Page 136 of Cursed Crowns

Blood that takes can no longer heal,it said mockingly.You have chosen the darkness, little bird. It is here you must dwell.

There came a suddenthud!Pain lanced through Wren’s shoulder, jolting her back to the bedroom. She opened her eyes to find herself on the ground.

“What are you doing, you stupid witch?” hissed Anika, from above. “Now is not the time to pass out!”

Wren sat up, the warmth draining from her cheeks in prickles as she peered over the bed. Ansel was still alive and muttering feverishly to himself. Alarik’s hand was steady on his shoulder, but his hawkish gaze was trained on Wren. “What just happened?”

“I... I’m sorry. I have to go.” Wren scrambled to her feet and bolted for the door. Her eyes blurred as she thundered down the hallway, searching blindly for the stairs. She climbed away from the twitching prince and the grieving king, away from the anger blazing in Anika’s eyes, but no matter how fast she ran or how hard she cried, Wren couldn’t outrun the voice inside her.

You have chosen the darkness, little bird. It is here you must dwell.

Wren had barely reached her bedroom, when Alarik caught up with her. He slammed the door shut behind him. “What in freezing hell was that about?”

Wren turned around, tears still streaming down her face. “I can’t do it,” she said between hiccups. “There was a price for what I did to your brother. I can’t heal him. I’m broken.” She pressed her fists against her eyes. “I’m just like her. And this is the proof.”

Alarik was silent for a moment, then he sighed. “You are not broken, Wren.”

“Yes, I am!” she shouted. “Just get out!”

Alarik didn’t move. “You’re not broken,” he said again.

She dropped her hands to glare at him. “What the hell do you know?”

He crossed the room in three strides. “I know that if you can bring yourself to care about something beyond yourself, thenyou arenot broken.” The final words came out in a growl. Rough, insistent. He raised his hand, curling a strand of her hair around his finger. When he lifted it, Wren saw that it was bright silver. “See how much you care, Wren?”

Wren turned to the mirror. She had been in such a rush this morning that she had missed her own reflection, but she saw it clearly now. There was a new streak of silver in her hair, right at the front. She looked to Alarik, who was standing behind her.

He traced the blackness in his own hair. “My father once told me that to know grief is to know love,” he said quietly. “And you cannot love something if you are irretrievably broken.”

Wren stared at the king in the mirror, trying to figure out where on earth this version of him had come from, or if perhaps it had been there all along, hiding beneath his icy facade. “You once told me love is a horrible business.”

“It is,” said Alarik. “But why does that have to change anything?”

For a heartbeat, Wren almost laughed. Then her shoulders sagged under the weight of the truth. “I can’t fix Ansel,” she whispered. “I can’t even fix myself.”

“You don’t need to be fixed. You just need time to heal.”

Wren closed her eyes, feeling his grief as her own. A small, wayward part of her wanted to reach for him, to curl herself into his embrace and distract herself from the crack in her heart.

He stood back then, and the moment slipped away.

“Go home.” He turned to go, his smile soft and fleeting. “Find your healing, witch.”

It was only after Alarik had left that Wren thought to ask him for her hand mirror back. She needed to speak to her sister, to find out what was going on in Eana and hopefully arrange safe passage to get back there. She went to find the king, but the instant she stepped into the hallway, she heard someone shouting her name.

Wren followed it all the way down to the atrium, where Celeste was pacing. Dressed in a fur-lined burgundy coat, gray winter boots, and a matching woolly hat, she looked like a Gevran.

“You’re back,” said Wren, hurrying down the stairs.

Celeste spun around. “There you are!” she said, relief trilling in her voice. “Of course I’m back. You hardly thought I’d leave you in this awful place, did you?” She gestured around them. “What the hell happened here, anyway? I swore I heard the mountains come down. And I had that vision again. It’s been haunting me these past few days. I thought you were dead, Wren.”

Wren stalled on the bottom step. There was so much to say, and she didn’t know where to begin. “That wasn’t me in your vision, Celeste. It was Oonagh.”

Celeste stared at her. “Stars above.”

“And, er, speaking of my undead evil ancestor,” Wren went on. “How is your magic these days?”

“Confusing,” said Celeste. “The same as always.”

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