Page 14 of Burning Crowns

Wren’s gaze lingered on the small inking of a paw scribbled beside Elske’s name. She smiled, fleetingly, before returning her attention to the words above it.

These were grim tidings indeed. Badness was stirring in the north. It stirred in Wren, too. She couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that Oonagh Starcrest was on the move.Her strength likely regained, their ancestor was finally coming out of hiding.

Wren looked to the tapestries that hung on her bedroom wall, finding among them the portrait of Ortha Starcrest, the brave-hearted witch queen who had ruled Eana alongside Oonagh a thousand years ago. The witch who had tried to stop her sister Oonagh, even as she cursed her on the banks of the Silvertongue, ruining their magic and destroying their reign. Ortha had died defending her kingdom, and even now, in the quiet dawn, her green eyes seemed to shine with that same unfailing loyalty.

Wren met that gaze – so like her own – and wished Ortha Starcrest could help her.

What is your sister up to, Ortha?

And more important, still:How can we stop her?

With a sigh, Wren returned her attention to Tor’s letter, worrying for Gevra and its king.

Seeing Alarik in her nightmare was no coincidence. Whatever affliction was bothering her must have reached him, too. Why else would he be seeking her out?

While the nighthawk waited on the windowsill, Wren went to her desk to scribble her reply. There was so much she wished to say to Tor, a hundred thoughts and fears and feelings, but this letter was not the place, and time, now, was of the essence. So, she wrote, simply:

Tor,

Meet me at Sharkfin Point at sundown tomorrow.

Yours,

Wren

Wren fastened the note to the nighthawk’s foot.

‘Fly fast,’ she urged, as it flew out into the dawning sky.

A flock of starcrests peered down at Wren from the castle roof. Since the breaking of the witches’ curse, starcrests visited Anadawn almost every night. They lined the west turret now, watching the hawk as it soared up and away, into the morning clouds. Then they looked back at Wren, as though they had something they wished to tell her. But night had passed and despite the return of her full magic, Wren had proven to be a woeful seer. She wasn’t patient enough to watch the skies at night, and more than anything, the starcrests’ patterns confused her.

And besides, there was nothing the skies could tell her that she didn’t already know. Trouble was brewing across the Sunless Sea.

Wren reeled back into her bedroom and shut the window. She slid to the floor and read Tor’s letter again. And again. And again. A terrible truth was crystallizing. Gevra was suffering, and soon, Eana would be, too. After all, this was Oonagh’s kingdom. It would not be long before the ruthless queen returned to it.

The pain in Wren’s scar flared, as though in agreement.

She was reminded of her dream, of King Alarik kneeling in the snow, with the same pain etched across his face. She vowed to find out what that vision meant.

For both of them.

When morning broke in earnest, and the room was bathed in soft golden light, Wren got to her feet. She grabbed a robe from her closet and shrugged it on, preparing to face another unavoidable truth.

Soon, she would have to tell Rose everything.

Rose

CHAPTER 8

Rose woke with a smile on her face, dreams of Shen still dancing in her head. She hoped she would see him again soon. And when she did, perhaps they would finally seize their courage and figure out a way to be together. She couldn’t bear any more goodbyes.

But,goodness.How on earth did one navigate such a thing? Did Rose need to send out a proclamation that her heart was taken? Or should she forsake love for duty and continue to entertain foreign suitors in pursuit of bettering Eana’s relations with other countries?

Hmm. Of course, there was still Wren’s romantic prospects to consider …

The thought of Wren marrying strategically made Rose snort. No, Wren had made it clear she would not even contemplate an arranged marriage, no matter the suitor. Whenever Chapman dared to broach the topic, Wren reminded everyone of poor Prince Ansel. A cautionary tale indeed.

Thinking of Ansel always made Rose’s heart ache. Even though she hadn’t wanted to marry King Alarik’s younger brother, she desperately wished he had lived to find his own happiness. At least he was at rest now. In the end,with the help of her healing magic, she had been able to grant him the peace he deserved.

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