Page 47 of Burning Crowns

Wren winced. ‘Have you ever thought about sheep farming, Chapman? A nice pastoral life somewhere in the south?’

The steward was too furious to answer her. Alarik and Tor returned presently, dressed as soldiers of Eana in frockcoats of green and gold.

Wren broke into a grin.

‘Don’t even start,’ warned Alarik.

‘It suits you.’

‘What? Poorly tailored trousers?’

‘Subservience to me,’ Wren said, brightly.

The king barked a laugh.

Wren shifted her attention to Tor, admiring the way the captain looked in the Eana colours. Somehow, he was even more handsome than before. ‘Well?’ she said, perhaps a little too eagerly. ‘Do you like it?’

Tor tensed, gripping the icy pommel of his sword. Wren knew she had made a misstep by testing his loyalty in front of his king, but he deftly laughed it off. ‘If only it came with a shovel.’

‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’

‘Nice try, witch,’ said Alarik, as he climbed into the carriage. ‘Get your own wrangler.’

Wren stuck her tongue out at the back of his head as she followed him.

‘Well, isn’t this cosy,’ said Alarik, sarcastically. ‘Remind me again why we couldn’t go by boat?’

‘I told you – the Mishnick Mountains are landlocked,’ said Wren. ‘You’re familiar with the way water works, aren’t you? Just be grateful we don’t have to trek through the desert. It would melt all the ice in your veins.’

Alarik looked at her, strangely. ‘What if the thaw has already begun?’

Wren was about to ask what he meant when Elske bounded into the carriage. She hopped up beside Wren, taking up the rest of the carriage bench and resting her chin on Wren’s lap until the only spare seat left was beside Alarik. Once Tor finished loading the carriage, he climbed inside and settled himself next to the king.

The space was even smaller than Wren had imagined. The air grew warmer, closer.

Tor smiled, tightly. ‘Well. This will be an adventure.’

The golden gates of Anadawn groaned as they opened, and the carriage trundled into motion. Wren flopped back against her seat, listening to the commotion in the courtyard die away. Soon, the comforting rumble of wheels on gravel filled the air, the carriage gently rocking as it gathered speed.

‘I hope neither of you get travel sick,’ remarked Wren.

‘No. But I do get viciously bored.’ Alarik turned his gaze to the forest outside. ‘How long will this journey take?’

‘A few days,’ said Wren, watching the trees go by. ‘We’ll take the Kerrcal Road north, until we reach Glenlock. There are villages along the way where we can rest a while, get something to eat. After that, we’ll ride west into the mountains.’ She glanced at Alarik. ‘It will be tough-going. Thea says the mountain pass is not for the faint of heart.’

‘You forget I was trained in the Gevran army,’ said Alarik, unruffled. ‘Worry about your own heart.’

‘Oh, please. I grew up on the knife-edge of a cliff,’ said Wren. ‘Once a storm blew in and took the roof off my grandmother’s hut. I nearly went with it.’

Alarik hmm’d. ‘When I was a boy of nine, I fell through the ice in our lake. My father left me down there until I turned blue,’ he countered, as if they were playing a game. ‘I couldn’t feel my fingers for days. He called it a life lesson.’

Wren stared at him in horror. ‘What was the lesson?’

Alarik smiled but there was no gladness in it. ‘Watch your feet.’

Wren was silent for a moment. ‘Once, in the midst of a tantrum, I threw a dead fish at my grandmother. She was so angry she trapped me in a ring of flames until sunrise.’

Now it was Tor’s turn to look horrified. ‘What was the lesson?’

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