Page 120 of Twin Crowns

She gagged as a putrid smell swept over her—sawdust and molting feathers soaked in piss and bird excrement. There were birdcages everywhere, stacked all the way to the ceiling and arranged along the stone walls. The starcrests peered at her from within, their beady eyes shining in the dimness. They were eerily still now, and Wren couldn’t shake the thought that they knew something she didn’t.

She took a cautious step into the room. It was the twin to Rose’s bedroom in the east tower but this chamber had fallen into reeking disrepair. It was freezing cold and hopelessly cluttered, countless dust motes spiraling in the air. Battered furniture huddled between moth-eaten oil paintings and broken chairs. In the middle of the room, arotting armoire had been turned on its side like a beached whale, old petticoats and tattered dresses spilling out. A narrow bed was nestled between two of the largest aviaries. Wren stared at it.

A floorboard creaked.

She spun on her heel, searching the shadows. “I’m not here to hurt you....”

A bird flapped in its cage, startling her.

Wren turned again, slower this time.

With a bloodcurdling shriek, a white shape lunged from the darkness. Wren was thrown backward, her head hitting the floor with a painful thud. A pair of hands closed around her neck, and a face appeared in the darkness, barely an inch from her own.

The seer’s face was gaunt and creviced, a purplish hue lingering around her lips and in the shadows underneath her eyes. Her teeth—which were bared like a wolf’s—were sparse, and her long white hair was matted and wild. Her bony fingers were surprisingly strong as they constricted around Wren’s windpipe.

Wren managed to squeeze out a single word.“Please.”

The seer snapped her fingers away. She blinked rapidly, as if only just seeing Wren for the first time. “Lillith’s girl,” she rasped. “Not the princess. Not the flower.The bird.The bird that flew away.” She scrabbled back from Wren. “I’ve been calling you. Sending my starcrests to find you.” Her lips began to tremble. “You have brought the shadow of death to Anadawn.”

“You know who I am?” Wren thought of the starcrests who had been following her since she arrived at Anadawn. “Who are you? How long have you been locked up here?”

“Too many years to count. Too many to remember.” The seer staggered to her feet, her white nightgown pooling around her ankles so that, in the moonlight, she looked more ghost than human. “But I do remember who I am. My name is Glenna.”

Wren’s blood ran cold.Glenna.She hadn’t heard that name in many years, could never have imagined she would hear it here, at Anadawn. “You’re Banba’s sister,” she breathed. “You’realive.”

The seer shuddered. “During Lillith’s War, I was kidnapped by the Kingsbreath and brought here, to Anadawn. My birds flew after me, but they could not save me from my fate. I thought I would be killed, but Rathborne had something worse in store. He caged me like an animal, forced me to use my gifts against my own people.”

Wren’s heart lurched. “Oh, Glenna. You’ve been a prisoner here all this time?”

The old woman nodded. “He uses my visions to guide his decisions. Some I have tried to hide from him but others...” She trailed off, into a shudder. “He has found ways of making me talk.”

Wren’s fists tightened. She didn’t think it was possible to despise Rathborne any more than she already did, and yet fresh hatred bloomed within her. “I’m here now, Glenna.” She got up slowly so as not to startle the seer. “And I’m going to set you free.”

Glenna’s face darkened. “There is no future for me beyond this tower.” She spread her arms, the blue veins catching in the moonlight. “Round and round the starcrests fly, painting your destiny in my sky. I have called you here to warn you of the curse I have seen in your stars.” She padded toward Wren. “The world is tilting. Can’t you feel it, little bird?”

Wren took a step away from her.

“Look,” said Glenna, her gaze not on Wren’s face but at her feet. Wren looked down to find herself staring at a broken portrait. It was covered in dust and Glenna’s bare foot was obscuring half of it, but Wren glimpsed what it beheld. A girl who looked just like her—the same emerald-green eyes and heart-shaped face. She was wearing the gilded crown of Eana on her head.

“That is Ortha Starcrest,” said Glenna, confirming Wren’s suspicion. “The last witch queen of Eana.”

“She looks just like me,” whispered Wren. Ortha, the last-known true descendant of Eana, the first witch, wore the same face. Wren looked at Glenna, her voice trembling. “I don’t understand. Is this part of my destiny somehow?”

“Look again.” Glenna lifted her foot and revealed the other half of the painting. Wren’s breath caught in her throat. There was a girl seated beside Ortha. Only her face was thinner and her lips were pursed, as if in disapproval. She was wearing a crown, too.

“Twin queens,” rasped the seer. Queens who looked just like Wren and Rose. “The twins’ curse.”

A terrible coldness trickled down Wren’s spine. “What are you talking about?”

“The witches are rising in the west, Wren Greenrock. The rivers of Anadawn will run red with blood, and an old curse will bloom, deep and ugly as a wound in the heart of the world.” Her gaze turned milky, and her voice suddenly sounded far away. “Beware the curse of Oonagh Starcrest, the lost witch queen. The curse runs in new blood. It lives in new bones.”

Wren tensed. “I don’t understand, Glenna. Tell me what happened to Oonagh.”

“Listen well,” said the seer. “And I will tell you of the curse that haunts you.”

So, Glenna spoke and Wren listened to every single word.

When it was done and the story of Oonagh Starcrest had been told in all its truth, Wren was silent. She let the tale sink into her blood and her bones, knowing somehow a part of it was already inside her. Then she pushed aside her horror and took the old woman’s hand. “We’ll worry about the curse later. I’m getting you out of here.” She tugged her toward the door. “There’s a secret tunnel that will lead us straight to the river. There’s someone waiting for us by the mill.”

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