Page 123 of Cursed Crowns

“I have decided to return your grandmother to you.”

Wren blinked. Then stared, waiting for the punchline.

“Under two conditions.”

She forced herself to hold her tongue, as he continued. “The first is that the witches’ hands will be tied until you set sail, so neither of you try anything untoward along the way. We’ve had enough bad weather to contend with, without your grandmother the tempest’s input.”

“Very well,” said Wren, happy to meet the condition. “And the second?”

“Your sister is a healer, is she not?” said Anika. “As I recall, she made quite a speech about her craft on Ansel’s ill-fated wedding day.”

“Yes...” said Wren, slowly this time. If they thought Rose was ever going to set foot in this hellish place, then they were delusional, but she wasn’t about to say as much.

Alarik chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“That look on your face,” he said, rising to come down the steps. “We don’t expect Queen Rose to make the journey here. Frankly, I wouldn’t trust it, even if you offered it. But once things have settled down here, we will come to her. With Ansel. Perhaps she can do what you cannot.”

“And if she can’t heal him?” said Wren, knowing already that it was an impossibility. That Rose would never dabble in blood magic even if it was possible. Wren would sooner spell her sister into a year of slumber.

Alarik shrugged. “Then will we go to war.”

“Are you kidding?” said Wren.

He flashed a sharp smile. “Let’s hope we don’t have to find out.” He extended his hand to her. “Do we have an accord?”

Wren took his hand, the lie easy on her tongue. “Yes, we do.”

Alarik made a point of escorting Wren to the dungeons, with his soldiers following close behind him. Though he had insisted on coming, he was unusually silent on the journey, his jaw tight as he stalked ahead of her. When they reached Banba’s cell, he stood aside and ordered a guard to open it. Roused by the commotion, Banba lumbered to her feet.

“Wren?” she croaked, as she shuffled into the light. “What’s going on?”

Wren hurtled toward her grandmother, dragging her out of the cell and pulling her into an embrace. “You’re free, Banba,” she said, her voice catching on a sob. “We’re going home.”

“Well, not quite yet,” came Alarik’s voice, from behind them.

Wren spun around. “You lied to me.”

He raised a hand to quell her rising temper. “My word remains true. But before you leave, I want to show you something that was unearthed in the avalanche.”

“No,” said Banba, drawing back from him. “Whatever it is, we want no part in it.”

“Banba,” said Wren, trying to calm her. “It’s all right.”

“It’s the darkness,” hissed her grandmother. “It’s here. In these tunnels.”

Wren turned back to Alarik. “What is it?”

He hesitated, a hand coming to the pommel of his sword. “I don’t know,” he said uneasily. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Fine, then. I’ll go with you.” Wren fixed her grandmother’s cloak around her shoulders. “Wait here, Banba. I’ll come back for you.”

“You will not,” grunted Banba, as she pushed past her, puttingherself between Wren and the king. “Lead the way, Felsing. Whatever it is, let’s get it over with.”

They followed Alarik down the winding tunnel, to a room that was all too familiar to Wren. She glanced around, but there were no beasts skulking in the darkness. No soldiers either. “Why are we back down here? It is something to do with Ansel?”

Alarik shook his head. “Ansel is locked in my bedchamber, where he can’t get into any trouble. This is... something else.”

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