Page 132 of Burning Crowns

‘She threw my dagger away,’ said Rose, frantically searching the grass. She flexed her fingers, trying to summon her magic, but she was so exhausted she could barely think straight. And even if she could, what spell could she conjure to kill an ancient undead being? At her heart, Rose was a healer. She did not dabble in murder, and she knew nothing of blood magic.

She crawled over the grass, desperately searching for a glint of gold.

Oonagh began to chant, her body heaving as she tried to cast another spell. The flames drew backwards, as though they were cowering from her guttural magic.

‘Rose,’ said Wren, urgently.

‘I’m thinking!’ Rose whirled around, searching for something –anything– they could use against their ancestor. Something glittered in the side of her vision. The firelight bounced off the golden blade,pulling Rose’s attention to where Daybreak lay in the grass. She scrambled towards it as a new wind stirred. The dregs of Oonagh’s power rippled around them. Rose looked up at the crackling sky as static plucked at the strands of her hair.

Oonagh was too far from Rose. With the trunk obscuring most of her body, she didn’t have a clear shot at her ancestor. But Wren was closer, and steady on her feet. ‘Wren!’

When her sister turned, Rose tossed the dagger, fast and low.

The sky rumbled, another lightning bolt brewing. Wren snatched up Daybreak, swung herself around the trunk and charged at their ancestor.

Rose watched in frozen horror as Oonagh twisted out of Wren’s grasp. The dagger missed its mark, driving into Oonagh’s shoulder instead of her heart. It was not a killing blow, but it was enough to stop the lightning strike. She shrieked in pain as they fell to the ground, grappling with each other in the dirt. Wren slammed her fist into Oonagh’s mouth just as Oonagh grabbed Wren by the throat. They rolled over, spitting and choking in the dirt.

Rose was about to leap to help Wren when she heard her name carried on the wind. She turned around, spotting someone moving on the other side of the flames. Her eyes went wide when she saw who it was.

‘Celeste?’ she said, with a gasp.

Celeste’s clothes were badly torn. Her face was mussed with blood and there were twigs in her hair. She was limping on her left leg, her voice so ragged, Rose had to strain to hear her. ‘I cut my way through that entire bloody forest,’ she called out. ‘To come and give you this!’

Celeste raised her sword as she stumbled towards the fire and Rose knew it at once as Night’s Edge.

Wren let out a strangled shout. ‘Rose! Help!’

Oonagh was on top of her, Daybreak still sticking out of her bloodied shoulder. One weapon was not enough.

‘Throw the sword!’ yelled Rose.

Celeste flung Night’s Edge through the flames. It landed blade first in the dirt beside Rose. ‘Thank you!’ she shouted as she pulled it free. The hilt warmed in her grip, the blade so light it lifted like a feather.

Rose took a quick breath. She knew what had to be done, even if it went against every flicker of healing magic inside her. But morality was never black and white. Finding Wren and the rest of the witches – knowing them – after all these years apart had shown her that. Sometimes to save a life – to save a kingdom – you had to take a life. And Oonagh had already lived far longer than most. Her destiny had come and gone, and she had squandered it.

It was time for her to die. For good this time.

The sword glowed in Rose’s hand as she rushed back to the Mother Tree. Wren had made it on to her feet and was using the dagger embedded in Oonagh’s shoulder to drive her backwards. Their ancestor’s teeth were bared, her green eyes blazing with hatred.

Rose raised her sword. ‘Move,’ she said to Wren. It was only when Rose’s vision began to blur that she realized she was crying. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘We’lldo it.’ Wren released Daybreak, her hand finding Rose’s on the hilt of Night’s Edge. ‘Together.’

They swung the sword just as Oonagh lunged towards them, impaling herself on the blade. They steadied the hilt,driving the blade deeper into her heart until it pinned her to the Mother Tree. Rose’s hand shook but she didn’t let go, and neither did Wren. They stood shoulder to shoulder, bathed in the soft glow of Night’s Edge, willing this nightmare to end.

Oonagh stilled, her final breaths eking out of her. Her face slackened as centuries of anger and hatred left her in a long and final sigh. And then she looked just like Wren. Like Rose. Like her sister Ortha. As the last vestiges of her cursed magic filtered into the wind, Oonagh’s green eyes misted.

‘Oh,’ she whispered.

Sensing it was finally over, Rose and Wren released the sword. They stepped back, finding each other’s hands.

Oonagh slumped to the ground. She turned her face to the Mother Tree, pressing her cheek against the bark. Rose watched a single tear slide down her cheek.

As the fire surged around them, Oonagh closed her eyes and whispered her sister’s name. ‘Ortha, forgive me.’ It was a spell all its own, a plea. A final offering to the sister she had betrayed and the land she had ravaged in her absence. ‘Ortha,’ she murmured, as she dropped into darkness, surrendering herself at last to the finality of death.

Wren

CHAPTER 49

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