Page 25 of The Prisoner's Throne
In less than a month, between her own newfound power and her newfound allies, Wren has made the Court of Teeth more formidable and more forbidding than it ever was during Lord Jarel’s reign. But when he thinks of her, he cannot help seeing the darkness beneath her eyes and the feverish shine of them. Cannot put aside the thought that something is wrong.
“Wren looks as though she’s been unwell,” Oak says. “Has she been sick?”
Hyacinthe frowns. “You can’t really expect me to betray my queen by telling you her secrets.”
Oak’s smile is sharp-edged. “So there’s a secret to tell.”
Hyacinthe’s frown deepens.
“I am a prisoner,” Oak says. “Whether you have me in chains or no, I can’t hurt her, and I wouldn’t if I could. I warned you about Valen. About Bran. Surely, I have proved some measure of loyalty.”
Hyacinthe huffs out a breath, his gaze going to the troll kings beyond the icy pane. “Loyalty? I think not, but I am going to tell you because you might be the one person whocanhelp. Wren’s power takes something terrible out of her.”
“What do you mean?” Oak demands.
“It’s eating away at her,” Hyacinthe says. “And she’s going to keep having to use it, again and again, so long as you’re here.”
Oak opens his mouth to demand further explanation, but at that moment, a knot of courtiers passes, all of them pale and cold-looking, their gazes sliding over Oak as though the very sight of him is an offense.
“You’re going to the leftmost tower,” Hyacinthe says.
Oak nods, trying not to be rattled by the hate in their eyes. The tower he’s heading toward is, ironically, the same one he was caught in the day before. “Explain,” he says.
“What she does—it’s not just unbinding, it’sunmaking. She became sick after what she did to Lady Nore and her stick army.Harrowed.And Bogdana was so insistent that Wren use it again to break the curse of the Stone Forest because she’s going to need the trolls if Elfhame moves against us. But she’s formed of magic herself, and the more she unmakes, the more she is unmade.”
Oak recalls the strain in Wren’s face as she looked down from the dais in the Great Hall, the hollows beneath her cheekbones as she slept.
He assumed that Wren didn’t visit the prisons because she didn’t want to see him out of uninterest or anger. But she might not have come if she was sick. As much as she knows that looking weak in front of her newly formed Court is dangerous, it’s possible she feels it is similarly risky to look weak in front of him.
And if she doesn’t keep using her power . . .
No matter how dangerous the magic, Oak can too easily imagine Wren believing that if she doesn’t use it, she won’t be able to keep her throne. This was a land of huldufólk, nisser, and trolls, used to bowing only to strength and ferocity. They followed Lady Nore, but they were willing to hail Wren, her murderer, as their new queen.
She may be inclined to push herself past her limits to keep that support. To prove herself worthy. Has he not witnessed his sister doing just that?
You know what would really impress them?his mind supplies unhelpfully.Daring to skewer the heir to Elfhame.
“Tonight, at dinner,” Hyacinthe says, “persuade her to let you go. And if you can’t, then leave. Go. Actuallyescapethis time, and take your political conflict with you.”
Oak rolls his eyes at the assumption that getting out of the prisons was easy and he could have done it at any time. “You could advise her toletme go. Unless she doesn’t trust you, either.”
Hyacinthe hesitates, not taking the bait. “She would trust me less if she knew we were having this conversation. Perhaps wisely, I am not sure she trusts anyone. All the Folk in the Citadel have their own agendas.”
“I am last on the list of those whose advice she’d heed,” Oak says. “As you well know.”
“You have a way of persuading people.”
It’s a barbed comment, but the prince grits his teeth and refuses to be offended. No matter how barbed, it’s also the truth. “It would be far easier if I wasn’t wearing this bridle.”
Hyacinthe gives him a sideways look. “You’ll manage.” He must have heard the specifics of her command.You will stay in my prisons until you are sent for.
Oak sighs.
“And in the interim, stop picking fights,” Hyacinthe says, making Oak want to pick a fight withhim. “Is there no situation you’re not compelled to make worse?”
Oak climbs the steps of the tower, thinking of the dinner ahead of him with Wren. The idea of sitting across from her at a table seems surreal, part of his hectic, fox-filled dreams.
They come to a wooden door with two locks on the outside. Hyacinthe moves past the prince to fit a key inside the first one and then the other.
