Page 37 of Cursed Crowns

Suddenly, a whip cracked between them. It sheered a line in the dirt and nicked the hem of her dress. “As will I,” said Kai, stepping out from between the trees. Rose could tell by the huge grin on his face that he had heard every word.

Shen glowered at him. “This was a private conversation.”

“Privacy is for losers, cousin. Now can we go?”

“Very well,” said Rose as she stood. “First point of order, I insist you find a shirt.”

15

Wren

Wren’s heart pounded as she was ushered through the glittering halls of Grinstad Palace. Every step brought her closer to King Alarik, a ruler whose fearsome reputation stretched far beyond the Sunless Sea, and whose hatred for Wren—and Rose—ran so deep, he might well kill her on sight.

Tor was silent at Wren’s side, but she could hear the whistle of his quickened breath as he marched her away from the courtyard of beasts. From one danger into another. But Wren had begged him for an audience with the king, and with the eyes of his fellow soldiers on him in that bloodied arena, Tor had no choice but to take her. Unlike Vidar, Tor kept his sword in its scabbard and walked alongside her, allowing her the brief illusion that she was not his prisoner.

His hands were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. Wren’s fingers itched to reach out to them, to kiss those hands for saving her—three times now—but she had cost him enough already.

“I know you’re angry at me.” She kept her voice low, mindful of the soldiers who watched them go by. “But I had to come, Tor. Alarik took my grandmother.”

Tor only shook his head, his jaw so hard it looked like marble.

Wren hated his silence. “Did you expect me to stay at Anadawn and doom Banba to the obsession of your terrible king?”

Finally, he looked at her. “I expected you to stay alive, Wren.”

“Iamalive.”

“For now.”

Wren wrung her hands. She couldn’t afford to worry about herself. “Have you seen Banba? Is she still alive?”

A new shadow crossed his face. “She’s not making it easy on herself. You are alike in that way. Stubborn. Hot-headed.”

Wren relaxed her shoulders. “That means she hasn’t lost hope yet. She must know I’m coming for her.”

Tor bit off a curse. “Hang your hope, Wren. I can’t protect you outside the arena.”

Wren knew that well enough already. The beasts in Gevra might bow to Tor, but the king and his men did not. “I don’t expect you to protect me. You don’t owe me anything.”

Tor ran a hand through his hair, unsettling the wavy strands. “Not everything is a transaction, Wren.”

“Maybe not. But you’ve already risked enough for me.”

He was silent then. He couldn’t find a way to deny it.

“I’m sorry for what happened to Ansel,” said Wren. “For taking Elske. For all of it.”

“I know,” he said, and for the briefest heartbeat, his hand brushed against hers. Wren didn’t know if it was deliberate, but the barest touch of his skin made her heart hitch. They came to the end of the hallway only to turn down another, the winter sun pouring in through the arched windows and threading strands of copper through Tor’s hair. Wren guessed by the number of guards stationed along the corridorthat Alarik Felsing was close at hand.

Her stomach twisted, her desire lost in the sudden swell of her fear. “Tor,” she whispered.

“I’ll stay with you,” he said.

Wren was embarrassed for wanting it. For needing it. And yet the relief at those four words flooded her like morning sunlight.

Presently, they arrived at a pair of iron doors. They were intricately carved with Gevran beasts, everything from nighthawks and silverjays to snow leopards and reindeer. In the center, along the seam, the Great Bear, Bernhard of Gevra, stood midroar, his mighty paws curled into two silver handles. Wren’s breath shallowed as Tor took hold of one. She imagined the bear opening its dripping mouth and swallowing her up as the doors swung open.

An icy wind swept over her, casting goose bumps along her arms. She stalled in the doorway, blinking into the sudden dimness.