Page 70 of A Kiss of Flame

Of course they would. Elodie understood the prophecy better than anyone. She had studied it all her life. It was about her, wasn’t it? Her and Wren…

‘Where is she?’ Elodie asked after a moment of aching silence. ‘I need to see her. I need to explain it to her as well.’

‘She doesn’t know what she is?’

He watched her swallow hard, pushing down her fears, her regrets. ‘I think she suspects and she is terrified.’

‘Shouldn’t we be the ones who are terrified?’

‘Of Wren?’ Elodie shook her head with a soft surprised laugh. ‘No. Not ever. You’ve met her, spoken to her, seen her. There is such goodness in her, Roland. She has been all that was good in my life since I left you. Oh, she has made mistakes but what child has not? No, Wren is the one thing I have done right. But I need to explain it to her as well. All of it. And reassure her.’

He dragged himself from her embrace and made for the door, summoning the squire and sending him running to fetch Wren.

But she was nowhere to be found.

ILANTHIAN PROVERB

When you step into the stronghold of your enemy,

Be prepared for everything you know to change in a moment.

CHAPTER 37

WREN

It was full dark when they reached the Ilanthian embassy, dodging through the chaos of the lower city and avoiding the knights and guards who were still trying to seek out anyone connected with Sassone, and anyone who had seen what happened in the fortress. It wasn’t a time for discussion.

Wren knew if they realised who Anselm was, who his father was, he would be lucky to make it as far as a jail. It felt like, by trying to kill their now beloved queen, Sassone had driven the people of Pelias to the brink of madness with a rage that would not be quelled except with his blood.

And failing that, surely his son’s blood would do.

It was possible the Earl of Sassone was no more than a smear in the courtyard of his ancestral home now.

Olivier had found a cloak and wrapped it around Anselm as they half carried and half dragged him through the narrow lanes. It wasn’t far, Finn assured her, which was just as well, because Anselm wasn’t going to last much longer. When Olivier began to tire, Finn took over, carrying Anselm in his arms.

The embassy was a tall, gated enclosure, around a building topped with a cluster of bright towers. Wren stopped, staring at its willowy structures up close now, and she thought of the tower in Cellandre with a strange sense of familiarity and longing.

Finn spoke to the guards outside, stiff and impassive Ilanthians who looked long and hard at his companions but were quick to obey him. The gates opened silently, and they slipped inside.

This was a mistake. It had to be a mistake. But what else could she do? There was no way they were going to make it all the way back to the palace with Anselm. And Finn assured her that this would be safe. He was a prince of the line of Sidon here.

The servant who greeted them at the door bowed so low, Wren couldn’t doubt him.

‘Fetch Lady Hestia,’ he said, in a calm and quite different voice to the one she had come to love. This voice was cool and precise, used to commands. There was no please, and no if you will. It was an order. He didn’t hesitate in his advance either, hurrying inside the building. The servant vanished at once. ‘In here,’ he told her, and gestured towards a door which led to an elaborate reception room. Fabric lined the walls, rich damask the colour of blood. They laid Anselm on a chaise longue and Wren sank into the chair beside it.

‘What do we do?’ she asked.

‘First, we need to get the arrows out. And I hope Hestia can heal him. Then… then we’ll try to send word to Roland. Tell him we’re here and we need help.’

‘You said we’d be safe here.’

‘And we will. To a certain extent. Please, Wren, trust me. I’m doing what I can. I won’t let anyone harm you.’ There was a subtle emphasis on the word anyone. No doubting who Finn meant.

Leander was here somewhere.

Wren shuddered, curling in on herself, lifting her knees and wrapping her arms around them like a cocoon.

Footsteps outside brought Finn to his feet but Wren couldn’t move. Perhaps if she stayed still, no one would notice her. She was still in breeches and a jerkin, dressed as a boy. She grabbed her hair, pulling it back from her face. It was too long, far too long, out of control. If she could find a knife, she could cut it here and now.