Page 54 of Twin Crowns

Wren frowned. Wasthatwhat Rathborne was doing in the west tower? Surely he wasn’t arrogant enough to think he could actually teach himself how to read their prophetic patterns. Or was it his paranoia about the witches that had driven him to collect so many starcrests?

“How strange,” she muttered.

“I bet he’s going to put on some kind of bird show for King Alarik when he gets here,” mused Celeste. “A starcrest murmuration can bequite mesmerizing, and the Gevran king does have a fascination with animals.”

“I think you mean predatory beasts,” Wren corrected her. “And I can’t imagine a man who feeds people to his tigers will appreciate a flock of twinkling birds.”

“Alarik might surprise you,” said Celeste, between sips. “Maybe he’s more like Ansel than you think. I bet he has a soft side.”

Wren snorted. Alarik Felsing could have a side as soft as a snow bunny wrapped in a cloud, but as long as he intended to kill every last witch in Eana, she wanted nothing to do with him.

She returned to the bench and took the wine bottle from Celeste. It was almost empty already. She tipped her head back for the dregs and glimpsed a face in the window of the west tower. She blinked and it disappeared. Wren lowered the bottle, unease stirring in her gut.

Was Rathborne up there right now, watching them?

“Come on,” she said. “I want to stretch my legs.” She stowed the wine bottle under the bench and dragged Celeste deeper into the rose garden, past the hideous statue of the Protector, until they were out of view of the west tower.

Celeste kept her gaze on the birds as they walked. “My mother once told me that when Eana was a young country, the witches called down the stars and turned them into starcrests, so they could read the heavens and see into the future.” She cleared her throat. “Nonsense, of course, but she loved those silly fairy tales.”

Wren hid her surprise. The starcrest legend was a living tale among witches, a bedtime story parents told their children at night, but she thought it wasn’t widely known in Eshlinn—a place that solelyworshipped the Protector. “I think a little silliness every now and then is a good thing,” she said mildly.

“I haven’t thought of that story since my mother died,” murmured Celeste. “Must be the wine.”

“And the birds,” said Wren kindly. She sensed Celeste was embarrassed about revealing her mother’s interest in the witches. The wine had loosened her memories and her tongue, but in truth, Celeste’s revelation only made Wren like her more. Not to mention, it made her wonder about Celeste’s mother.

“They make me uneasy sometimes,” Celeste confided. “It’s their silver breasts. They get far too bright, and when they swarm together, it makes my eyes hurt.”

Wren studied Celeste from the corner of her eye as they wandered through the garden. First, there was the mention of her dream of Ortha and now this strange reaction to the starcrests... To even hint at the possibility of her being a seer would doom Celeste to death, so Wren kept her theory to herself, vowing to keep a closer eye on Rose’s best friend. “I wouldn’t worry too much,” she said coolly. “I’m sure Willem will get bored of them soon.”Or he’ll die.“And then they’ll all fly away.”

They wandered a while longer, both girls lost in thought as they watched the birds return to their tower. The starcrests landed one by one on the windowsill, and with a final melancholic chirp, disappeared inside.

The tower window shut with a resounding thud, and just when she was about to turn away, Wren swore she glimpsed Rathborne’s face again. Then a hand pressed flat against the glass until it slid slowly into darkness.

Wren took the long way back to the east tower, her feet leading her to the third-floor corridor before she could decide whether or not it was a good idea. But of course it wasn’t. It was foolish to go looking for Tor, especially after how close he’d come to finding out about the devil’s root the night before. But her dream from the library was fresh in her mind, and the wine wasn’t helping.

She had barely reached the top of the stairwell when she spotted him by the window. He was standing in a shaft of moonlight with his hands in his pockets, as though he was waiting for someone. She hated her heart for leaping, for hoping that he was there for her.

“It’s never a good idea to sneak up on a Gevran, Your Highness,” he said without tearing his gaze from the night sky.

Wren smirked. “Did I interrupt your soulful moon-gazing?”

He turned to look at her. “It seems your valerian root isn’t working. Can’t you sleep, Your Highness?”

“Perhaps I was in the mood for another interrogation,” said Wren, her cheeks tingling under his gaze.

A smile softened the hard edge of his jaw. “How about a walk instead?”

Wren pretended to consider it. “Very well.” She sighed. “But only because I’m feeling generous.”

Tor’s chuckle sent a welcome ripple of warmth down her spine. They fell into step, the silvery moon lighting their way as they meandered along the deserted hallways of Anadawn Palace, both of them pretending they hadn’t been looking for each other.

20

Rose

As Rose wove her way through the witches, she held her head high. The whispers were not subtle, and the stares were even less so. A huddle of teenagers hissed at her as she passed by. An old woman bared her yellowed teeth, sending nerves skittering up her spine. Still, she held every gaze that met hers. She would not be cowed by anyone, witch or no witch.

I am Eana; Eana is me.

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