Page 64 of Cursed Crowns

“I left a note,” Wren cut in. “And Elske.”

“Will you please just tell me what your plan is?” Rose glanced around the room. “I see you made it to Grinstad Palace. But how on earth did you charm your way into such a nice room? I mean, justlookat those furs. And that chandelier!”

“Now who’s losing focus?” said Wren. “It might be pretty, Rose, but it’s still a prison.” She briefly explained how she had made it all the way to Grinstad in one piece. But unlike Rose, Wren was deliberately hazy on the details. “So, Alarik and I made a bargain,” she finished vaguely. “I just have to help him with... something... and then he’ll let me and Banba go.”

Rose frowned. “Since when are you on first-name terms with King Alarik? And what exactly is the bargain?”

Wren swished her hand about. “It’s just a little enchantment... thing.”

“Go on...”

“It’s complicated,” said Wren shortly. “But don’t worry. It’s all in hand.” Above her, a flock of starcrests twirled in tandem, moving acrossthe sky like a silver spinning top. She let out a low whistle. “I still can’t believe you found this place.”

“Of course I did. And I’m going to find the Sunkissed Kingdom, too. Which is why we have to switch back,” said Rose frantically. “As much I appreciate this charming decor, I don’t want to spend another minute in Gevra.” She started prodding the glass with her fingers. “How does this stupid thing work?”

“Wait!” said Wren as a thought occurred to her. “Give me two minutes. I need earth.”

“Wren—” Rose’s voice rang out from the mirror as Wren tossed it on the bed.

“Don’t worry! I’ll be right back!” She bolted through the door and made for the stairwell, following a row of flickering everlights down to the bottom of the tower. She wrenched the door open, breathing in a generous lungful of fresh air. The night was dewy and scented faintly with moss—a far cry from the glacial prison of Grinstad Palace and the ghostly Fovarr Mountains that loomed over it.

Wren stepped over the threshold and bumped into an old man wearing a trailing blue robe. He was holding a jar of dirt.

“There you are,” he said, offering it to Wren in greeting. “I knew Pog would give her the mirror. And that you would have its twin.”

Wren stared at the jar. Then the man. “Who are you?”

“Fathom.” His smile winked beneath his gray beard. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“I’m not staying.”

“I know,” he said mildly.

Wren took the jar, rotating it in front of her nose. “Earth,” she muttered.

“The very best of it,” said the man proudly. “Mined from the silt beneath our waterfalls.”

Wren frowned. “How did you—Oh, right. Seer.”

The man tapped his nose. “Twelve sapphires for twelve minutes.”

“Huh?”

“The mirror,” he said. “When the last sapphire stops glowing, the switch is reversed.”

“Oh.” Wren hugged the dirt to her. “Where did they come from anyway?”

The man stood back and in the fractured moonlight, his eyes were just as bright as the starcrests. “The mirrors belonged to the Starcrest sisters, another lifetime ago,” he said. “Ortha had them made during a time when magic was not so... limited.” His beard twitched with the beginnings of a frown. “Even when they traveled far from one another, the twin queens were never apart. Until...”

“Oonagh broke them apart,” said Wren. She didn’t like to be reminded of Oonagh Starcrest, the twin who had succumbed to the darkness and betrayed her sister. “I know the story.”

“A traveling witch brought the mirror to Amarach many years ago, alongside other magical treasures that once resided at Anadawn.”

“Isn’t that stealing?”

Fathom chuckled. “I prefer to think of it as rescuing.”

“Twelve minutes,” said Wren, stepping back into the tower. “I should head back.”

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