57. Wren
The cave feels different when I return, smaller and colder than I remember it, no longer quite the right size for me. I lie back against the wall and remember Cassiel sleeping here, chasing the warmth that no longer exists.
I trail fire between my fingers, moving it like clay, staring at the maps pinned ahead of me. Old plans, stars I no longer need to chart… marks and notes from a time that no longer means anything.
I study them anyway, turning them over in my mind, hoping some grand answer will leap out at me, some way to quell Alessandra’s anger and expunge my grandmother’s. Something to bring us to the end of this war.
And closer to the world where Cassiel and I can be together.
Think, Wren, think!
I taught a blind man how to fight. I set aside my own prejudice. I fell in love with someone I was never supposed to. This should all be easy compared to that, but there’s nothing. No path forward. No clever angle. No plan that doesn’t end badly.
I drag a hand down my face. I’ve got nowhere to go. No idea how to end this. No way to reach him.
If I could just speak to Cassiel, if we’d just had a little more time. If I could just get him a message—
I stop, sitting up straighter.
There’s one place, one person I can reach who might be willing to help me.
At this point, anything is worth a shot.
I pick a busy night when the tavern is loud and crowded, where no one notices one more face in the room. It’s warm, chaotic, alive with voices and movement. I keep my head down as I slip inside, weaving through the crowd towards the bar.
Magda spots me before I say a word. Her eyes light with something like relief, and she smiles.
“Well,” she says, like I’ve just walked in from a short errand instead of disappearing into a war. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
I lean on the counter, trying not to look casual rather than desperate.
“Miss me?” I ask.
“Always,” she says. Her expression sobers, and she sets aside the tankard she’s cleaning. “Got something for you.”
My stomach drops.
“From who?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she reaches beneath the counter and pulls out a letter, sliding it towards me.
My name is on the front. I’m not all that familiar with his handwriting, but I recognise it anyway, like little traces of him are stamped across the paper.
Magda’s smile softens. “Courier told me it was very important.”
My fingers close around the note. Trust Cassiel to find a way of reaching me before I could even think of it.
Before I can open it, Magda jerks her chin at the corner of the tavern.
“Not the only one looking for you,” she adds.
I glance over, and my heart leaps. It’s not Cassiel—of course it isn’t—but it’s a close second. I almost want to pass out with relief and joy.
I’m possibly just hungry.
Dain is slouched in a chair by the side of the room, watching me with wide, wondrous eyes.
He grins.
“You took your time.”
“Alessandra dismissed you?” I screech, when Dain is done recounting his story.
“I did refuse a direct order,” he reiterates. “I don’t see what else she could have done.”
“You left Cassiel there alone—”
“He can look after himself, you know.”
I bite my lip. I know that’s true, but I don’t like the thought of him alone in there, even with Ru and Robin. They can’t help him the way Dain could have.
“You couldn’t just… pretend to go along with her plans and sneak out and see me anyway?”
“Yes, in hindsight that might have been wise,” he admits, twirling his mead in his tankard, “but I was rather trying to prove a point.”
“Which was?”
“It’s not right to want to kill you.”
I smile at him. “You’re a good friend.”
“I am,” he admits. “But I also think I’m right, and, more importantly, I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
I raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain.
“While I was packing up, a couple of other knights came to see me. They don’t like what she’s doing, either. It doesn’t seem right, after all you’ve done—”
“I’ve killed people,” I remind him. “Some of them were their friends. Your friends, Dain—”
Dain shrugs. “Those are rumours.”
“You know it’s true—”
“I know you didn’t mean to, and I know that, in battle, you fight and defend yourself and people will die. I don’t blame you.”
“Others will. They shouldn’t—”
“Shouldn’t believe what Cassiel has said?
You gave him back his sight. You woke the queen.
You’ve been helping and healing random strangers for months, Wren, and people notice that.
People want to help you too, and it’s not just about you anyway.
Many folk have benefitted over the years from a bit of fey magic.
Many people have lost others to this fight.
Many people don’t want to lose anyone else. ”
He looks around the tavern. “That’s why I came here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t just hoping to find you,” he admits. “I was hoping to find allies.”
Desperate hope flares in my chest. “And did you?”
“A few,” he says. “But it’s early days.”
“How many days do you think we have?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Read Cassiel’s letter.”
I’d almost forgotten I was holding it. I tear it open. It’s several pages thick, although most of the pages seem to be composed of maps and notes—secret entrances, guard rotas, weak points in the walls. There’s only one bit directly addressed to me.
Wren,
My mother is planning something. She’s stockpiling weapons and recruits.
I’m going to try my hand at espionage to try and deduce exactly what she has in mind, but I’m not nearly as wiley or stealthy as you, so wish me luck.
Attached are copious notes I’ve made that may be of use, but Wren: please don’t do anything reckless.
Don’t try to get me out on your own. Don’t put yourself in danger for my sake. I love you too damn much.
Cass
I stare at the message for some time. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that Alessandra is planning something, and somehow, I doubt it’s all for me. I’ve never really been the problem.
My grandmother is.
I pause for a moment, think about Dain’s words, how not everyone wants to fight, how some people just want it over. If some of the knights feel that way… who else does?
“You’re thinking something,” Dain remarks. “You have a planning face. It looks a lot like Cassiel’s, just so you know.”
I’m barely listening to him. Dain takes the contents of the letter and starts scanning through them. He tries to tug the note out of my hand, but I don’t relinquish it.
“Don’t do anything reckless,” he reads over my shoulder. “Did you read that part, Wren? Here, let me repeat it for you—”
“It’s not that reckless,” I tell him, snapping out of my reverie. “And it’s not for his benefit.”
“Everything you do is for his benefit in some way. I don’t believe you.”
“Not this,” I say, still clutching his words.
Dain sighs, holding up his hands in defeat. “What do you need me to do?”
I push the plans towards him. “Make use of these,” I say. “I’m not exactly a military strategist.”
“You think that I am?”
“I think you’ve been a knight for several years—”
“You know, I’m actually quite young—”
“Dain!” I snap. “Take this seriously!”
“I am! I make jokes when I’m nervous, all right? I’m actually taking this extremely seriously.”
I sigh. “I need to see someone.”
“Of course you do.” His jaw tightens. “Any point telling you to be careful?”
“I’ll take the affection that comes with the advice.”
He grabs my hands and squeezes them. “Be careful, Wren.”
“I rarely am.” I squeeze his fingers right back, lingering longer than I should. “Thanks for being my friend,” I murmur. “I haven’t had a lot of those.”
“I have,” he says. “But not many that have mattered quite this much.” He takes a short, sudden breath. “Please don’t die.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I take Cassiel’s note with me, folding his love against my heart, and leave the rest with Dain.