Page 54 of Cursed Crowns

“Foolish child.” Banba shook her head fiercely, her eyes so wide Wren could count the red veins inside them. “You must leave at once. Forget about me, little bird. Go home to your throne. Your sister needs you.”

Wren balked at the harshness in her grandmother’s voice. Suddenly, she felt like an unruly child who had been caught pinching honey from the Ortha hives. “It’sourthrone, Banba. It means nothing to me without you.” She laid her forehead against the bars until they were almost nose to nose. “Rose and I can’t do this without you. We needyou.Ineed you.”

“The price of my freedom is too high,” said Banba; her breath was cold on Wren’s cheeks. “I won’t pay it. And neither should you.” Her shoulders began to shake, and Wren realized with dawning horrorthat her grandmother was afraid. In all her life, she had never known Banba—fierce in all she did—to cower from anything, to tremble as she was trembling now. “Listen to me well, little bird. There is a darkness that moves in Gevra. The wind is heavy with it. It feels like old magic.Taintedmagic.” Her gaze darted, the rest of her warning chattering through her teeth. “I feel it when I sleep, Wren. I hear it when I wake. It’s in the mountain. It rattles against my feet.”

“It’s just the frost, Banba.” Wren desperately tried to rub some warmth into her grandmother, to give her a morsel of the comfort she had given Wren when she was a child who had nightmares on dark windy nights. “It’s toying with your mind. There are no witches in Gevra. That’s why the king took you here in the first place. He wants to learn about magic; he wants it for himself.”

The soldier’s hand fell heavily on Wren’s shoulder. “Move.”

“The king is toying with things he doesn’t understand,” said Banba urgently. “Things that should stay buried. You can’t stay here, Wren. You have to run!”

Wren shook the soldier off. She unhooked her cloak and passed it through the bars. The soldier drew her sword, but Wren shot her a look so withering it froze in midair. “It’s just a cloak, for goodness’ sake. She needs warmth.”

Wren worked the cloak around Banba’s shoulders and tied it loosely at her throat. “Try to stay warm,” she said as she was yanked away from the bars. “I’ll be back for you as soon as I can.”

Banba called after her, telling her to turn around, to run and never look back, but Wren shut out her ragged pleas and kept her eyes on her feet, shivering violently as she ventured deeper into the mountain.Now that she knew Banba was still alive, and utterly petrified, she was more determined than ever to get her out of here. Fast.

The sconce lights grew few and far between, the world growing darker and colder with every step. Wren’s teeth were clacking noisily, her toes so numb she began to stumble.

“H-h-h-how m-m-m-much f-f-farther?” she eked out.

The soldier pointed up ahead, to where a pair of golden-eyed wolves peered out of the dimness.

“You’re late.” Alarik’s crisp voice echoed down the tunnel. A few more steps and Wren could see him standing behind his wolves, flanked by a soldier on either side. Neither of whom were Tor. The king was wearing black again, the high collar of his coat trimmed with dark gray fur. “I summoned you an hour ago.”

Wren cut her eyes at him. “I’m not a dog that can be called to heel.”

“If only you were,” he said drolly. “I could have Captain Iversen wrangle you.” He raked his pale gaze over her dress, then looked accusingly at her chaperone. “Why isn’t she wearing a cloak?”

The soldier’s throat bobbed. “She gave it away, Your Majesty. I tried to stop her.”

Alarik cocked his head. “Which of you possesses the sword, Inga?”

“I have a better question,” Wren cut in, deftly stepping in front of the quivering guard before he could flay her alive. “Where did all those fancy dresses and fur cloaks in my room come from?”

Alarik turned on Wren. “Unwanted gifts. Don’t spare them another thought.”

Wren was intrigued, despite herself. “So you’ve been rejected by a sweetheart, then? I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“I have no interest in sweethearts, I assure you,” said the king.

Wren hmm’d. “Must be hard to love anything with that block of ice in your chest.”

He raised a slender brow. “Just as it is for you to behave yourself with that snake’s tongue in your mouth.”

Wren folded her arms. She didn’t care for the king, but their sparring had warmed her up nicely. “Now that we’ve got the pleasantries out of the way, what the hell are we doing down here?”

Alarik stood aside, revealing a narrow door with rusted hinges. “You and I will enter alone. Then we will discuss the particulars of our arrangement.” He pressed his palm against the wood, looking at her over his shoulder. “Unless, of course, you wish to renege on our bargain.”

“Well, that depends,” said Wren hesitantly. “Are you planning to kill me in there?”

He chuckled darkly. “I assure you, Wren. I would treat your death with the utmost spectacle.”

“Is that your idea of a compliment?”

“In fact, it is.”

“No wonder you got rejected by your sweetheart.”

---