Page 60 of Twin Crowns

Rathborne threw his hands up in uproarious laughter. “What a blunder!”

“On the contrary,” said Ansel, through his own pealing laughter. “He survived the entire ordeal. My sister, Anika, was so impressed, she kept him as a pet.”

Rathborne wiped his eyes with his napkin. “I suppose beast warfare is not without its follies. Though I look forward to seeing it in action.” He pushed his soup away, and Wren’s heart sank. “King Alarik has promised me the full spectacle.”

Ansel’s face turned somber. “Ah yes. For your witch problem.”

“Terrible creatures,” said Rathborne, clucking his tongue. “Your brother has assured me his soldiers will make quick work of them after the wedding. He may have his pick of the witches and let the winter wolves at the rest.” He chuckled darkly. “I hear he has quite a fascination for witches.”

Wren crushed her fingers into her palms. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to drown Rathborne in his parsnip soup. She glanced at Tor. He was frowning at the turn in conversation. She hoped that meant he was as uncomfortable with it as any sane person would be. But then again, he was a Gevran....

Ansel looked guiltily at Wren. “I am just relieved Rose will never have to worry about meeting the same dreadful fate as her parents. Or anything so unpleasant as another war under our reign.”

Rathborne clapped his hands, summoning the next course just as Celeste swept back into the room.

“I hope you’re not still discussing war. If you are, I’ll get drunk and sing something inappropriate,” she said.

Ansel had the good sense to look ashamed of himself. “Celeste is right. Let’s not talk of war tonight. It can make for upsetting conversation.”

“It doesn’t upset me. Itboresme.” Celeste took another swig from her goblet. “Which I think you’ll agree is much worse.”

The Kingsbreath glared at her.

“I’m sure my brother will be happy to discuss in person his plans for the witches once he arrives,” said Ansel deftly.

Wren couldn’t help herself. “He’ll have a hard time finding them.”

Rathborne’s smile was slow and curling. “The desert witches might be lost to us, but my spies have come to discover a sizable settlement in the west.” He leaned toward Wren, dropping his voice to a whisper, as though the secret—and its triumph—was theirs to share. “Not even the Whisperwind Cliffs and that blasted reef will be able to save them this time.”

Wren went rigid in her seat, the rush of her panic sweeping in to claim her.

No, no, no.

Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears, drowning out the rest of theroom. She forgot to blink, to breathe.

Celeste grabbed her knee under the table, jolting her back to life. “What is it?”

But Wren couldn’t speak.

“They’ve turned themselves into sitting ducks. What a feast they’ll be for King Alarik’s beasts.” Rathborne laughed brashly, but no one joined in.

Ansel broke the lingering silence in a strained voice. “Speaking of ducks, I saw the most charming little ducklings on my walk down by the river this morning.” When no one said anything, he went on, braving the awkwardness. “And what about birds! Ah,birds. I’ve heard the ones in Eana are remarkable. The starcrests are of particular interest to me. I wonder when I might see one of their famous murmurations.”

Rathborne adjusted his collar, and Wren caught a glimpse of the golden key hanging from his neck. “The starcrests at Anadawn are caged. As all rare birds should be.”

Silence hung heavy as a thundercloud. Wren was afraid if she opened her mouth she might scream, so she said nothing. Beside her, Celeste had lost all interest in conversation and was drinking away the strangeness of the evening. The mood had turned, and it seemed not even Ansel could think of a platitude absurd enough to salvage it.

The main course arrived presently. It was roast pork with orange herb sauce, creamy garlic potatoes, and seasoned green beans. Cam had excelled, of course, but Wren’s stomach was full of bile. She gripped the poison in her lap and pushed her food around her plate, waiting for the others to finish.

When the Gevran ice cake marked the arrival of dessert and the final course of the night, Ansel stood up and pressed a hand to his chest as if he were welcoming a foreign dignitary. Cam laid the cake down in the center of the table, and basked in the prince’s praise.

“It is truly a work of art. Should you ever want a job in Grinstad, we would be thrilled to have you!”

Rathborne shook his head. “I’m afraid I could never part with my best cook.”

“Just Rose, then,” said Celeste bluntly.

Wren admired her bravery. She suspected if Celeste’s father wasn’t Rathborne’s personal physician, she would have been marched to the dungeons by the second course.

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