Page 172 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash
Tabitha Wysteria
Wren sprawled across Kage’s bed, her arms flung wide, fingers tracing idle patterns into the fine fabric as she stared up at the ceiling, drowning in boredom. The mattress beneath her was softer than her own, the pillows fuller, plush with the finest duck feathers—an infuriating fact that only served to sour her mood further. She huffed, shifting restlessly, momentarily appeased by the mental image of Kage and Bryn forced into stilted conversation, drowning in awkward silence. The thought drew a chuckle from her lips, a brief escape from her growing irritation.
‘So what is the plan exactly, Wren.’
Vera’s voice cut through the quiet, a sharp contrast to her usual dry exasperation. There was something colder in it this time, something that sent a slow, creeping chill along Wren’s spine.
She frowned, tilting her head towards the witch. ‘What doya mean?’
‘You’ve all kept me locked in this room for days. How long do you expect me to stay in here?’
An itch nagged at Wren’s nose, but even as she scratched at it, she felt the slow coil of unease wrapping around her. It settled over her like a heavy woolen blanket, suffocating and unwelcome.
‘It won’t be long now,’ she answered carefully. ‘When Mal gets back with da dagger and she breaks da curse, then…’
‘Then what?’ Vera interrupted, her voice edged with something raw. ‘You’ll trust me?’
The blanket of unease was ripped away, only to be replaced by something worse—something suffocating, a pillow of doubt pressed firm against her lungs. Wren felt it in her chest before she saw it in Vera’s face. The witch was staring at her, her features twisting with something almost regretful. Almost… mournful.
‘You shouldn’t have ever trusted me, Wren.’
The words hit like a stone cast into still water. A ripple of cold spread outward.
Wren swallowed hard. ‘What are ya—’
‘I thought there would be more time,’ Vera continued, shaking her head. ‘I didn’t realise it would take Mal this long to retrieve the dagger.’
A prickle of dread crawled up Wren’s spine, sinking its claws into her ribs. ‘What are ya saying?’ she demanded.
Vera tilted her head, gaze calculating. ‘Where is your brother, Wren?’
‘In da Grand Hall,’ she answered warily, straightening from the bed. ‘Surrounded by guests and servants. And a roomfullof guards.’
Vera sighed, a sound that sent Wren’s pulse hammering in warning. ‘Andyou’re sure all of those servantsbelong?’
Wren’s stomach twisted. ‘What do ya mean?’
A slow, humourless smile tugged at the corners of Vera’s lips. ‘You remember that servant girl I snuck into the castle?’ she murmured. ‘That wasn’t the only time, Wren.’
A sickening silence followed.
Wren shot off the bed. ‘What have ya done?’
Vera leaned back, her long white hair cascading down like strands of winter frost. ‘Me?’ she mused. ‘Nothing at all. I’ve been here, haven’t I? Locked in this room. You saw me, didn’t you?’ Her purple gaze sparked, sharp and knowing. ‘However,’ she added, tilting her head, ‘if I were you, I’d find your brother. Quickly. By the end of the night, I doubt there will be anyone left.’
The air in Wren’s lungs turned brittle.
Lies. It had to be a lie. A distraction. A trick.
And yet—
Vera was a witch. She could have left at any time, broken free with a whisper of magic. She hadn’t. She had stayed, locked up, biding her time. Why?
Wren didn’t stay to figure it out.
The first scream ripped through the castle halls.
And she ran.
