Page 73 of Cursed Crowns
Rose turned to stare at Shen’s cousin. “What?”
The man turned to Kai, then, and for the briefest moment his smilefaltered. “Welcome home, son. You have done well.”
“Thank you, Father,” said Kai, dipping his chin. Perhaps it was Rose’s imagination, but she could have sworn a shadow crossed his face as he did, and she thought it looked an awful lot like fear.
27
Wren
The following morning, after a sumptuous breakfast of cinnamon-dusted pastries, honey bacon, and perfectly poached eggs, Wren chose a violet dress trimmed with soft gray fur from the wardrobe. The blizzard had blown itself out around dawn, not long after she had collapsed into bed, bug-eyed with exhaustion after a night of spells.
Blood spells.
A mouse squeaked at her from under the dresser as she fastened the buttons in her bodice. Her magic flared in answer, sending a current of heat through her body. “Good morning, my little miracle.”
The mouse cheeped merrily. Wren grinned. He was perfect, except for a little stiffness in his hind quarters. More important, however, he was still alive. The other mice had only lasted a handful of minutes after Wren’s enchantment, but this one had survived the entire night. A good omen indeed.
She unraveled the cloth from around her hand and examined her palm. The cut had scabbed over. Her stomach had welcomed breakfast, the honey bacon doing wonders to banish the taste of ash from her mouth, and as she stood before the mirror braiding her hair, she realized she felt better than ever.
If this was the cost of a little blood sacrifice, then she would gladly pay it.
A short while later, Inga poked her head inside. “I see you survived your first blizzard, Your Majesty,” she said with uncharacteristic warmth. “Would you like to go for a morning walk?”
Wren stared at her. “Is this some kind of trick?”
To her surprise, the soldier smiled. “I think you have fallen into the king’s favor. He has ordered me to take you out for some fresh air.”
“Just like one of his wolves,” mused Wren, but she didn’t pass up the chance to stretch her legs. If agreeing to help Alarik had somehow softened his disdain for her, then she would gladly take advantage of the perks that came with it. She fetched a trailing fur cloak from the wardrobe and waved her mouse goodbye. “I’ll check on you later, little one.”
Wren fell into step with Inga, enjoying the feeling of walking, rather than being marched somewhere against her will. It helped that Inga had no memory of the sleeping enchantment Wren had cast on her last night. “So, what is there to see around here? And don’t say the courtyard of beasts. I’ve already had a tour of that attraction.”
Inga glanced sidelong at her, and up close Wren was struck by how young the girl was. Perhaps even younger than her. She wondered if, like Tor, she had come here to train when she was just twelve years old. “We could take a stroll around the lake,” suggested Inga. “The beasts don’t go there.” She flinched at a memory. “Not since Princess Anika tried to teach Borvil to ice-skate. She nearly killed the bear and herself. The king was livid.”
Wren raised her eyebrows, trying to picture a giant ice bear lumbering across the frozen pond. She couldn’t help it—she laughed. Inga chuckled, too. “I’m afraid it was not so funny at the time.”
They passed through the atrium, where beasts napped in streams of morning sunlight, exhausted from last night’s blizzard. Outside, the wind was biting, but swaddled in her decadent dress and cloak, Wren barely felt it. There was a crispness to the Gevran air that she liked. It made her feel alert, focused. They walked the perimeter of the sprawling lake, where white hares darted in and out of winterberry shrubs, helping to dust off the freshly fallen snow. Out here, Wren could barely hear the growls from the palace. There was only the wind keening through the mountains, their jagged peaks rising around her like glistening fangs.
“It’s beautiful here,” said Wren, her breath making clouds in the air. “And I say that as a prisoner.”
“With any luck, you won’t be a prisoner for long,” said Inga. “King Alarik does not make a habit of it.”
“Taking prisoners or keeping them alive?” said Wren.
The young soldier shrugged. “Both.”
“Great.” Wren rubbed her hands together, wishing she had thought to wear gloves. They came to a wrought-iron bench heaped in powdery snow. Beneath it, she spied a discarded pair of ice skates. She lifted them by their laces, admiring the silver blades on the bottom. “You could take an eye out with these.”
Inga stiffened, a hand coming to the pommel of her sword.
“Notyoureye,” said Wren quickly. “Can I try them on? They look about my size.”
The soldier raised her eyebrows. “I believe they belong to Princess Anika.”
“I’m sure she won’t mind if I borrow them,” Wren lied. “She seems the type who likes to share, doesn’t she?”
Inga’s lips twitched. “Have you ever even skated before?”
“No, but I’m familiar with the concept,” said Wren breezily. “A little momentum. A little balance. How hard could it be?”