Page 67 of Twin Crowns

Rose laughed again, more uncomfortably this time. She was beginning to wonder about the old witch’s mind, and if perhaps she might need some healing of her own. “I’m quite certain Eana is made of earth and desert and rivers, much like any other land.”

Thea went on as if she hadn’t heard Rose. “Eana, of course, is not the bird itself. Rather, it is who this land is named for. Eana was the first witch. Many thousands of years ago, she lived among the stars, flying from one to the next on the back of her green-tailed hawk. But one day she grew tired of flying in the sky. She wanted to settle somewhere, to feel sand on her feet and the spray of salt water against her skin. And so, she bid her hawk to land in the sea, and with her magic, turned him into land. In time, others like Eana came, and the land grew to welcome them. She ruled as the first witch queen, and the gift of her magic was passed down from generation to generation.” Thea nodded at Rose, a sudden knowing look in her eye. “The blood of Eana runs through every witch. That is why we are fated to rule this island.”

Rose didn’t know if it was exhaustion from healing or the weight of another truth settling on her shoulders, but she found she was trembling again. “I am Eana; Eana is me,” she whispered.

“Exactly,” said Thea. “Exactly.”

They drifted in the sea a while longer, Rose staring at the changing horizon and thinking about the blood of Eana that ran in her veins.

Thinking about the truth of what had happened to her parents.

And about the sister she had never met, who now wanted to steal her throne.

Rose knew she would be a good queen. To all of Eana, including the witches. Wren might know about being a witch, but she knew nothing about ruling.

Or sisterhood, for that matter. What kind of sister would steal her twin’s entire life?

When the wind picked up in a sudden flurry, Thea cast a worried glance toward the shore.

Banba was pacing back and forth with her hands in the air.

The wind howled as another violent gust jostled the boat. Rose gripped the sides, yelping at the sudden spray of salt water.

“Time to go home.” Thea hauled the net up and dragged it into the boat. It was full of silver fish, wriggling and thrashing at Rose’s feet. “It looks as if we’ll have a bit of help today.”

Another gust swept under the boat and pulled them toward the shore.

Rose stiffened as they picked up speed. “Does she always do this?”

“Throw the wind around for no reason? Only when she’s anxious.” Thea frowned. “We haven’t heard from Wren yet. Your arrival is the first sign that the switch even happened. Banba is getting worried about her. In truth, we all are.”

Even though they’d never met, and Wren was clearly no friend to Rose, a prickle of unease crept up the back of her neck. She thought of her sister, alone in the palace, trying to fool one of the smartest men in Eana. No matter how much she thought she knew about Rose’s life or how much magic she used to try to take it from her, Wren would never fool the man who had raised Rose as his own daughter.

When Rose returned to shore, she clambered out of the boat, looked Banba straight in the eye, and said, “You’re right to be worried.”

23

Wren

Wren stood alone on the cliffs of Ortha, screaming for her grandmother. Banba couldn’t hear her. Banba was scrabbling through the sand on her hands and knees as a mighty snow tiger prowled after her. Across the cove, witches were wailing, the sea frothing with their blood.

“You promised you would save us!” Her grandmother’s voice reached Wren from the howling abyss. “You promised us a new world!”

Wren’s terror burned in her throat as she clawed her way down, down, down. But the cove was empty now, and the sand was stained red. She knelt over her grandmother’s body, pressing her fingers against the puncture wounds in her neck. The green of Wren’s cloak turned white, her skirts spilling out in endless reams of lace as a menacing growl rolled in from the sea. The waves turned to beasts before Wren’s eyes, with fur like snow and fangs dripping with blood. Behind them, Ansel sauntered through the surf in an ivory doublet inlaid with golden brocade.

He offered her his hand, the same blood dripping from his fingers.

“Shall we dance, my flower?”

Wren woke up screaming.

There was a pounding on the bedroom door. Then it swung open, and a palace guard came sweeping in, his sword drawn. Wren sat bolt upright in bed, pulling the duvet up to her chin. “Get out!” she said in a strangled voice. “It was just a nightmare!”

The guard gave her a worried once-over before hastily backing out of the room.

Wren flopped back onto her pillow, her breath whooshing out of her. She was safe. In Anadawn. As far from Ortha as she’d ever been. She’d never been more grateful not to be a seer. To know that her vision of Banba was just a nightmare and nothing more. But still, it had unsettled her. She had to send word to her grandmother.

Wren rolled out of bed and reached for the pitcher of water on the nightstand, gulping it straight down without bothering to find a glass. Then she stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like hell, the shadow of her nightmare pooling underneath her eyes. Her hair was streaked with her own fading golden strands, and even though the sun-warmed hue of her skin was naturally wearing off, her freckles were stubborn. She quickly recast her enchantment before choosing a flowing lilac day dress from Rose’s wardrobe.

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