Page 46 of Burning Crowns

CHAPTER 17

Not long after saying goodbye to her sister, Wren arrived in the courtyard with her satchel. She was wearing a simple blue dress, a pair of travelling boots and a long brown cloak, underneath which her hair hung unadorned in loose waves. She took one look at King Alarik, dressed in full regalia, and Tor, standing to attention in his blue and silver frockcoat, and frowned.

‘I told you two to look inconspicuous. We’re supposed to be travelling in secret.’

Alarik looked down at his shiny silver doublet. ‘What’s wrong with this?’

‘You look like a king!’

‘Maybe of Eana.’ He snorted. ‘In Gevra, this is practically peasant-wear.’

Wren pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Chapman!’

The steward scurried over.

‘Please fetch King Alarik something less ostentatious to wear.’ She turned on Tor. ‘And you’re literally in your uniform. You couldn’t look any more Gevran if you tried.’

‘My other clothes now reek of smoke,’ he said, pointedly.

‘A charge we shall most certainly be sending to Caro.’Wren called after Chapman, ‘And bring something for the captain, too!’

Chapman eyed Elske, who was sitting at Tor’s feet. ‘And, uh, the wolf?’

‘Hmm.’ Wren tapped her chin. ‘A nice bonnet should do. Something with frills.’

‘Really?’ said the steward.

‘No, Chapman, obviously not,’ said Wren, impatiently. ‘The wolf is fine as she is. She can stay in the carriage until we’re far enough north.’

Chapman beetled away.

While Tor and Alarik went inside to change, Wren stuck her head inside the carriage. It was a far cry from the golden tour carriage that had ferried them around Eana. This one was plain brown with small windows and two lumpy benches facing one another. Just enough space for three humans and one rather large wolf. The carriage would be pulled by four horses, with two palace guards to serve as coachmen until they reached Glenlock, a town just north of the Ganyeve Desert. It was still about a day’s journey from the Mishnick Mountains, but the rest of the route would require them to surrender their carriage entirely.

‘Ahem.’ Wren startled at Chapman’s voice, hitting her head on the ceiling of the carriage. His face appeared through the opposite window. ‘Do remind me, why are you gallivanting into the unknown reaches of Eana with a murderous Gevran king and his grumpy-looking soldier?’

‘Didn’t I mention before?’ said Wren. ‘It’s none of your business.’

Chapman glowered at her. ‘As I have told you more times than I care to recall, I am the steward of Anadawn. The queens’ business is my business!’

‘Not this queen,’ said Wren, reeling backwards. She slammed the carriage door behind her.

Chapman scooted around the back of it. ‘But—’

‘And thatgrumpy-lookingsoldier just saved all of our royal horses and captured our arsonist,’ Wren added. ‘You will treat him with respect.’

Chapman folded his arms. ‘And the murderous king?’

‘Treat him however you like,’ said Wren, with a shrug. ‘It’s your funeral.’

He pulled a face. ‘This all just seems so … so reckless.’

‘Yes. But that’s kind of my thing.’

Chapman harrumphed. ‘You will send me into an early grave.’

Wren looked him up and down. ‘How many winters have you passed?’ she said, trying to guess. ‘Forty-nine? Fifty?’

Chapman glowered at her. ‘I’m only twenty-seven!’

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