than Wren had ever seen him. And that really was saying something. Yet, even despite his weakness, she could tell by the smudges of dirt on his cheeks and the grass stains on his trousers that somehow, Alarik Felsing had dragged himself up those cliffs.
Wren felt herself smile.
Alarik, for all his suffering, smiled back.
‘Oh, my bleeding heart,’ taunted Oonagh.
‘Careful,’ said Alarik. ‘You sound jealous.’
‘You be careful, little king,’ Oonagh shot back. ‘You are tied to me just as strongly as you are to her.’
Alarik cocked his head. ‘If that’s true then why do I like her and yet find myself wishing for your quick and painful demise?’
Oonagh cast Wren aside, relinquishing her grip on her mind. ‘You have no business on these shores. Why have you come here?’
Alarik dug his hands into his pockets. ‘I thought perhaps you might like to kill me.’
Wren’s heart dropped as Oonagh stilled, intrigued by his offer.
What the hell was Alarik doing?
‘I hear you’re into that kind of thing,’ he went on. ‘Mindless killing. Indiscriminate terror.’
‘Nothing I do is mindless,’ said Oonagh, coming towards him.
‘I can’t say I relate.’ He flashed a wolfish grin. ‘But then I am Gevran.’
‘I’ve never known a Gevran to go so willingly to their death,’ said Oonagh, flexing her fingers. Wren felt another gust rising.
‘He doesn’t mean it!’ she yelled, struggling to her feet. ‘It’s just a game!’
‘Perhaps I want to play it,’ said Oonagh, grabbing Alarik by the collar. She pulled him close, until they stood nose to nose along the edge of the cliff. Wren lost her breath. Oonagh could toss him over the cliffs. He wasn’t strong enough to stop her and by the expression on his face, it didn’t even seem as if he wanted to.
‘Alarik!’ Wren screamed, but the king didn’t look at her. ‘Stop this madness!’
She whirled around in a panic and caught sight of Rose and Shen stalking through the long grass, looking for Night’s Edge. Shen flicked his gaze to the cliffs, then raised a finger to his lips.
Understanding careened over Wren. She remembered the grey sails floating in the bay, the promise of the Gevran army hovering just out of reach. Until now it hadn’t occurred to her to wonder where on earth Alarik had come from or who he might have brought with him. And yet now, here he stood, making a distraction of himself … toying with Oonagh just as she liked to toy with them.
Alarik was buying time. He was not strong enough to fight with his sword, but words had never failed him. They were working, even now.
‘You do not look frightened.’ Oonagh scowled at the king. ‘Is it because I am wearing the face of your beloved?’
Alarik met her hateful gaze with cool indifference. ‘I’m not afraid, because in all the ways that matter, I am already dead. But you know that. Since this curse in me feeds from you, too.’
‘How morose you are,’ she sneered, as she lifted him from his feet. ‘Perhaps I will kill you to put you out of your misery.’
To Wren’s surprise, Alarik smiled. ‘Or,’ he said, as if a new idea was suddenly blooming in his mind, right here on the windswept edge of the world. ‘If you’re feeling ambitious, you could marry me.’
Oonagh barked a laugh. ‘What jest is this?’
Wren was so shocked by the suggestion, she almost laughed, too. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a hand appearing at the far edge of the cliffs, noted the cuff of its midnight-blue sleeve, trimmed in silver. The Gevrans had breached the cliff line and by the way Alarik was talking, he must have known it.
‘Gevrans never jest,’ he went on. ‘Release me from this wretched curse and I will bow to you, Oonagh Starcrest. I will worship you like no other. You will be my queen and together we will rule the great kingdoms of Gevra and Eana together.’ He offered her a conspiratorial smile. ‘And beyond, if you wish it.’
‘I need no man to rule,’ said Oonagh, though Wren swore she was wavering a little at the suggestion. Or at the very least, not killing him outright for it. Wren could tell she was tempted, not by the possibility of marriage but by the lure of the power it would grant her.
Alarik could sense it, too. ‘Then you can rule me, as well.’
Oonagh peeled her lips back. ‘Pretty words do not make promises. You are in love with the girl. I can smell it on you. I can sense the longing inside you.’
Wren flinched at the words. Alarik made little of them, as though they held no consequence for him.
‘You said it yourself,’ he said, smoothly. ‘You wear the same face as Wren. So, what difference is it to me? And you must know I’ve always admired ambition.’
‘Lies,’ said Oonagh, with a hiss.
‘Let me go and I’ll prove my intention,’ said Alarik. ‘Unless you are too frightened to conceive of an even greater future than what you had imagined for yourself.’
Oonagh snapped her hand away, dropping him along the cliff edge. For a moment, Alarik teetered on the brink of death. Wren could scarcely breathe. Even though she could sense the army sneaking over the cliffs, she couldn’t tear her gaze from the Gevran king. She was rooted in place by the fear of what he might do next.
What Oonagh might do to him.
And then, to her enduring surprise, Alarik knelt in the grass and lowered his head in deference. ‘My queen.’
Oonagh looked down at him, an entirely new smile spreading across her face. For a moment, she looked … triumphant.
Then a deafening roar shattered the moment.
Oonagh jerked her chin up just as Princess Anika came riding over the cliffs on the back of Borvil, the royal ice bear. The rest of the Gevran army came with her, the soldiers brandishing their swords while their beasts growled through bared teeth.
Oonagh let out her own roar of anger but by the time she turned again to face Alarik, he was already stumbling away from her. She drew her arm back, readying her dagger just as Elske appeared in a blur of white and barrelled straight into her. Tor leaped after the wolf, landing on Oonagh with the wild anger of a beast and pinning her to the ground.
Oonagh shrieked as she fell, her command cutting through the air. ‘STRIKE!’
Behind Wren, the entire forest came to life. Red-eyed bodies shot out from the trees, meeting the charging Gevrans in an almighty clash of brute force. From the skies, a flock of nighthawks descended, trying to pick off Oonagh’s army, but there were as many cursed creatures now as there had been in the beginning. As Shen’s witches and Wren’s soldiers came staggering through the trees, Wren realized with a sinking feeling that they numbered far less than before.
‘Wren!’ Rose hurtled towards her sister, grabbing her by her shoulders. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Wren, trying to fight the tide of her panic. The Gevrans had come – refreshed and ready for war – and yet she couldn’t shake the thought of all the witches and soldiers lying dead in the forest, felled by corpses that refused to die. ‘At least I can talk for myself. I can move as I like. So long as Oonagh’s distracted I can—’ She stopped at the sudden look of horror that came over Rose. ‘What is it?’
Rose’s lips were moving but she couldn’t seem to find the words. Wren turned around, following her sister’s gaze to the cliff edge, where Tor had been fighting Oonagh only a moment ago.
Now Oonagh was gone. A snow tiger pinned Tor to the earth. And beside the embattled soldier, his beloved Elske lay motionless.