Page 109 of Burning Crowns

As the blade heated, the dark blood slickened and slowly dripped into the fire. Then came the smoke, dark and curling and acrid.

Anika began to wheeze. ‘Oh, what anawfulsmell.’

Shen clapped his hand over his mouth, pinching his nose to keep from gagging. Rose held her breath, watching the smoke so closely her eyes began to stream. But there were no shapes to discern, no clues in the grey plumes, only that terrible stench that made her feel sick.

Celeste was faring better than the rest. She began to sway, her gaze clouding as she watched the smoke. Kai laid a hand on her shoulder to keep her from falling into the fire.

‘I can see,’ she murmured after a moment. ‘I see something.’ The smoke began to shift, the plumes dancing in shades of white and grey, but still Rose struggled to find the images within. ‘There are trees here.’

Shen frowned. ‘Can you be a bit more specific?’

‘Hush,’ hissed Anika. ‘Give her a moment.’

‘Good,’ urged Kai. ‘What else?’

‘Hundreds and hundreds of trees,’ said Celeste, dreamily. ‘With sweeping vines and drooping branches.’ She shook her head, a furrow appearing between her brows. ‘It’s a forest. So vast I can’t see beyond it. It’s not a place I’ve ever been.’ She closed her eyes, her voice quieting. ‘But oh, it’s beautiful. Beautiful and sad.’

‘That sounds like the Weeping Forest,’ murmured Shen. He looked to Rose. ‘If that vision is true, Oonagh is already back in Eana.’

Rose pulled her gaze from the fire. ‘Then we must hurry.’

Once they put out the fire, they returned to the cabin and told Greta what they had found in the smoke. ‘We’ll leave as soon as the ship is repaired,’ said Rose. She spoke brightly, even as she felt a sense of dread at the thought of going back on the boat.

‘In the meantime, you must rest,’ insisted Greta.

After another cup of warm tea, Rose sat by the fire where the floor had been covered in sheepskin blankets and rough pelts. When her lids grew heavy, she lay down between Celeste and Shen, her hand curled inside his as she drifted off. Even in sleep, Rose drew strength from Shen’s nearness, and the sureness of her best friend at her other side. All going well, tomorrow, they would return to Eana and ready their armies to face Oonagh. She would not catch them unawares again.

Wren

CHAPTER 33

By the time Wren and Tor reached the village of Raddlebrook, just south of Glenlock, the afternoon sun was waning, and the children were fast asleep. They stopped at the first inn they reached, Tor carefully lifting them down from the horse, while Wren went inside to find a caretaker. She was relieved to see that some of the residents of Glenlock had come to shelter in Raddlebrook. Among them was a kindly old woman who said she knew the children’s father and would gladly help them reunite.

Once the children were left safely in her care, Wren didn’t linger. The mood in Raddlebrook was tense and fearful, and she could not yet offer the people there a measure of comfort. Rather, she owed it to them – and to the rest of her kingdom – to journey home as fast as possible and defend Anadawn from Oonagh’s encroaching army.

Despite her growing urgency to get home, the southern road to Anadawn was congested with hundreds more deserters, and Wren’s horse was starting to slow.

‘Ride with me,’ said Tor, once they were outside Raddlebrook. ‘We can cut through the desert and avoid the droves.’

Wren perked up at the suggestion. ‘You Gevrans really do think on your feet.’

‘It’s just like a line in my favourite folk song: “If you don’t think on your feet, you die on your back.”’

‘How expectedly Gevran,’ said Wren, sliding off her horse and clambering on to his. He pulled her up with one hand, and she settled in front of him.

‘You steer,’ he said, close to her ear. ‘I’ll ride.’

‘Yes, Captain,’ said Wren, letting him hold her in place.

They turned west, towards the soft edge of the desert. By the time they reached the Ganyeve, Wren could barely keep her eyes open. Her head lolled, falling against Tor’s chest. The heat was so luxurious, so warm, it felt like a blanket curling around her. The thunder of hooves soon lulled her to sleep.

‘Burning hell.’ She jolted awake at the sound of Tor’s voice.

‘What is it?’ she said, sitting up. She looked around, searching the dunes for a stray blood beetle, or some other vicious sand creature come to devour them. There was only sand as far as she could see, and a strange and distant rumbling, as though something – or a great many things – was rattling through the desert. But that was not what was bothering Tor.

‘This heat,’ he said, adjusting his collar. ‘I feel as if I’m melting.’

Wren glanced at him over her shoulder. His forehead was slick with sweat and his cheeks were redder than she’d ever seen them. ‘It’s because you’re Gevran,’ she said, chuckling. ‘You’re welcome to take off your shirt.’

---