Page 62 of Twin Crowns

“I feel faint,” she said, sinking into her chair. “It must be the fumes.”

“I don’t think I’veeverencountered such a dramatic evening before,” announced Ansel. “And that includes the time Anika hurled an ice sculpture at my mother. There must be something in the air tonight.”

“Must be,” said Wren tightly.

Then Rathborne groaned.

She spun around. “Willem?”

He wrapped his arms around his stomach and began to retch.

A wild, maddening hope took hold of Wren. “Are you feeling all right, Willem?”

“I... think... the... fizz... was... too... strong... for... me.”

“You only had the barest sip,” said Ansel with a small giggle.

Rathborne pushed away from the table.

Tor rushed to his side as he staggered to the door. Wren could tell the soldier was studying Rathborne—the color quickly draining from his cheeks, the sweat beading on his brow. Another minute and that pesky Gevran might figure out what she’d done.

She jostled Tor out of the way. “Stand back. Let his guards through.”

Tor stepped back, and the palace guards promptly escorted Rathborne from the room. Wren followed them out into the hallway.

“Tell Chapman to fetch Hector.Ah.There is such a twisting in my stomach. Itburns.” Rathborne winced. “She warned me.... The flames are inside me... theburning...ah... but the moon is not yet full.Oh, the moon...” He trailed off into senseless muttering.

Wren reached for his hand. “Let me help you, Willem. You can trust me.”

Rathborne pushed her away. He retched again, this time bringing up a mouthful of blood. “The enemy wears two faces, Rose.... We must come for the witches before they come for us.... And they are coming.... They will burn us.... The flames... I can see them.... I can taste them....” A violent shudder passed through him and he retched again. “May the Great Protector watch over us now.”

He staggered away, still muttering feverishly to himself. Wren watched him go, wondering who had told him those strange things and what on earth they meant.

“Rose?” Celeste came to the doorway. “What the hell is going on?”

“It looks as if the frostfizz didn’t agree with poor Willem.” Wren clutched her stomach just as Tor appeared behind Celeste, wearing the same look of bewilderment. Wren stepped away from both of them. “Come to think of it, I don’t feel too good either. I really should retire.”

Before either of them could say another word, Wren hurried away, the clatter of her footfall filling the halls as she ran for the safety of her tower. Tonight had been a disaster, but if she was lucky—if the fates were watching over her—then that mouthful of poison would be enough to finish off Willem Rathborne for good.

22

Rose

The sun rose over Ortha, bathing the cliffs in bright golden light.

“Nnngh.”Rose rolled over on the scratchy hay mattress, but it was no use trying to go back to sleep. The sun was too bright, and Banba’s snores were practically shaking the entire hut. Even from their height on the cliff, Rose could hear the waves crashing against the rocks and the piercing cries of the gulls.

What she wouldn’t have given for the gentle silence of her bedroom back in Anadawn Palace, the rustle of silk against her skin, and the promise of a lavender-scented bath bubbling nearby. To make matters worse, her head was pounding awfully. It felt like an egg that might crack open at any moment.

The celebration had gone on late into the night, with singing and dancing and drinking—so much drinking—and she had watched it all, feeling dizzier by the moment. Shen had stayed by her side, practically daring anyone to try to harm her again. Rose had wanted to send him away for lying to her about Wren, but she was too frightened to face the witches by herself. She couldn’t forget that awfulwhooshas the air left her lungs, nor the ratcheting panic that came after, so every time ajug of wine passed by, she’d reached for it and drunk deeply. Far more deeply than she ever would at home.

That had been a mistake.

She vaguely remembered Shen catching her as she stumbled along the beach, away from the bonfire. He and Tilda had carried her up the cliffside, into Banba and Thea’s creaking hut. The floor had been unsteady under her feet, though Rose wasn’t sure if that was from the wind rattling the wooden slats or the wine rattling her head.

Banba and Thea had come home later, their arms wrapped around each other and their cheeks rosy from drinking. Thea had tucked Rose into bed as if she were a child. Banba had put an empty pot next to it and warned Rose not to vomit on the floor.

Mercifully, Rose had managed not to vomit in the night, but as the wind howled through the little hut, sloshing the liquid in her stomach, she thought she might not be so lucky this morning.

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