Page 138 of Cursed Crowns

“Everyone’s a fool for something, Wren. Why not let it be love?”

Wren stared out at the glassy sea, letting her mind turn to Tor, and the kindness in his eyes, in his spirit. She tried not to think of Alarik—that fierce gaze and dauntless soul—but they arrived on the same thought now, the king and his captain, entwined in her memory.

“I know that look,” said Marino. “You’re thinking of your Gevran sweetheart.”

“I don’t have a sweetheart,” said Wren quickly. “And I don’t want one.”

Marino’s brown eyes filled with pity. “Then what do you want, Wren?”

Wren turned back to the water. It had been a long time since anyone had asked her that. Without Banba’s guiding hand and Rose’s voice in her ear, Wren didn’t know what she wanted. Only this. “Take me home, Marino. I’ve got a date with Edgar Barron, and I’m already late.”

Marino dipped his chin. “So long as the wind cooperates, I expect we’ll make good time.”

Wren looked at him over her shoulder. “Mind if I give it a little nudge?”

With the captain’s blessing, she raised her hands and brewed a gale so strong, she swore she heard Banba’s laugh inside it. The sails billowed, full and straining, and theSiren’s Secretlurched, picking up speed at such an alarming rate Marino had to sprint back to the wheel to keep the ship from capsizing.

Wren smiled as she stood out on the bow with the wind in her hair and a storm in her fists and chartered them home, all the way across the Sunless Sea, to where the war was waiting.

54

Rose

When Rose awoke, she was far from her palace. She blinked away her haze, trying to think past the throbbing pain in her skull. The world shifted into focus, just enough that she could tell she was in a burned clearing at the edge of the woods. Everything smelled like ash and smoke. Her hands were bound in her lap, and her body was tied to a charred tree trunk.

Before her stood Edgar Barron. Despite the battle raging nearby, he looked immaculate, with perfectly coiffed hair. He was wearing a fine crimson doublet under sleek black armor and was leaning lazily on the hilt of his sword.

“Queen Rose.” He sketched a bow. “We meet again.”

Rose glared at the leader of the Arrows with all the hatred she could muster. “This is high treason, Barron. Release me, at once.”

Barron’s blue eyes danced. “You are hardly in a position to negotiate.”

“The queen of Eana is always in a position to negotiate.”

Barron came to his knees. “Here is my first and final offer, witch. You may beg for your life.”

Rose closed her eyes, summoning the last of her courage. And withthe rage of all the witches burning inside her, she did something she had never done before in her life.

She spat at Edgar Barron.

He reeled backward. “You filthy witch,” he said, leaping to his feet. He angled his sword below her chin. “You’ll pay for that.”

This time, Rose kept her eyes open. If she was going to die, she would at least look her murderer in the eye. Her heart thundered. She felt the press of steel against the hollow of her throat, the warm trickle of her own blood as her skin broke.

Suddenly, the wind howled. There came a gust so strong, it cast her hair skyward and ripped Barron’s sword from his grip. Rose gasped as the leader of the Arrows stumbled backward, losing his footing in the eye of the storm.

It ceased just as quickly as it had come, a swift silence falling over the clearing.

Then Wren’s voice rang out. “Big bad Edgar Barron. Didn’t my sister and I warn you to play nice?”

She appeared through a break in the trees. Wren looked utterly unlike herself, dressed in a decadent Gevran gown, with her hair, now streaked with silver, braided into two long fishtail braids. She glanced at Rose.

“Are you all right?”

Rose’s lips trembled as she nodded. “I knew you’d come back.”

Barron scrambled to his feet. But Wren flung her hand out, knocking him over with another fierce gust. “Stay on your knees, traitor.”

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