Page 80 of Cursed Crowns
Wren chewed on her lip. “I don’t know if it’s going to be that simple.”
“No act of greatness is ever simple, Wren Greenrock.”
Wren thought of her own journey to the throne, how she had scaled the palace walls and kidnapped her own sister to get her hands on the crown of Eana. “You would do anything for Ansel,” she murmured, to herself. “Just as I would do anything for Banba.”
“It appears we have more in common than we thought.”
Wren looked up sharply. “We arenothingalike.”
“In this moment, we are.” Alarik placed the dagger between his teeth and began to roll up his sleeve.
“What are you doing?” said Wren warily.
“No sense in ruining another good coat.” He removed the dagger and angled the tip over his palm. “You need blood, don’t you?”
Wren’s eyes went wide. “You want me to useyours?”
“I’m hardly afraid of a little bloodshed,” he said. “Ansel is my brother. It should be my sacrifice.”
Wren stared at the king.
He stared back. “Is there a problem?”
“No. I don’t know.” She frowned. “We can try it this way.” Using Alarik’s blood felt one step closer to what Oonagh had done, twisting the blood of others into her spells. But it was for his brother, after all. And he was giving it willingly. Perhaps it would be easier this way.
Alarik dragged the dagger point along his palm. A pearl of crimson bubbled to the surface and streamed across his fingers. It fell between them with an audible splat.
Wren grabbed his hand and pulled it toward her. “Don’t waste it,” she hissed.
“There’s plenty more, I assure you.”
The unexpected warmth of Alarik’s hand made Wren realize she was touching him. Skin on skin. The Gevran king wasn’t made of ice,after all. “Still. We don’t want to be careless with it.”
Alarik smirked. “So you don’t want me to suffer.”
“I don’t want myspellto suffer,” Wren clarified. “So you can wipe that irritating smile off your face.”
“Are you planning to get started sometime today? Or is this merely an elaborate excuse to hold my hand?”
Wren dropped his hand and wiped her fingers on her cloak. “Get over yourself,” she snapped. “And, yes, I’ll get started as soon as you stop talking.”
The king raised his eyebrows but said nothing.Smug bastard.Wren leaned over Ansel and unlaced the prince’s ivory doublet, revealing the pearly sheen of his skin beneath it.
“Come closer.” She carefully placed Alarik’s bleeding palm against Ansel’s chest. “Hold it just like that.”
Alarik went as still as a statue. His eyes were closed, a slight dent appearing between his brows. Wren couldn’t tell if it was from discomfort or the touch of his brother’s dead body, only that his careless demeanour had shifted, and he looked unsettled now... almost nervous.
She gingerly laid her hand on top of Alarik’s. Their shoulders brushed, and Wren caught a whiff of his scent for the first time. It was subtle, like woodsmoke in winter. Her fingers began to tingle.
“What is that?” he whispered. “That strange warmth.”
Wren shushed him. “The magic, you idiot. Now stop distracting me.”
She closed her eyes, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. Alarik slowed his breathing to match hers. The rest of the world fell away, until there was only Wren’s magic sparking in her veins, and Alarik’s blood guiding it toward Ansel’s frozen heart. Justas she had practiced last night and the one before it, she focused in on her intention and offered her enchantment. “With blood for strength, and words for flight, I call your soul back to the light.”
Wren’s voice echoed back at her from every corner of the room, ice water dripping in the silence that followed. Exhaustion tugged at the edges of her senses, and she was seized by the urge to sit down and catch her breath. She didn’t know if the spell was working, butsomethingwas happening. She could feel her magic pouring out of her.
She summoned another breath and raised her voice. “Ansel,” she called out. “With blood for strength, and words for flight, I call your soul back to the light.”