Page 76 of Burning Crowns

He crooked a brow. ‘You’re the one who kissedme.’

Wren swallowed her retort. She supposed it didn’t matter. The truth was she had kissed the king in a maelstrom of fear and grief. She recalled the endless horror of that day, how she had reached for Alarik in a rush of terror, finding comfort in his arms. But the king was not made to comfort others, to comfort her. He had the same jagged heart as Wren, and while those pieces might recognize each other, they were not made to fit together.

All Wren and Alarik knew together was pain. And now, here they were again, in misery, hoping to find release from a terrible thing they had done together. As far as Wren was concerned, that kiss – and this awful curse – were bound together. Somehow.

‘It was a mistake,’ she said, pushing off the ledge.

‘Then why are you still thinking about it?’ Alarik challenged. ‘Every time you look at me your cheeks turn bright red.’

‘That must mean you’re thinking about it, too.’

‘I never said I wasn’t,’ he said, with a shrug.

‘This is not helping,’ sighed Wren. She paddled away, putting as much distance between them as possible.

Her head began to pound again, her limbs so heavy she could hardly swim at all. Suddenly, she felt as if she had climbed ten mountains in a row. Her breath shallowed and stars pinwheeled in the sides of her vision. She could practically feel the thing inside her – the shadowy curse – stretching through her bones.

She scrambled for footing but the water had deepened without her realizing it. She flailed, trying to swim, but her arms were too heavy. It was hard to move, tothink. ‘Alarik!’

He was there in the next heartbeat, curling his arm around her waist and dragging her through the water. ‘Calm down. Breathe.’

He pulled her back to the ledge, and she grabbed it with both hands, letting her head slump on to the edge of the pool. ‘I don’t know what happened,’ she mumbled, into the rock. ‘I felt … I feel …’

He came to her side, resting his head on his elbows until they were both slumped over the side of the pool, looking at each other. Alarik took a deep breath, and Wren did the same.In and out,in and out, until they fell into sync with each other.

He reached over, peeling a strip of wet hair from her eyes. ‘How do you feel now?’

Gingerly, Wren lifted her head. ‘A little better.’ She frowned. ‘A lot better. I don’t understand.’ Was the water making her sick? But no. If that were true, she would still be ill now, and she wasn’t. It was only when she tried to swim away from Alarik that she began to weaken.

‘I think I understand.’ Alarik sat up, looking stronger now. ‘Come here.’ He reached for her and Wren went to him,clambering across the ledge. He took her wrist in his hand, brushing his fingers over her scar. ‘Can you feel that?’

She looked at his fingers. ‘It doesn’t hurt any more.’

‘No,’ he said, quietly. ‘Not while we’re together.’

Tears pricked Wren’s eyes as understanding dawned on her. The curse was not broken. It was just sleeping. The pool aggravated it, but when they were close together, it wasn’t so bad. It was the water that stretched it, prodded it, making them aware of it. But the water wasn’t working either. It was still clear. This thing – made of curse and shadow – was still inside her. Inside him.

Wren closed her eyes, sadness and fear guttering through her. ‘We’re still broken.’

Wordlessly, Alarik took her in his arms, folding her body into his own until they were skin to skin, and she felt weightless. She sighed as the tension uncoiled from her body. He laid his chin against the top of her head. ‘But not like this.’

His sigh feathered her cheek. It occurred to Wren that he must feel that same weightlessness, too. She turned her face into him, resting her head in the crook of his neck. Soon, she was so relaxed she thought she might fall asleep. He trailed his fingers through her hair, absently stroking it.

‘What is this?’ whispered Wren.

‘Peace,’ he whispered back. ‘Just for a moment.’

She smiled, then. ‘Blessed peace.’

The moment did not last long. There came the sudden sound of footsteps, and then a familiar voice, shooting through the centre of Wren’s heart like a lightning bolt.

‘Is it broken yet?’ asked Tor.

Wren looked up, and flinched at the expression on his face. He looked as if he had been run through with a cutlass.

Alarik gestured at the clear water, a new bite in his voice. ‘Does it look broken, Iversen?’

‘It certainly doesn’t look right to me,’ said Tor, without taking his eyes off Wren, and she found that she couldn’t meet his gaze.

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