Page 17 of Cursed Crowns

“Forgive me,” Wren whispered as she cast the sand over her sister. “From earth to dust and slumber deep, find peace and comfort in your sleep.”

The sand turned to golden dust as it vanished. Rose’s frown faded with a contented sigh. Wren was reminded of the first time she had used a spell like this on her sister. That night Shen had ridden away with her into the desert and Wren had taken her place.

Tonight it was Wren’s turn to disappear.

She scribbled a quick goodbye and left it on her pillow, knowing Rose would be furious when she read it. Though Wren’s heart clenched at leaving her sister this way—by midnight and betrayal—her guilt was surpassed by her loyalty to Banba. She owed her grandmother everything, and their efforts at negotiation had failed. Miserably. If she didn’t rescue Banba soon, she would perish at the cruelty of King Alarik, aman who was already nursing a grudge against Eana and a concerning obsession with the witches. In time, Rose would come to see that Wren had had no choice.

She got dressed in the dark and fetched her satchel from under the bed. It was already packed with a change of clothes, a flask of water, a hairbrush, a spare pouch of Ortha sand, and the handful of stray coins she had managed to pilfer from her sister’s dresser. It wouldn’t be enough to barter safe passage to Gevra, but Wren was hoping the sapphire-encrusted mirror she’d found in the west tower might convince a merchant trader to take her on board.

Out in the stairwell, Elske’s pale eyes shone in the darkness.

Wren sank to her knees. “Please don’t give me that look. I can’t take you with me. You’re far too conspicuous.”

The wolf released a low whine.

Wren cupped her large face. “I need you to stay here and look after Rose. Can you do that for me, sweetling? Can you keep my sister safe until I get back?”

Elske dipped her head.

She patted it. “Don’t worry, I’ll be home before you know it.”

Wren took care of the tower guards with a quick-tongued enchantment and two flicks of her wrist, before continuing down the east turret, where an ancient secret passageway was hidden inside a disused cupboard. The twins had made a promise to each other never to speak of it to anyone. It was their secret. Tonight it was Wren’s tunnel to freedom.

She hurried down the stone passageway, ignoring the everlights that flickered after her. She could feel the breath of her ancestors on the back of her neck, their voices calling after her, telling her to turn back. To be patient. To be cautious.

But Wren had never been good at waiting, and the only advice she ever took was Banba’s. She climbed out of the storm drain and crouched in the darkness to catch her breath. In the distance, the lights of Eshlinn flickered across the Silvertongue. Behind her, the white palace loomed like a ghost in the night, the spires of its gates glinting like sharp golden teeth.

She removed a pinch of sand and set to work on her appearance. She couldn’t redesign her entire face, but she could change the parts of her appearance that made her recognizable. She used an enchantment to twist her hair into ringlets, then turned it a deep, rippling auburn. She scattered more freckles across her cheeks and dulled the emerald blaze in her eyes to a muted green. Lastly, she made her front teeth crooked.

“Ouch,” she hissed as they bent inward.

She fixed her cloak and set off across the bridge, her footsteps pounding in the dark. It was past midnight, and while the cobbled streets of Eshlinn were mostly deserted, the taverns were full to bursting. Music wafted through the narrow streets, mingling with the sound of laughter.

Wren rounded a street corner and barreled into two young women, both red-faced and giggling.

“You must be mad, lass,” said one, the stench of cider heavy on her breath. “Walking by yourself at this time of night.”

“There could be witches about,” said the other while teetering unsteadily. “Especially now the palace is crawling with them.”

“So what?” said Wren, taking a step back. “The witches don’t mean us any harm.”

“That ain’t what they’re saying down in the Howling Wolf,” saidCider-breath, gesturing to the tavern she had just spilled out of.

“Edgar Barron says the witches are gonna take over the whole country now they’ve got those witchy queens on the throne,” added Wobbles.

“And do what with it?” said Wren, unable to help herself.

The girls looked at her blankly.

“Um. Bad stuff?” said Wobbles.

Cider-breath nodded. “Badmagic.”

Wren narrowed her eyes. “Elaborate.”

The girls shrugged.

“Well, I’m not afraid of the witches,” said Wren as she arced around them. “Try thinking for yourselves sometime,” she tossed over her shoulder. “I promise it doesn’t hurt.”

---