Page 57 of Burning Crowns

‘Iversen the poet,’ muttered Alarik.

‘My kingdomisbeautiful,’ said Wren. ‘It just takes someone with an actualsoulto recognize that.’

‘If you ask me, it lacks a certain wildness,’ mused Alarik. ‘Although the same can’t be said of its queen.’ He smirked at Wren. ‘But let’s not argue over whose kingdom is better.’

‘Well, I know which one is safer,’ she shot back.

‘You can have your ancestor back any time you like, Wren.’

‘Maybe we should all be silent for a while,’ suggested Tor. ‘Save our breath.’

In the welcome quiet that followed, Tor hummed to himself, filling the air with the honeyed lilt of his voice. Wren found herself breathing easier, walking just a little further.

They were in the foothills now, so close Wren swore she could hear the mountain springs tinkling through the valley. But as the sun was sliding from the sky like a golden raindrop,the temperature plummeted. Darkness fell, and Wren’s teeth began to chatter.

When they came upon a small clearing, Tor insisted they stop and rest for the night. On one side, they were sheltered by the mountains, and on the other, surrounded by boulders that would protect them from the howling night wind. While Tor went to gather firewood, Wren set down their blankets and pelts to create a makeshift mattress.

Alarik sat on a nearby rock, watching her work. ‘Didn’t it occur to you to bring a tent?’

‘I thought we’d make it there by nightfall,’ said Wren, with a huff of frustration. ‘And what do you care? Haven’t you ever slept outside before?’

‘More times than I care to count,’ he mused. ‘My father had a penchant for camping in the Fovarr Mountains when I was a child.’

‘Don’t tell me – you once spent the night in an elk carcass?’ Wren guessed.

Alarik stared at her. ‘What is wrong with you?’

‘Too many things to list,’ she muttered, which earned her a laugh from the king. He picked up a blanket and set about helping her.

‘Tell me, witch. What’s for dinner?’

‘Whatever Cam packed for us,’ said Wren, rummaging about in her satchel. She pulled out a loaf of bread, a cloth filled with sliced chicken and even a small jar of gravy. It wasn’t much but she was suddenly starving, and she knew, once warmed by the fire, the food would taste wonderful.

Tor returned presently with Elske in tow, his arms so full of firewood, Wren couldn’t see his face over them. He dropped them in the centre of the clearing and began piling them up.Wren watched him build their fire, her gaze lingering over his strong arms, how his jaw hardened as he worked.

‘Fascinating, isn’t it?’ needled Alarik.

Wren shook herself out of her trance. ‘It looks as if you’re building a castle with all that wood,’ she called out to Tor.

‘The more wood, the more warmth,’ replied Tor, without turning around. ‘I learned this technique from long winters on Carrig.’ He glanced up at the cloudless sky, where thousands of stars were twinkling. ‘The night will get colder still.’

When he finished building his tower of wood, Tor sat back on his heels and looked to Wren. ‘I think this could do with a little magic.’

Wren smiled, eager to be of some help. ‘My speciality.’

She stood over the firewood and summoned a wisp of tempest magic, picturing lightning crackling between her fingers. Her magic erupted, setting the wood alight. But it brought with it a familiar shooting pain. She fell to her knees as it tore through her body. She wrapped her arms around her middle to try to bear it.

‘Wren?’ The anxious rasp of Tor’s voice cut through the blackness in her mind.

A groan seeped through Wren’s teeth. The pain was already passing, like a shiver rattling down her spine. It had been a warning, not a punishment. A reminder: her magic was tainted, just as she was.

Strong hands gripped her shoulders, pulling her back. Wren realized too late that she had fallen too close to the fire. She opened her eyes as Tor lifted her away from the blaze. Alarik reached out to steady her, his face ashen in the smoke. ‘What the hell was that?’

‘Nothing.’ Wren shook them both off. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, finding her own footing. ‘It was just … the magic. My magic.’ She traced the stinging pain in her wrist. ‘It’s painful now. It hurts.’

‘You should have said something,’ said Alarik.

‘I should have made the fire,’ said Tor.

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