Page 135 of Cursed Crowns

Rose smiled as the rest of the wild, angry world rushed back in. “Are you all right?”

Tilda’s bottom lip quivered. “I’m scared.”

“Come now,” said Rose, ignoring her own light-headedness as she helped the girl sit up. “Let’s get you back inside.”

Just then, Rowena shrieked as she was yanked over the wall by aclimbing Arrow. She lost her footing, and without anyone to anchor her, she fell to the ground on the other side.

“Got one!” screamed the triumphant Arrow. “She’s one of the stormy witches!”

Rose leaped to her feet. “LEAVE HER BE!” she shouted. “On pain of death, I order you not to—” Then she cried out, as someone grabbed the bottom of her trousers. Another Arrow scaling the wall had decided to seize his opportunity. She wobbled for an agonizing heartbeat, but Tilda was too dazed to catch her and Rose too dizzy to steady herself. By the time she thought to try, she was already falling...

The world whizzed by in terror and flame, the ground rising far too quickly. Rose landed on the grass with a rattlingthud!Vaguely, she was aware of heavy footsteps, then frenzied voices.

“Burning stars, it’s the bloody queen!”

“Kill her, quick!”

“No! Grab her. Barron wants to do the honors himself.”

Rose tried to sit up, but there was a boot on her chest. A man loomed over her, and before she could kick out at him, he brought the hilt of his sword down. Rose groaned as it connected with her head. Stars exploded in her vision before giving way to a familiar darkness.

53

Wren

The following morning, before the sun was up, Alarik sent for Wren. Still half asleep and too tired to be curious, she rolled out of bed and shrugged on the first dress she could find. To her surprise, it was Anika who opened the door to the king’s bedroom. There were shadows underneath her eyes. Shadows behind them, too.

“What is it?” said Wren uneasily.

“Come in. Shut the door behind you.”

Wren followed her across the room, to where Alarik was standing sentry by the bed. Below him, Ansel was staring at the ceiling, and moaning softly. Wren’s heart clenched as she stared down at the prince’s face. It was almost green now, his cheeks so hollow, the bones above them looked like scythes.

“My brother says you’ve got your power back,” said Anika hoarsely. “You can make storms now. Like a tempest.”

Wren nodded absently.

“Then you must be able to heal, too.”

Wren looked up, frowning. “I don’t know. I haven’t tried it.”

“So try it now,” said Anika impatiently. “We can’t live like this anymore.”

Wren looked at Alarik. “I don’t understand.”

“Ansel is suffering,” he said tightly.

“You know I can’t heal him,” said Wren. “Not with magic. Or time.”

He nodded stiffly, and Wren realized he had already come to that conclusion. He was asking her for something else. “We wish to let him rest.” He looked to his sister, the knot in his throat bobbing. “To let him go.”

“Oh,” said Wren as realization dawned. The Felsings hadn’t summoned her to save Ansel, but to put his soul back to sleep. To heal him, by releasing him from this world. They wanted her to let him die. Again. “I’ll... try.”

Wren sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to remember everything Thea had ever told her about healing. She knew it came from the blood and drew on the healer’s natural energy, that each spell was guided by intention. She took Ansel’s hand. It was trembling slightly. Or perhaps that was her own. She closed her eyes and saw the thread of his life writhing inside her mind. Once golden, it was tarnished now, and hopelessly tangled. She reached out to unknot it, but it slipped from her grasp.

Come back. Let me help you.

But the thread was getting farther away. A shadow swept in, hiding it from her. Wren’s head began to pound. She was dimly aware of her body swaying on the bed, a groan seeping through her teeth. Then came that awful voice again, rising from deep within her.

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