Page 58 of Burning Crowns

‘It doesn’t matter. It’s done now,’ said Wren, slumping to the ground. Elske came and laid her head on her lap. ‘Let’s eat.’

‘Good idea,’ said Alarik. ‘The sooner we get to those mountains, the sooner this will all seem like a bad dream.’

They ate in the glow of the fire with the stars twinkling overhead. Afterwards, Wren lay back, searching the sky for starcrests. But the stars never moved, and her lids grew heavy. With Elske curled up beside her, she drifted off, lulled by the muffled chatter of Tor and Alarik, who were lost in tales of their childhoods. Wren was so exhausted she would have slept the whole night cradled in the foothills of the Mishnick Mountains, between Tor and Alarik, had it not been for the menacing growl that rumbled through their camp sometime after midnight.

Tor was on his feet before Wren even opened her eyes. With the fire burning low, it took her a moment to spot the creature watching them in the dark. She heard the growl again, only it was louder this time. And then she knew. It was a mountain lion. By the outline of its body in the dark, it was far bigger than any she had seen before. And stranger still, its eyes were glowing red.

The mountain lion pounced but Tor dived at the same time, knocking the beast into a boulder. It howled before righting itself again. At closer range, Wren noticed the gleam of its partially exposed skull, and the strips of fur hanging off its back.Horror punched through her, stealing her breath. She tried to blink the creature away, to convince herself this was a nightmare, but that awful growl came a third time, shivering all the way down her spine.

‘Hissing hell,’ she cried in a strangled voice. ‘It’sdead.’

‘Not quite.’ Tor pulled his knife, ready for the next attack. ‘Stay behind me,’ he warned Wren, while Elske rounded on the creature from the other side, releasing her own terrifying growl.

Alarik stirred at the commotion. Within seconds, he was on his feet, sword swinging.

‘Watch it!’ said Wren, ducking to avoid the blade.

This time, when the undead mountain lion went for Wren, Tor jumped into its path, grabbing it by the shoulders. Wren had never witnessed such brute force before, or seen a man look so like a beast, but Tor met the creature head on, his teeth bared as he shoved it back. He jerked to avoid its snapping jaws, expertly keeping it at arm’s length. They circled each other around the campfire, the wrangler keeping his back to Wren and Alarik, and making a shield of his body.

Elske pounced from a nearby boulder, momentarily flattening the mountain lion. But the beast shook the wolf off, its red eyes flashing as it rounded on Wren. The creature wasn’t interested in Elske or Tor.

Tongue hanging and bones gleaming, it prowled towards Wren. She had the sudden, sickening suspicion that it could sense her magic. That it wanted to devour it – or perhaps devour her.

Tor was quick to figure out the same thing. He leaped in front of Wren. Alarik flanked her other side, sword raised. ‘How do we kill a thing that’s already dead?’ he said.

‘Start swinging,’ said Tor. ‘We’ll work it out along the way.’

The lion roared as it jumped at Tor, but this time, he jumped, too, bringing his knife up with a sickening crunch. Wren flinched as it sank between the creature’s ribs. She shut her eyes, listening to its last pathetic whimper. Then it slumped at her feet, dead again.

At least for now.

Tor wiped the sweat from his brow as he looked Wren over. Then, satisfied she was unharmed, he removed the blade and cleaned it on his sleeve.

‘Now where did this particular terror come from?’ said Alarik, surveying the corpse.

‘It’s no Gevran beast,’ said Tor. ‘The colouring is wrong.’

‘Wherever it came from, it’s one of Oonagh’s,’ said Wren, grimly.

Alarik’s eyes darted, his voice turning fearful. ‘Does that mean she’s nearby?’

‘She could be anywhere,’ said Wren, and that was the true horror of her ancestor’s dark power. ‘She moves like a fish when she wants to.’ She recalled the vision she had once seen of Oonagh falling into the Silvertongue, how she had turned herself into a merrow in the water, with gills slashed into her neck and the long swishing tail of a fish. She could be anything she wanted to be. Anywhere. Wren stared at the mountain lion’s decomposing skull. ‘This creature could be a warning.’

‘Or a deserter from her army of undead beasts,’ remarked Alarik.

‘Or an attempt on your life,’ said Tor, his knuckles white around the blade. ‘It must have scented your magic.’

Wren looked at her hands, thinking of the strange smoke writhing inside her. ‘Or the curse,’ she said, quietly.

Elske padded over to Wren, resuming her post at her side, while Tor hoisted the mountain lion on to his shoulder. ‘I’ll burn the corpse. Just in case it decides to reanimate,’ he said. ‘Go back to sleep. I’ll keep watch until morning.’

Though Wren trusted Tor to keep them safe, the attack had left her uneasy. Oonagh could be watching them right now, readying her next ambush. Or perhaps she was simply toying with them, plucking at their fear like strings on a harp. Somehow, that made Wren feel even angrier.

‘Don’t dwell on it,’ said Alarik, reading her frown. ‘It will take more than a half-rotted mountain lion to best Iversen and his wolf.’ He turned his sword in his hand. ‘And if it makes you feel better, or indeed envious, I am a remarkable swordsman.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’ Wren pulled her blanket around her shoulders. ‘But I don’t want to put any of you in danger.’

‘Then you probably shouldn’t have raised my brother from the dead.’

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