Page 103 of Twin Crowns

“Well, so did you,” said Rose, unable to help herself. “Willem Rathborne is alive and well. He’s at the ball.”

Wren stared at her in horror.“What?”

Rose groaned as she sank into a matching chair. “Now what do we do?”

Wren buried her face in her hands. “I have no idea.”

35

Wren

Wren stood in darkness, rattling the bars of her squalid cage. She screamed but no sound came out. The shadows shifted, and Rose appeared before her. Her smile was wide and mocking, but when she spoke it was with Banba’s voice.“You have failed, little bird.”She reached through the bars of Wren’s cage and yanked the crown from her head. She settled it on her own, the gold gleaming in the darkness.“You were always going to fail.”

Banba’s voice became Alarik’s then, his laughter so cold it chattered through Wren’s teeth. In the darkness, witches clawed at her ankles. There were no beasts now, only death. Banba’s corpse lay curled on its side.

Wren lunged for her sister, grabbing her through the bars. Something jolted inside her, and a spark of magic erupted between them. It became a wild, roaring fire devouring everything: the fear and the darkness, Banba’s lifeless body, and the witches crawling at their feet, and finally, mercifully, the rest of the nightmare.

Wren woke with a gasp. She blinked into the dimness, trying to piece together where she was and why her body was aching. Shegrimaced as memories of the previous night came flooding back. Rose had returned to Anadawn and everything was spiraling out of control. Now Wren was lying on the floor, covered in dust and blinking up at creaking wooden slats.

Her nose tickled, and she sneezed.

“Shh,” hissed Rose from above. “Someone will hear you!”

Wren scooted out from under her sister’s bed to find a familiar pair of green eyes glaring down at her. In the morning light, the twins’ similarities were even more astonishing. Rose’s time in Ortha had speckled her nose with freckles, the desert sun casting streaks of honey in her chestnut-brown hair.

Wren grunted as she stood up. After coming to an uneasy truce borne of having a common, looming enemy in the Kingsbreath, the girls had stayed up late into the night, trying to figure out how to deal with Rathborne now that he was up and about again. Rose had quailed at the idea of committing outright murder in the heart of Anadawn Palace, and in the absence of any alternate ideas, Wren had become increasingly frustrated by her sister’s squeamishness. The wedding was tomorrow, only one day before the twins’ eighteenth birthday, and with Rathborne more determined than ever to see Rose off to Gevra before then, there was no time for hesitation.

When their conversation had eventually dissolved into exhausted bickering, Rose had stormed out to fetch herself a chamomile tea in the kitchens. Wren had fallen asleep to the distant roar of Gevran beasts and, in the darkness under Rose’s bed, she had dreamed of her own failure, over and over again.

She brushed the hair from her eyes. “Next time you see one of your maids, ask her to clean under your bed once in a while. I’ll be coughing up dust for days.”

If Rose felt bad for her sister, she didn’t show it. “I’ll make a note about the dust,” she said, sinking back into her pillows.

“My back is sore, too.” Wren reached for her sister’s hand. “Will you heal it?”

Rose swatted it away. “And undo all the good resting I did last night?” she whispered. “Certainly not.”

“I suppose that makes you the evil twin, then.” Rose’s healing gift had come as a surprise to Wren. She had grown up wondering if their mother’s enchantment had only manifested in her but had never considered that Rose might in fact be a different kind of witch.

Wren studied her sister in the glaring morning light. In her high-necked pink nightgown and surrounded by piles of goose-down pillows, she looked like a doll. There was a delicacy about Rose that Wren did not—had never—possessed. Rose had inherited the noble gentleness of the Valharts, but Eana needed a witch queen—someone steel-eyed and fearless who was not afraid to carve her way into the dark heart of Anadawn Palace and bleed the poison from within.

It needed Wren.

“Why are you frowning like that?” Rose interrupted her sister’s thoughts. “You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“Nothing a little enchantment can’t fix,” said Wren airily. “And if you must know, I’m frowning because I don’t see why we can’t just share this giant bed of yours!” She leaped onto the bed and beganbouncing up and down. “This mattress is much too big, and it’s not as if you get any nightly visitors.”

“Except for you and Shen, you mean. Speaking of, this is for kidnapping me.” Rose whacked Wren with her pillow, setting a handful of feathers loose. “And for goodness’ sake, keep your voice down!”

Wren tried to wrestle the pillow from her sister. “Are you afraid the palace guards will think you’re talking to yourself?”

“My reputation might mean little to you, but it’s important to me,” said Rose, refusing to let go. “Honestly, Wren. All these weeks pretending to be me and you still haven’t learned a basic modicum of decorum.”

“Andyouhaven’t learned how to relax.” Wren yanked the pillow free and hit her sister back, much harder. A laugh sprang from her at the sight of Rose’s dazed expression, and she realized with a start that she was enjoying herself. That this—having a sister—even one who was a spoiled, stubborn princess was... well, quite nice.

Rose blew the tangled hair from her face. “When Agnes comes with my breakfast, you have to hide.”

“Why can’tyouhide? I’m ravenous.”

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