Page 110 of Cursed Crowns

The gentleness in his voice prickled under Wren’s skin. At least if he was angry, she could spar with him. She could throw up her walls and lash out with her tongue. But she couldn’t rail against the fear in his voice or the dread in his eyes. Dread for her. “I don’t know how to fix it,” she confessed. “I’ve made such a terrible mistake and there’s no way back. And now Banba has to pay for it. If anything happens to her...” She pressed her fists against her eyes, trying to stop her tears, but they racked her shoulders and streamed down her face. “I can’t bear it, Tor. I justcan’t.”

The bench groaned as he sat down beside her, the heat of his body, the nearness of him, making her heart ache. “Come here.” He put hisarm around her and pulled her close. Wren nuzzled into his collar, inhaling his alpine scent. “Just breathe.” He pressed his lips against her hair. “That’s all you can do now.”

Wren closed her eyes. His chest rose under her cheek, the steady rhythm of his breath lulling the panic inside her. She wanted to curl up and fall asleep here, to forget all the trouble that lay behind the blizzard, waiting for her. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For this moment. This kindness.”

Wren hadn’t realized how badly she needed it, but Tor had. And he had given it to her, even though she didn’t deserve it. Or him.

He kissed the top of her head. “Thank you for returning my wolf.”

Wren smiled. “I bet you’re wondering where she came from.”

“I am a little curious.”

“It’s quite a story.” Wren sat up and told him all about it, not just the mirror and the wolf but the rest of her day, too—about Alarik’s threat, and the grave truth of what Banba had told her down in the dungeon. That to know peace, Ansel would have to die all over again.

“Freezing hell.” Tor dragged a hand through his hair. “Have you told Alarik?”

“Of course not.”

“Don’t,” said Tor darkly.

Wren traced a button on his coat, wishing the blizzard would snow them in. Wishing she never had to face King Alarik again. “I’ve ruined the mood. Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

Tor laughed uncomfortably. “Wren, what else is there to talk about?”

She blew out a breath, looking around the hut for inspiration. “Tell me about your beasts. Make it something interesting.”

Tor raised his eyebrows, but instead of making fun of her request,he laid his head back against the wall. “What do you wish to know?”

Wren thought about it for a moment. “Tell me about the Great Bear. The one on the Gevran crest.”

“Bernhard,” said Tor.

“Good old Bernhard. How come you all worship a bear anyway?”

As the fire crackled to life in the hearth, Tor closed his eyes and launched into his tale. “For thousands of years, Gevra was ruled by beasts alone. The wolves prowled the rivers and shorelines, while the snow tigers and ice bears lived deep in the mountains. Harmony existed between all creatures—big and small—until a settler tried to conquer the land.”

Wren watched Tor’s lips as he spoke, mesmerized by the timbre of his voice.

“The land here was rich in iron. Settlers came often to try to claim it for themselves.”

“Let me guess,” said Wren. “They were all eaten.”

“Worse,” said Tor grimly. “Some stories say the bears learned to tear the flesh from a man’s body with their claws, so they could leave it on the shore as a warning to others.”

Wren pulled a face. “Sorry I asked.”

He chuckled as he tapped her on the nose. “And now we come to Bernhard. He was the oldest and fiercest of all the animals. Every beast bowed to him. When Bernhard slumbered, his snores were so loud, they echoed through the Fovarr Mountains, and when he was angry, his roar sent fissures through the fjords. Some settlers on the northern continent feared him. Others wanted to capture him. They all failed.”

“Good,” said Wren.

Tor smiled. “And then one day, a young man without a crown or a jewel to his name journeyed to Gevra in a boat of his own making. His name was Fredegast Felsing. Instead of trying to battle the great Bernhard, he brought offerings. Salmon, venison.”

“Bribery.” Wren couldn’t help but be impressed. “Nice.”

Tor chuckled. Wren wished she could bottle the sound. “Against all expectations, Bernhard and Fredegast became friends. Fredegast made a home in the mountains, and, after a time, other settlers came to join him. At Fredegast’s request, the beasts made way for them, too, and before long they learned to live in harmony. When Bernhard died of old age, Fredegast wept for ten days and ten nights.”

“Bit overdramatic,” muttered Wren.

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