Page 43 of Burning Crowns

Tor tensed, his eyes going wide then narrowing.

Wren froze, sensing the sudden shift in his mood. ‘What is it?’

‘Smoke,’ he said, sniffing the air. ‘Something’s burning.’

Wren heard the crackle of flames a heartbeat before she saw them. They erupted along the entrance to the stables in whips of amber and gold. And there – just beyond them – a cloaked figure was running. Tor leaped to his feet,grabbing a nearby pail of water. Wren grabbed another, both of them running towards the fire. They managed to douse the barrier of flames and fling themselves through the choking smoke.

Wren stumbled but Tor caught her with one arm, swinging her away from the blaze.

‘FIRE!’ he roared, turning to fetch more water. ‘FIRE IN THE STABLES!’

‘Wait here!’ he called to Wren. Before she could stop him, Tor battled his way back through the smoke to free the horses, who were whinnying and rearing up in alarm. Wren summoned her tempest magic, but the gust was short and sharp, barely feathering the flames. The effort of it nearly knocked her to the ground and sent a searing pain ripping through her scar.

Chaos descended across the stables as the fire grew, devouring the hay and then the wooden beams. Roused by the smoke, soldiers and servants poured out of the palace in their droves, rushing to help battle the blaze and to set the animals free.

In the swell of activity, Wren caught sight of the hooded figure again. They were further away now, far past the north end of the stables and heading for a thicket of trees.

She set off after them, her lungs screaming as she ran. The figure was much faster than her, and already leagues ahead. In desperation, she summoned another blast of wind. Her scar burned, her body revolting against the pulse of magic, but the gust found its mark, knocking the figure over.

Wren kept running, pushing through her discomfort to close the gap between them. She was much closer now, but she couldn’t risk another burst of magic. The arsonist sprung to their feet and resumed their escape.Despite her best efforts, Wren was losing ground.

Just as the figure reached the treeline, there came a whistle from somewhere overhead. Wren looked up to see a shovel hurtling through the air. It crashed into the figure blade first, knocking them to the ground. This time, they didn’t get up. Wren glanced over her shoulder to find Tor charging after her, like a tiger on the hunt. Impeccable aim. Remarkable speed. She should have guessed.

She reached the figure just as Tor caught up with her. He rolled the arsonist over with his foot, and Wren came to her knees to rip their hood off.

She blinked in utter disbelief. ‘FELIX?’

‘Nnngh,’ the prince of Caro groaned. ‘Myhead.’

‘What in hissing hell are you doing?’ Wren shouted, fury filling her.

Felix scrunched his eyes shut, as if he was trying to make her disappear.

A shadow fell across Wren and the sharp end of the shovel appeared at Felix’s throat. ‘Speak,’ growled Tor. ‘Or I’ll bury you alive right here.’

Felix whimpered. ‘Just let me explain …’

‘Do it in the next breath,’ said Wren. ‘Or my horses will forever trample your shallow grave.’

‘Can you perhaps remove the shovel from my—’

‘No,’ said Tor and Wren at the same time.

Felix took a shaky breath, and then, to Wren’s disgust, he began to weep. ‘She made me do it,’ he said, between wracking sobs. ‘The witch who looks like you.’

‘Rose?’ said Wren, frowning.

He tried to shake his head. ‘I went to Rose’s tower looking for her, but thenshecame to me instead. I saw her in the mirror.She … showed me things. She cast me under her spell.’

Wren stared down at the blathering prince, too horrified to speak.

‘I was powerless to resist,’ he wept. ‘She promised me my very own magic.’ His eyes widened, filled even now with a frenzied desire for that power. ‘All I had to do was play her game, and frighten the queen. Spook the servants and the other witches. Sow terror and discord behind the castle walls …’ He trailed off. ‘Make mischief. It was only mischief.’

Wren would have laughed if she wasn’t burning with fury. Oonagh was toying with them, planting mistrust in the palace, scattering chaos like seeds, so that the people closest to them would lose faith, would see them as weak – and all of it was merely a prelude to her bloody return. ‘You thought burning down the royal stables withmeinside it wasmischief?’

Felix chuckled, until he saw the Gevran’s face.

‘Wrong answer,’ said Tor, pressing the shovel against his neck. ‘In Gevra, if you harm a royal beast, we let them eat you.’

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