Page 82 of Burning Crowns

‘So, what now?’ said Alarik, impatiently. ‘Do we hurl ourselves into the flame to see if we burn?’

‘Your scars will do,’ said Willa, gesturing for them to hold hands. Alarik took Wren’s without hesitation, his fingers threading through hers with such sureness it sent a ripple of warmth up Wren’s spine.

Tor cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the little cavern, and took a step back.

‘The fire will chase the darkness inside you,’ said Willa. ‘It will drag the curse into the light.’ She reached into the pouch at her waist and cast a handful of salt crystals into the flames.She began to mutter under her breath. The fire hissed as it grew.

Willa reached through the flame as though it were nothing but air and took their hands in hers. She pulled them into the middle of the blaze and they stood – all three of them – at the mouth of Eana’s fire, watching the silver flames lick their skin.

At first, Wren felt nothing. Just a slight tingling around her wrist. Then the pain came hot and lancing through her bones, and a bloodcurdling scream filled the chamber. It took her a moment to realize it was her own.

She tried to jerk backwards but Willa held her hand to the flame. The healer’s words grew harsher, as though she was calling to the thing inside her. Then the black smoke came, just as before. Alarik shouted in fear but he was rooted to the flame, too. He watched as the curse poured out of the wound in Wren’s skin.

Wren screamed again.

‘Release her!’ shouted Tor.

But Willa was determined. They had come too far to stop now. Her grip on Wren tightened as Alarik leaped backwards, breaking away from her. He slumped against the wall.

Willa kept her gaze on the gathering smoke. ‘SHOW YOURSELF!’

Wren screamed as another plume of smoke ripped out of her. Her legs buckled but Tor lunged, catching her before she hit the ground. He wrapped his arms around her middle as the smoke formed a face before them. At first Wren thought it was Eana, the first witch, but the longer she stared at the gathering smoke, the more familiar it became.

The face was just like her own. Its mouth opened in laughter, the piercing sound rattling around the cavern.

‘Oonagh Starcrest,’ breathed Willa, in shock. ‘This curse is ancient.’

Wren tried to recoil from her ancestor. It was no use. Somehow, Oonagh had buried a part of herself – of her curse – in Wren. She had left her shadow behind, and it was that which haunted Wren.HarmedWren.

She began to tremble violently. The smoke was inside her body, too. It filled her lungs, pouring from her mouth and her nose. She was choking. But Willa wouldn’t let go. The healer’s brown eyes had turned white, her irises rolling back in her head. She was foaming at the mouth, stuck in a trance. Wren had the horrible thought that the curse was trying to claim her, too.

‘Help!’ Wren screamed. ‘Make it stop!’

With a hard tug, Tor yanked her away from Willa, breaking the connection. The healer reeled backwards, collapsing in a heap against the wall. The flames lashed out, whipping Tor’s cheek as he curled his body around Wren. But he couldn’t protect her from the smoke rushing back inside her.

Wren collapsed against him, grasping feebly at the lapels of his shirt. He slid his hand through her hair, holding her head up. She opened her eyes to see the storm in his gaze.

‘It’s all right,’ he said, low and calm. ‘I’ve got you.’

She opened her mouth, searching for words, but a strangled moan seeped out. The everlight was dangerously low, the chamber half choked with smoke. Wren squeezed her eyes closed, trying to shut out her fear. The smoke was making her lids heavy.

Tor touched his forehead against hers. ‘It’s over,’ he whispered. ‘Rest now.’

As she drifted off, his words lifted her above the tide of her panic, even though, deep down, Wren knew they weren’t true. It wasn’t over. The curse was still inside her, writhing, laughing.

The darkness had only just begun.

When Wren came to, she was back in Willa’s chamber. She opened her eyes to a dark ceiling and the muffled sound of voices. She sat up, and became immediately aware of her headache.

She flinched. ‘Ugh.’

‘You’re awake.’ Tor was sitting in the chair across from her, with Elske at his feet. They were both watching her with the same look of concern. There was a fresh gash along Tor’s cheek, the cut bright red against the paleness of his skin.

‘You’re hurt,’ said Wren, in horror.

‘It’s only a scratch.’

‘Iversen’s seen far worse. Believe me,’ said Alarik, who was sitting at the other end of the couch, sipping a cup of lavender tea.

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