Page 82 of Twin Crowns

She could make out faces now. They belonged to soldiers: men and women, dressed in the same midnight-blue uniform that Tor wore, heavy black boots, and tailored frock coats fastened with shining silver buttons. They seemed to be just as tall and well built as him, too. A nation of steely giants. They were all standing eerily still, broad shoulders rolled back, square chins upturned toward Anadawn Palace asthough it were a challenge rather than a destination. A thread of unease uncoiled inside Wren.

She climbed to a higher branch. Her legs trembled as she crept up, up, up, through the leaves of the canopy, until she could see the next ship gliding in the procession.

“Hissing seaweed.”The second ship was full of beasts. Towering ice bears roamed among fearsome snow tigers and silver-fanged wolves, and not a single one was chained.

Tor’s family of wranglers had trained them well.

A shudder passed through Wren as she imagined these terrifying creatures bearing down on the witches of Ortha after the wedding. Time was a noose closing around her neck. Every breath Rathborne took was one closer to an alliance that would spell the end of the witches. And even if he did die, now that the Gevrans were here in Eshlinn, how onearthwas she going to send them back?

She could only hope Banba had received her letter and was herding the witches to safety.

The Silvertongue Bridge was teeming with townsfolk now. A quick glance over Wren’s shoulder alerted her to an envoy that had been dispatched from the palace. Tor was marching out in front, the auburn strands of his hair shining in the morning sunlight. Ansel followed close behind, sporting a large gray hat with a tall silver feather affixed to the top. They were flanked by a flustered-looking Chapman and two palace guards.

Wren cursed when she realized they were coming her way. She hugged the branch in an attempt to camouflage herself, but there weren’t enough leaves to hide the pale pink of her dress—whyhad shechosen the pink dress?—nor the rest of her, for that matter. All she could do now was press her cheek to the bark and hope for the best.

The third ship glided out of the mist like a swan. It was smaller and sleeker than the ones that came before it, its slim sails a bright silver-white. Out on deck, nobility milled about in lavish stoles, decadent hats, and trailing fur coats. There was a full-figured girl standing up on the bow as though she were about to launch herself into the water. Her hair was long and crimson-red, and her face was ghostly pale. She was cradling a small white fox in her arms.

Princess Anika Felsing.

Even from a distance, Wren could see there was a kind of wild beauty about the Gevran princess, and a challenge in the set of her jaw. She was looking at the white towers of Anadawn the way a predator might size up its prey before devouring it. If Anika was here, that meant Alarik was close at hand, though there was no sign of the Gevran king out on deck. Wren scooted along the branch to get a better look. The tree creaked ominously.

“Princess Rose? Is thatyou?” Chapman’s voice rang out in alarm. “By the Great Protector! What are you doing down here without a chaperone?”

Wren squeezed her eyes shut.Rotting carp.

“And more to the point, what are you doing up in that tree?” added Prince Ansel, with great concern.

Wren looked down through the twisting branches to find the prince peering up at her, the feather on his hat fluttering dramatically in the breeze. Beside him, Chapman looked as if he was halfway to a heart attack.

She waggled her fingers at them. “I was just... uh... trying to get a better look at the boats.”

Tor stepped into view just as a gust of wind rattled the tree. Wren tried to scoot backward, but her skirts snagged on a knot and the sudden shifting of her weight sent a crack fissuring down the center of the branch. She yelped as it tipped toward the water. “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”

Chapman screamed.

“Don’t move!” yelled Tor, but it was already too late. As the Gevran horns blasted again, the rest of the branch tore away from the trunk, taking Wren with it. With a final cleaving and a strangled cry, she plummeted into the Silvertongue River.

The water swallowed her up. It wasfreezing, but Wren was used to the icy bite of the ocean. She stilled her body, her skirts floating around her like a jellyfish as she waited for the chill to pass. When she broke the surface, she lay on her back and spread her arms wide.

There was chaos on the riverbank.

Chapman was shouting himself hoarse. “The princess can’t swim! She’s going to drown! Someone get in there now!”

“I can’t swim, Gilly!” yelled one of the guards.

“Well, don’t look at me, Ralph. Neither can I!”

Perhaps a little too late, Wren realized that Rose should be drowning.

She flung her hands up, splashing about in the water. “Help! I’m drowning! I can’t swim! Oh, help me! Ahhh! I’m going to die!”

“Tor, for the love of Grinstad! DO SOMETHING!” cried Ansel.

Wren let the water gargle her pleas while Tor tore his boots off and shed his coat. The last thing she saw before she let herself sink beneath the waterline was the Gevran soldier launching himself off theriverbank. She let herself go limp in the river, her hair floating eerily about her face as he weaved toward her.

The Gevran was a good swimmer.

But Wren was pleased to note that he was not as good as her. And certainly not as graceful.

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