Page 68 of Twin Crowns

A short while later, Agnes arrived with breakfast. “You don’t look well at all, Princess,” she said as she laid down the breakfast tray.

Wren picked distractedly at a bowl of berries. “Never mind about me. How is Willem?”

Agnes shook her head somberly. “No improvement, I’m afraid. Hector’s been with him all night.”

“I’m so worried.” Wren’s words were truthful, though not for the reasons Agnes suspected. With Rathborne clinging to life, the weddingwas still hurtling toward her at full speed, and with it, the Gevrans’ imminent invasion. She needed the Kingsbreath to die—andfast—so she could finally be in charge of her own decisions. She would cancel the wedding, send Ansel on the first ship back to Gevra, and throw a coronation so grand, no one would even remember the Gevran prince’s name.

But if Rathborne didn’t die—if he somehow managed to recover from her attempted poisoning—then Wren would have to find a way to kill him all over again. And after the disaster that had been the dinner party, she had more than one suspicious pair of eyes already trained on her. Tor’s curiosity was one thing—he was, after all, a stranger in this land—but with the backing of Celeste’s father, Hector, Celeste’s mistrust could sink Wren.

It could sink all of them.

Wren’s failure wouldn’t just doom herself. It would doom the witches, too. Once Alarik Felsing gained his foothold in Eana, his beasts would savage the beaches of Ortha, tearing the witches limb from limb. All of this planning—these long years of preparation and hope—would be for nothing.

They would all die screaming.

Wren pushed her food away. “I think I’ll go for my morning walk. You’ll find me if anything changes, won’t you?”

Agnes regarded her with doleful eyes. “Of course, Princess. In the meantime, try not to worry yourself sick. The Great Protector will watch over the Kingsbreath. After all, dear Willem has been a protector of this country in his own way, too.”

Wren slipped from the room and hurried down the tower stairwell.Out in the courtyard, she smiled tightly at a pair of palace guards, who seemed equally out of sorts. Though the day was warm and bright, a heavy cloud of expectation lingered about the palace. One that might break apart to bring sunshine or shatter in a clap of thunder, depending on Rathborne’s fate.

Wren found her way to the mews, a row of wooden huts tucked around the back of the palace, where the grass was long and bright with wildflowers. Inside, messenger birds watched her through the wires of their cage. Chapman was going through one of his endless scrolls with the guards here, taking notes with his feather quill.

Frustration roiled inside Wren. Every time she came down here, that busy little weasel was hovering nearby. Chapman kept a close eye on everything in Anadawn, even the falcons. No message could be sent to the skies above Eshlinn without his approval. Even if Wren waited until he left to send a bird, she couldn’t risk it turning around and delivering her message straight to Rathborne.

She marched back toward the rose garden, where she paced among the haggard bushes. The statue of the Great Protector stared down at her with blank marble eyes. Wren couldn’t wait for the day she could finally take a mallet to it.

She sank onto the bench and stared up at the sky. “I need help,” she said to the wind. “I need a way to reach my grandmother.”

For a while, there was nothing but the breeze frittering about her ears. Then came a distant creak as the window in the west tower opened, just enough for a lone starcrest to step out onto the ledge. It dropped from the tower in a glint of silver and landed neatly on the statue’s head.

Strange.If Rathborne was on his deathbed, then who was that tending to his birds?

“Go on,” said Wren, willing it to shit on the Protector. “I won’t say a word.”

The starcrest chirped once, then swooped down to land on the bench.

Wren stared at the bird.

The bird stared back.

She had never seen a starcrest up close before. Its beady eyes were as bright and unyielding as the full moon. It almost felt as if the bird recognized her, sensed the craft moving in her bones and knew they were one and the same: magic-born creatures trapped together in this stifling place. Wren glanced up at the west tower, searching for its sender. There was nothing but the sheen of sunshine on the glass.

“Looks as if it’s just you and me, little one. Perhaps you can do me a favor....” From the bodice of her dress, she removed the note she had written that morning and rolled it up tight. It contained a quick and furious warning to Banba, Wren’s panic spilling out onto the piece of parchment before she could stop it. Still, it was best to be honest, to warn the witches of what was coming. She unwound the ribbon from her hair and used it to tie the message to the bird’s foot. The starcrest stilled beneath her as she crushed a handful of petals over its black feathers, magic devouring them as they fell.“From earth to dust, where seagulls roam, please guide this message safely home.”

The starcrest chirped one final time before lifting off the bench.

“Fly fast and true.” Wren sent the words up like a prayer, watching the bird until it turned west and disappeared among the clouds. Thenshe left the rose garden and returned to her bedroom, where she found a different note waiting for her.

Wren’s heart sank when she read it.

Meet me at the baths at noon—Celeste

Celeste was already in the palace baths when Wren arrived. The room was hot and humid, plumes of steam gathering in its domed ceiling before pearling into beads that raced each other down the mosaicked walls. The steam did little to soothe Wren’s anxiety about the meeting, but she was careful not to show it on her face. Celeste was sitting on the edge of a marble basin, her legs swinging back and forth in the water. She was wearing a white bathing robe, her dark curls twisted into a bun at the crown of her head. She waved at Wren through the steam. “I see you got my message.”

“Interesting suggestion for a meetup.” Wren settled herself across from Celeste. She had grabbed a blue silk robe and a pair of slippers from Rose’s closet. She kicked them off now and dropped her feet into the water, reveling in the fizzle of bath salts between her toes.

“Is it?” said Celeste, raising a brow. “We often meet here.”

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