Page 81 of Burning Crowns

She had to explain what happened.

Shewouldexplain.

This thing inside her – this curse – was clearly more twisted than she thought.

After what seemed like an eternity, Maeva arrived with a fresh set of green robes and matching slippers for Wren.

The young witch looked her up and down. ‘You don’t look well, Your Majesty.’

‘I’m not well.’ Wren snatched the robes from her and got dressed in a hurry. ‘I need to see Willa.’ She flung a hand out to steady herself against the wall. ‘And tea,’ she added. ‘I’ll need some more of that lavender tea.’

Willa was waiting for them in her chamber, where a platter of sandwiches and a fresh pot of herbal tea had been laid out. She took one look at Wren and Alarik as they shuffled inside and sighed. ‘Oh dear. You’d better sit down.’

Wren slumped on to the couch, and Alarik collapsed beside her, sitting so close their legs were brushing.

Tor hovered in the doorway, his hands curled into white-knuckled fists. Willa crooked her brow as though she was reading the cloud of tension in the air, but she made no more of it. ‘You may remain, soldier. If you so choose.’

He dipped his chin but did not come inside.

‘The water made it worse,’ said Wren, quickly. ‘It’s like it aggravated the curse.’

Willa sipped her tea. ‘I was afraid of that.’

‘Then why did you send us down there in the first place?’ demanded Alarik.

‘Because you asked for my help,’ she said, calmly. ‘Sometimes the water does not heal. But it does bring clarity.’ She looked between them. ‘I can see the bond more clearly now.’

‘Then break it,’ said Wren.

Willa considered them a moment, her eyes wide above the rim of her mug. ‘If the water cannot heal you, then we must use the flame.’

Alarik quailed. ‘Gevrans do not do well in heat.’

Willa smiled tightly. ‘Nor do curses.’

After an awkward lunch, Willa led them to a small room in the very pit of the mountain. There was no water down here. In fact, there was no sound at all. The space was barely big enough for all four of them to fit. Thankfully, Tor had left Elske back up in the dining quarter, where she was being fawned over by every healer in the mountain.

In the middle of the room, a silver everlight flickered in a tall earthen bowl. It was a bonfire all on its own, the flame so bright it stung tears in Wren’s eyes. She passed her hand over it and felt her fingers tingle. There was magic here. Ancient, rippling magic.

‘What is this place?’ she whispered.

Willa moved to the other side of the everlight, her face flickering through the flame. ‘This was once Eana’s sanctuary.’ She raised her hand, making the flame dance. Wren recognized the enchantment magic at once. The healer was good at it, too, easily turning the fire into her puppet. Each sliver of flame, a string to manipulate. ‘When Eana first came to the Mishnick Mountains, she made a home for herself here. She sought shelter from the bitter cold and howling winds, and in the darkness of this mountain, she cast this very flame. It warmed her on the darkest nights and reminded her of all the light that lay ahead of her. It became a beacon of hope, a symbol of the thriving kingdom that this land would one day come to be.’

The flame took on the outline of a woman. She was kneeling,her face tipped back to the sky. Wren looked down, half expecting to see her ancestor kneeling on the ground beside her. But there was only the edge of Alarik’s slipper, and the stone beneath.

She looked back at the flame. ‘This is Eana’s everlight?’ she said in disbelief. ‘The very same?’

Willa nodded. ‘It has burned here for thousands of years.’

Wren closed her eyes, feeling for the presence of her ancestor. Here was Eana’s magic. Her firelight. It had burned for eons, through war and death and suffering, through the banishment of the witches and the restoration of its queens. It had seen a great kingdom rise and fall, and still, it remained. The thought filled Wren with such a sense of hope, she smiled.

A laugh bubbled out of her.

‘What’s so funny?’ said Alarik.

‘Eana will save us,’ said Wren, feeling sure of it in her bones. ‘Eana will cure us.’

When Wren looked at Willa, the Healer on High was smiling, too. Hope danced in the air between them, as high and bright as the flame.

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