Chapter 14 Wren
WREN
Wake up, my sweet catalyst.
The voice yanked Wren out of her dreams and into the murky haze of morning. She gasped, clutching her chest, eyes skating around her dimly lit tent. But there was nobody speaking to her…nobody in the room.
Wait.
Nobody is here.
The sudden awareness washed over Wren as she slid her legs out of the sheets and pressed her feet upon the cold floor.
Every morning since she had arrived at the Demien Order’s encampment, she’d awoken to find Edith looming over her, ready to drag her into another endless day of torture. But this morning…nothing. No one.
Without thinking, Wren slid her boots on and beelined for the entrance, but when she tried to part the edges of the tent’s canvas, she noticed there was no entryway.
As if the tent had hardened into a concrete wall.
She furrowed her brow in confusion and searched, desperate to find some sort of opening, but there was nothing.
The entrance to the tent had seemingly vanished, trapping her inside.
Wren groaned in irritation. It must be some sort of protective barrier. It had been foolish to think Edith would let her simply waltz out of the tent. Wren might be alone, but that didn’t mean she was going anywhere.
She slumped back onto her bed in defeat, fingers fussing with the end of her braid. A tidal wave of questions shot through her mind. Why hasn’t Edith taken me this morning? What could possibly have changed? But then Wren remembered what August had told her the night before.
“I can find a way to convince her to stop. Or at least pause the sessions until Equinox.”
Hope surged in Wren’s chest.
Maybe he actually did it.
That seedling of hope was instantly snipped when a sudden commotion stole Wren’s attention.
From one moment to the next, two people materialized at the entrance of the tent—a boy and a girl, the two of them caught in a furious debate.
The boy had deep olive-toned skin and buzzed dark hair, a sort of Cheshire cat grin that led Wren to believe he could charm his way out of whatever argument he was having with nothing but his dimpled smile.
The girl’s bright pink hair brushed her pale freckled shoulders as she shook her head indignantly, scoffing at whatever the boy had been saying before they’d crossed through.
“—absolutely not. Are you insane?” she barked, staring up at him defiantly.
She was far shorter than the boy, though Wren had a feeling she could easily take him in a fight.
“There is no freaking way we stand a chance against them. Either way, they would never set up Silver against Onyx twice in a row—what the hell did you say to him?!”
“Oh, nothing. I just casually insulted his entire bloodline,” the boy said with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “But honestly, Callum is so sensitive.”
The girl’s brows creased together. “You’re an idiot. You know that, right?”
“But I’m your idiot.”
“No. You’re a pain in my fucking—”
“Uh…” Wren cleared her throat. The pair instantly froze, heads turning toward Wren in perfect synchronization. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but who the hell are you?”
“Oh.” The girl’s face creased in confusion, blinking. “You’re awake. I guess the sedative wore off earlier than usual.”
Sedative? Wren had wondered if they’d been drugging her, considering how deeply she’d been sleeping. She had found it odd that she’d only ever woken up once Edith was already in the tent waiting for her.
The boy sauntered forward, his limbs moving with an easy grace that made it appear as though he were floating.
He placed a hand on his chest and offered a mocking bow.
“Arthur Alexander Ellington, but friends call me Artie, which means you can call me Arthur. And this here is—” He had begun to gesture to the girl next to her when a sudden wave of recognition swept through Wren.
“Quinn,” Wren whispered, staring up at the girl in disbelief. “Quinn Woodrow.”
How could she not have recognized her sooner? Quinn had vanished shortly before the Decennial opening ceremony, though everybody knew what her disappearance had actually meant…that she’d abandoned Blackwood Academy in favor of the Demien Order.
“Huh.” Quinn snorted, crossing her arms. “The great and magnificent Wren Loughty actually recognized me.”
“Of course,” Wren whispered defensively. “We…we had classes together. I was so sad to hear that you—well…that you…”
“Condemned my soul for all eternity to join the Demien Order?” Quinn supplied with a wry smile.
Wren flushed. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
“But you were thinking it, weren’t you?” Arthur teased with a grin, a slight crinkle appearing at the bridge of his nose.
“Well…” Wren looked between them, sighing. “I suppose we should just get it over with.”
Quinn raised a brow. “Get what over with?”
“I assume you’re here to take me to Edith.”
“Nope,” Arthur said, placing his hand on Wren’s back and not-so-gently ushering her forward. “Turns out our benevolent High General has decided to offer you a break.”
Wren staggered to a halt.
“A—a break?” Wren glanced between them in confusion, though a part of her already knew why. August. She had been right. He must have somehow managed to convince Edith to stop the sessions. But how, and at what cost, Wren wasn’t sure. “Why would she do that?”
“Does it matter?” Arthur scoffed. He practically skipped to the entrance of the tent, swiveling on his heels.
He wore the same training leathers as Quinn—an armored vest fitted over his torso and laced armguards slipped over the sleeves of his black tunic.
Though most of his skin was covered, Wren could still see a sliver of shadows slinking up and down his neck.
“Look. The fewer questions you ask, the better. Why don’t you just count your lucky stars and follow us. ”
“But where are we going, then?” Wren asked in bewilderment.
Arthur gestured dramatically to the tent, twiddling his fingers. As soon as he moved, the entrance to the tent appeared.
“It’s time for the grand tour.”
Wren stilled, waiting for the punch line. “But…I’m supposed to be a prisoner.”
“You are,” Arthur replied. “For the most part. But considering you’ll eventually be one of us, we may as well get you acclimated now.”
An ember of fury burned in Wren’s chest. She crossed her arms, glaring up at Arthur. “I will never be one of you.”
Arthur, however, seemed completely unfazed, simply rolling his eyes and saying, “Yeah, whatever, sweetcakes.” He dismissed her with a perfunctory wave, strolling through the opening of the tent without a glance back. He called to her over his shoulder, “Just keep up, will you?”
Quinn grabbed Wren firmly by the wrist, nails digging into her flesh.
Before Wren could protest, the pink-haired girl gestured to the tent with a tilt of her head.
“It’s enchanted to keep you in. If you want to cross through, you have to have physical contact with a Demien.
” She tightened her grip as if to make a point.
Wren groaned and resisted the urge to scream. “Fine. Just…go.”
From one stride to the next, the empty tent became a noxious blur of smoke and leather.
A cacophony of noises replaced the chilling quiet—raucous laughter, echoing shouts, the crackle of magic.
It was like stepping into a raging current; bodies pushed past Wren, paying her no mind, a stream of Demiens coming and going from all directions.
Wren had never seen the main hub of the encampment before.
Edith would simply relocate her to the torture sessions, dragging her from one tent to the next.
But now she could see that the heart of the encampment was a buzzing hive, the spacious cavern overflowing with bodies. There had to be hundreds of them.
“This way!” Arthur snatched Wren by the wrist, pulling her forward. “Come on. We can’t let the prophesized catalyst of destruction get lost, now, can we?”
They zigzagged through the sea of Demiens, darting past an array of tents occupied by different specialty tradespeople—blacksmiths and leatherworkers—and tents brimming with magical explosives and other volatile potions.
Throngs of Demiens gathered around fire pits, the glow of firelight illuminating the unmistakable river of shadows gliding beneath their skin.
Woodsmoke and warm pine filled the air, an earthy scent that reminded Wren of walking through the forest in the dead of winter.
As they approached the mouth of a large tunnel carved into the eastern side of the cavern, Quinn and Arthur came to an abrupt halt. They spun around to face Wren, angling themselves closer.
“Listen carefully, because I’m only going to explain this once,” Quinn barked, snapping her fingers to get Wren’s attention. “The Order is divided into four Units—Silver, Emerald, Sapphire and Onyx.”
“Quinn and I are in Silver,” Arthur added, pointing to the silver pin clipped to the front of his leather vest. It was fashioned into the shape of a glistening sword with the Demien Order’s sigil carved on the hilt. “Which is where we’re heading now.”
“Silver Unit is solely for new recruits. Those who have recently joined the order but have yet to perform the Reaper’s Kiss.” Wren didn’t miss the slight tic in Quinn’s jaw at the mention of the infamous shadow magic spell.
“You take the eastern tunnel to get to our unit,” Quinn added, pointing up ahead. “The other units are scattered throughout the encampment. You take the northern tunnel to get to Emerald. The southern for Sapphire. And the western tunnel is for Onyx.”
“Though it’s best to stay clear of the other units,” Arthur muttered.
Wren snapped her gaze toward him. “Why?”
“Well…” Arthur peered at Quinn, who lacerated him with a frustrated glare. “The other Units are just…different. They’ve succumbed to the shadows. They’re a bit…well…how do I put this delicately…”