Page 129 of Cursed Crowns

He was frowning at her. “Can you stop passing out? It’s highly inconvenient.”

Wren sat bolt upright, nearly smashing her forehead into his nose. Her skin flared white-hot, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the sun had melted into her bloodstream. She turned her hands over, looking for a telltale glow, but they were pale and trembling. Magic pooled in her stomach and her throat, like it was trying to burst its way out.What the hell?

She leaped to her feet and began to pace, trying to walk off the strange fizzing sensation inside her. The wind began to pick up.

“Stop doing that!” said Alarik. He looked wretched, his once pristine frock coat now ripped at the shoulder and covered in dust. His hair was a sopping mess, and there was a bruise blooming on his jaw fromwhere a falling rock had hit him. He stalked toward Wren. “Control your magic before you tear the rest of my palace down.”

“I don’t know how.” Wren squeezed her fingers in and out of fists. “But Oonagh broke the witches’ curse,” she said, more to herself than him. “She must have done something to me.” Wren could feel the strands of her magic writhing inside her, the crafts of seeing, healing, fighting, tempesting, and enchanting, all trying to braid themselves together. She wondered if somewhere across the Sunless Sea, this was happening to Rose and the other witches, too.

But beneath the five strands of witchcraft, Wren was dimly aware of another darker strand weaving itself inside her.Blood sacrifice. “Shit,” she hissed. “Shit, shit,shit.”

The wind howled.

The walls shook.

“I SAID THAT’S ENOUGH!” bellowed Alarik.

“Don’t you dare yell at me!” Wren whirled on him, her anger rising like a maelstrom. The wind rose with it, her tempest strand riding the swell of her emotions. “This is your fault! You took Oonagh Starcrest out of the mountain! You unburied her! You brought her here!”

“Me?” Alarik’s eyes flashed. “You’re the one who woke her up! Shesaidthat. I heard her.” He raked his hands through his hair, losing the dregs of his composure. “And how was I to know you had someothertwin secretly living in my mountains?”

“She’s not my twin,” Wren snapped. “She’s my ancestor. And she’s supposed to have died over a thousand years ago.”

Alarik barked a mirthless laugh. “That’smuchbetter! She’s just a wrathful undead magical ancestor hell-bent on destroying my palace!”

“Who cares about your stupid palace,” heaved Wren. “Mygrandmother isdead.” Those four words cut a jagged line right through Wren’s heart, the pain of Banba’s death making her breath shallow. She clutched her chest, trying to breathe, but more pain swept in, and she realized with dawning horror that she was dangerously close to breaking down. “I can’t stand another minute in this cursed place!” She spun on her heel and stalked toward the doors, bringing the wind with her.

“Get back here!” Alarik marched after her into the courtyard. “You made this mess and you’re going to fix it!”

“This isyourmess,” spat Wren. It was snowing again but she barely noticed. “You’re the one who made me use blood magic in the first place. That’s what woke Oonagh up.”

“You said you could do the spell,” Alarik reminded her. “Youvolunteeredyourself. You never told me how big the risk was. How bad it could end up.”

“It’sforbidden bloodmagic,” hissed Wren. “Use your brain. The clue is in the name!”

Alarik gritted his teeth. “Watch that viper’s tongue when you speak to me, witch. You’re still in my kingdom.”

“Don’t you mean Oonagh’s kingdom?” Wren shot back.

“Say that again,” he said, coming toward her. “I dare you.”

“I’m done with your dares, Alarik.” It was only then that Wren noticed the white wall that surrounded them. She was so angry she had accidentally brewed a blizzard. It howled in her ears, spat snow in her hair. “In the end, it was all for nothing.” Her shoulders sagged under the weight of Banba’s death. Hot tears prickled in her eyes. “My grandmother is dead. And I can’t even retrieve her broken body.” She cut her eyes at Alarik. “Are you happy now?”

“You tell me, Wren.” He took another step toward her. “My littlebrother is an undead corpse stuck in an endless time-loop.” Then another. “And my palace is all but wrecked thanks to your unhinged ancestor.”

“Good,” said Wren, shouting over the wind. “You deserve it.”

“Drop your blizzard!”

“No!”

He grabbed her shoulders. “Enough,” he growled.

Wren twisted her fingers in his collar, threatening to choke him. The blizzard roiled, shoving them closer. There was snow in Alarik’s hair, on his face. A single white flake on his bottom lip. “I hate you,” she hissed. “I hate you more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“And you think I care?” he sneered. “I hate you, too.”

“Tyrant,” said Wren, rising to her tiptoes.

---