Chapter 51 Wren
Wren hurried down to the treeline, where hundreds of weary survivors were emerging from the Weeping Forest. She met them at the edge of the forest, sharing in their bitter triumph and empathizing with their pain. She was glad of the strength that had returned to her body, relieved that her feelings and actions were her own once more. Instead of despair, hope bloomed inside her. For the first time in months, her limbs felt light, her head clear. She was free. Now that the curse had been broken and Oonagh Starcrest was truly dead, she could be the queen Banba had always believed she could be. She could be the leader her people needed. Wren finally felt equal to the task. And more than that, she was eager for it.
But first, she had to find Tor. Worry lanced through her as she searched the sea of weary soldiers stumbling out of the trees. From the corner of her eye, she watched Rose reunite with Shen, and released a breath of relief at seeing her best friend alive and well, if a little bloodied.
When Rose and Shen slipped into the forest for a quiet moment, Wren continued her desperate search. She stalked back and forth, quietly grieving the bodies of witches and soldiers alike as they were carried out of the woods and laid down beneath the great Mother Tree. There were hundreds of casualties. Wren stilled at the sight of Rowena and Bryony, who had fought side by side, and died that way, too. Feeling as if her heart was truly breaking, she knelt beside her friends.
‘Rest easy,’ she sobbed. ‘You’re free now.’
The Gevran army arrived after the others. They followed a limping Princess Anika through the trees, carrying their dead brethren and beasts out on to the moonlit plain.
Celeste ran to meet them, shouldering Anika’s weight as she guided her up towards the Mother Tree, where Lei Fan and Grandmother Lu had cast a ring of everlights to light up the dark. The rest of the witches were here healing the most gravely injured. Wren paid her respects to the fallen Gevrans, terrified of finding two familiar faces lying among the dead, but there was no sign of Tor or Alarik. There was no sign of them anywhere. She turned around, her heart hammering as she searched the masses.
Where the hell are they?
‘Don’t look so frightened, Queenie,’ said Kai, who arrived presently without a shirt. ‘I survived.’
‘I see your shirt made a worthy sacrifice,’ said Wren. ‘Have you seen King Alarik? Captain Iversen?’
‘Not for an age,’ he said, after thinking on it. ‘But if I had to guess, I’d say the king is at the bottom of the Ortha Sea. And he’s not alone down there.’ His gaze darkened. ‘Things got pretty ugly once you disappeared.’
Wren bit off a curse, refusing to believe it. She had been so attuned to Alarik’s pain for so long, surely she would have sensed it, felt it, if he’d drowned. But when she looked for the scar on her wrist, she realized it had disappeared. And so, too, had her connection to the king.
But … no. She would not consider it. Alarik and Tor were safe. They had to be safe. The alternative was simply too harrowing to face. There were more everlights burning down by the forest now, illuminating the stragglers coming through the trees. Wren stalked back and forth, waiting, hoping …
And then at last, she spotted a familiar figure coming through the trees. She knew Alarik by the silver-branch crown on his head, and how he walked towards her with the ease and confidence of a king. A king who was no longer cursed to die.
Wren broke into a run, buoyed by such relief, she thought she might lift into flight. Alarik was alive. He had survived the battle, survived the curse. They had both fought their way to freedom and won. Alarik stopped when he saw her, but Wren was running too fast to slow down. She barrelled into him and they both fell backwards, landing in a heap on the ground.
‘Oops, sorry,’ said Wren, clambering off him.
‘So much for your queenly grace,’ said Alarik, laughing in relief.
‘What queenly grace?’
‘Well, quite.’
Wren looked past him, anxiously scanning the dark mouth of the forest. ‘Where’s Tor?’
‘I’m here.’ Tor emerged through the trees and stepped into the moonlight. He was cradling Elske’s body, his face so stricken Wren’s heart broke once more. And yet when he saw Wren sitting unharmed on the ground, his eyes softened. ‘You’re alive,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘Thank the stars.’
Wren sprung to her feet. ‘Oh, my sweet girl,’ she murmured to the wolf. ‘You beautiful brave creature.’
Elske lay perfectly still in Tor’s arms. Her limbs were stiff and cold and her fur was smeared with dried blood. But when Wren laid her hand on her head, Elske’s gaze flickered. With great effort, she heaved a shallow breath. ‘You’re still here,’ whispered Wren.
Tor hugged the wolf close. ‘She wanted to see you one last time.’
‘Oh.’ Wren’s eyes filled with tears. As her sadness welled, something flickered to life inside her. A familiar whisper of warmth returned to her bones. Magic. By the way it flared, Wren sensed it was yearning to be used.
‘Set her down,’ she said, urgently. ‘Let me work on her.’
Tor hesitated. ‘But your magic … I thought …’
‘Please,’ said Wren, kneeling in the dirt. ‘Let me try.’
Tor surrendered his fear and did as he was asked, coming to his knees as he set the wolf down in front of Wren. Elske’s eyes flickered but Wren was not ready to let her go. She had lost too much on the battlefield. She couldn’t stand to let another life slip through her fingers.
She laid her hands on Elske’s stomach and closed her eyes, willing her magic to obey her. She could feel it blazing inside her, but she had never possessed a healing strand before. She didn’t know if she even possessed one now. But time was of the essence, and Wren had to try.
Please help me, she begged her magic. Let me heal this precious soul.
The world quietened around Wren, until there was only the weakened patter of Elske’s pulse beneath her fingers. In the blackness of her mind, Wren saw a silver thread. It was thin and fraying, the wolf’s life force slowly fading to nothing.
Wren reached out to grab it. Her magic lurched, crossing the bridge of their souls until it reached the ailing wolf. It went to work, Wren’s fingertips tingling as her magic flooded the gentle creature, knitting her internal wounds back together. Slowly, slowly, Elske’s pulse grew stronger. She began to breathe, slow and deep and steady, matching Wren’s rhythm.
Wren felt a faint pulling sensation inside her as her magic bottomed out. She began to sway, but steady hands came to her shoulders, holding her in place.
‘It’s working,’ whispered Alarik. ‘You’re healing her.’
Wren felt herself smile. She was so exhausted she could hardly think. She released the thread of Elske’s life and watched it glow, bright and sure in the darkness of her mind. Then she let go of her magic entirely and tumbled back into the real world.
Wren opened her eyes to find the wolf staring back at her. Elske blinked, awake, alert. Her tail thumped against the ground, wagging happily as she heaved herself back to her feet. She came to lick Wren’s cheek.
Wren giggled. ‘You’re welcome, sweetling.’
And then Tor was before her, smiling so broadly Wren could see all of his teeth. ‘You are a wonder, Wren,’ he said, pressing a kiss to her hand and then the other. ‘A beautiful, fearless wonder.’
‘A tired wonder,’ said Wren, but despite her exhaustion, she couldn’t help revelling in her triumph. She was not just a witch but a healer. No longer broken or useless.
‘A wonder indeed,’ muttered Alarik, releasing her shoulders. He stood up, offering his hand to Wren. ‘If I may have a moment?’
As Tor scooped Elske into his arms and buried his face in her fur, Wren rolled to her feet and followed Alarik a short distance away. Looking at him now in the glow of the everlights, she realized he looked better than he had in weeks. The dark shadows had faded from underneath his eyes and his cheeks were no longer hollow.
His eyes were bright and searing, his wolfish smile coming easily to his face. ‘You’re staring at me again, Wren.’
‘I can’t help it,’ said Wren. ‘You look so … alive.’
He raised a brow. ‘It’s incredible what banishing an ancient corrosive blood curse will do for your self-esteem.’
‘And your ego.’
He barked a laugh. ‘Thank you, by the way. For taking care of our little problem.’
‘You’re welcome,’ said Wren. ‘Though I couldn’t have done it without your help.’
‘My tongue has always been sharper than my sword.’
‘Yet another thing we have in common.’
He hmm’d in agreement. ‘For better or for worse.’
‘This is better,’ said Wren. ‘We’re finally free.’
His gaze lingered on hers. ‘I suppose we are.’
‘What did you want to talk to me about?’ said Wren, even though she already had an inkling. Just because the curse between them was broken, didn’t mean there weren’t other things – other feelings – that needed to be addressed.
He scrubbed a hand across his jaw. ‘Well, I was actually thinking it might be fun to try a new blood spell together.’
Wren punched him in the shoulder. ‘That’s not funny.’
His eyes danced. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve seen enough magic to last me a lifetime.’
‘Then you’ve learned your lesson at last.’
He flashed his teeth. ‘Who says you can’t teach an old wolf new tricks?’
Wren looked at her wrist, tracing the place where the crescent scar had once been. It occurred to her that Alarik’s must have faded, too, the last remnants of Oonagh’s spell finally leaving their bodies. The king might have seen enough magic for one lifetime, but Wren was pleased to have hers returned to her in full working order. Even now, she relished the familiar hum of it under her skin. ‘I admit it’s nice not to feel broken any more.’
‘For what it’s worth, Wren, you were never broken to me.’
She jerked her chin up.
‘Just annoying,’ he added.
Wren snorted. ‘Thank you for that modicum of sincerity.’
‘I’m afraid a modicum is the best I can do.’
They were silent then, looking unashamedly at each other as they tried to unpick this strange new closeness that had outlasted the curse. For Wren, her pull towards the king was not the same one she had felt in the mountains. It was softer now, simpler. And yet she could not deny that she felt great affection for the king of Gevra. That the thought of him sailing away from her – from here – at daybreak made her feel … well, sad.
Alarik turned his wrist over, caressing the spot where his scar had been. ‘I think I shall miss it, you know,’ he said, quietly. ‘I suppose I had got used to it.’
Wren smiled, knowing precisely what he meant. ‘I think I’ll miss mine, too. Stubborn as it was.’
‘At least it wasn’t mouthy,’ he conceded. ‘Like mine.’
‘But you can’t deny it made for good company,’ said Wren.
Alarik didn’t deny it. He looked up at her, his eyes shining. When he spoke again, his voice was sombre. ‘A good king knows when to fight … and when to lay down his weapon.’ His gaze flitted to Tor, and then back to her, and Wren knew then that he understood where her heart truly lay.
Wren nodded, slowly. ‘Sometimes the right thing is to give up. Even for a Gevran.’
He offered the ghost of a smile. ‘I suppose that remains to be seen.’
Tor rolled to his feet. He dug his hands in his pocket, waiting. Watching.
Alarik took a step backwards. ‘Well, then … friends?’
‘Only if you promise to be nice to me.’
‘The only promise I’ll make is to keep you on your toes.’ Alarik turned from their conversation to follow Elske up to the Mother Tree, his parting words flying over his shoulder. ‘You’ll have to make do with that.’
‘In that case, I will gladly make you the same promise,’ Wren called after him.
His laughter reached her on the wind.
When Wren turned around, Tor was standing before her. His eyes shone silver in the moonlight and though he was battle-worn and bruised, he looked achingly handsome. Achingly hers.
He found her gaze and held it. ‘Just so there’s no confusion, I don’t want to be your friend, Wren.’
‘Good,’ she said, a little breathless. ‘I don’t want to be your friend either.’
Tor opened his arms and she went to him, happily folding herself into his embrace. When he brought his mouth to hers and their tongues met, Wren’s magic erupted until she felt as if she was lit from within by the moon itself.
The war was finally over, and though grief hung heavy in the air, love had found Wren again. She reached for it with both hands, swearing to herself that this time, she would never let it go.