Chapter 37

CHAPTER 37

WREN

It was full dark when they reached the Ilanthian embassy, dodging through the chaos of the lower city and avoiding the knights and guards who were still trying to seek out anyone connected with Sassone, and anyone who had seen what happened in the fortress. It wasn't a time for discussion.

Wren knew if they realised who Anselm was, who his father was, he would be lucky to make it as far as a jail. It felt like, by trying to kill their now beloved queen, Sassone had driven the people of Pelias to the brink of madness with a rage that would not be quelled except with his blood.

And failing that, surely his son's blood would do.

It was possible the Earl of Sassone was no more than a smear in the courtyard of his ancestral home now.

Olivier had found a cloak and wrapped it around Anselm as they half carried and half dragged him through the narrow lanes. It wasn't far, Finn assured her, which was just as well, because Anselm wasn't going to last much longer. When Olivier began to tire, Finn took over, carrying Anselm in his arms.

The embassy was a tall, gated enclosure, around a building topped with a cluster of bright towers. Wren stopped, staring at its willowy structures up close now, and she thought of the tower in Cellandre with a strange sense of familiarity and longing.

Finn spoke to the guards outside, stiff and impassive Ilanthians who looked long and hard at his companions but were quick to obey him. The gates opened silently, and they slipped inside.

This was a mistake. It had to be a mistake. But what else could she do? There was no way they were going to make it all the way back to the palace with Anselm. And Finn assured her that this would be safe. He was a prince of the line of Sidon here.

The servant who greeted them at the door bowed so low, Wren couldn't doubt him.

‘Fetch Lady Hestia,' he said, in a calm and quite different voice to the one she had come to love. This voice was cool and precise, used to commands. There was no please, and no if you will. It was an order. He didn't hesitate in his advance either, hurrying inside the building. The servant vanished at once. ‘In here,' he told her, and gestured towards a door which led to an elaborate reception room. Fabric lined the walls, rich damask the colour of blood. They laid Anselm on a chaise longue and Wren sank into the chair beside it.

‘What do we do?' she asked.

‘First, we need to get the arrows out. And I hope Hestia can heal him. Then…then we'll try to send word to Roland. Tell him we're here and we need help.'

‘You said we'd be safe here.'

‘And we will. To a certain extent. Please, Wren, trust me. I'm doing what I can. I won't let anyone harm you.' There was a subtle emphasis on the word anyone. No doubting who Finn meant.

Leander was here somewhere.

Wren shuddered, curling in on herself, lifting her knees and wrapping her arms around them like a cocoon.

Footsteps outside brought Finn to his feet but Wren couldn't move. Perhaps if she stayed still, no one would notice her. She was still in breeches and a jerkin, dressed as a boy. She grabbed her hair, pulling it back from her face. It was too long, far too long, out of control. If she could find a knife, she could cut it here and now.

But there wasn't time.

The door opened. ‘Finnian,' said the cultured voice of a woman, a voice like a song. ‘You're back. You're safe, thank the?—'

Her beautiful voice fell still.

‘We need your help,' said Finn. ‘He was hurt, defending?—'

He glanced at Wren who tried to shrink back again. Shadows rose around her like smoke and her hair moved, her scalp tingling as the magic began to weave itself against her will. Fear did that, she realised, and she could not help but be afraid.

‘Oh,' said the woman who had come to the ball, still beautiful and graceful. She looked harried now, exhausted and somewhat shaken. ‘This is…' Without needing an answer, she sank into a deep curtsy. ‘Your highness, there's nothing to fear here. I swear, we are at your service. Now and always.'

Wren really didn't like the implications of that. It wasn't her position as the supposed princess of Asteroth that made the Ilanthian woman say such things and they all knew that.

‘Wren, this is Lady Hestia Rayden, my cousin, daughter of?—'

‘That doesn't matter, Finn,' Hestia cut him off. She had straightened. ‘I am blood of Sidon, yes, but more importantly I am sworn to the sisterhood of shadows. I studied at the College of Winter and sought out all the secrets of witchkind I could find but I am forever happily bound in the service of the Nox. I gave vows at the Caves of Deep Shadows when I was only a child myself, where I knelt before the feet of the divine and promised to serve her. I never imagined…'

She broke off, as if she was struggling not to fall to her knees.

‘Imagined what?' Wren asked, her voice strange and alien to her own ears. She rose to her feet slowly and advanced on Hestia. It almost felt like someone else was making her move. ‘Say it.'

Hestia stared at her, as if trying to figure her out. ‘That I would see you incarnate. That I would know you.'

‘You know me?' She didn't like the cadence in her voice, the way it reverberated around the still air of the room.

The Ilanthian witch smiled. ‘Lady of the Darkest Night, I know you like I know my own heart. I was wrong to try to stop you, Finn. I…I had no idea…She called you, didn't she? That was how you broke free.'

Wren froze, every nerve in her body quivering. This was wrong. She didn't want this to be true. And…broke free? Had Hestia been holding him here against his will?

‘Hestia,' Finn began warily, a note of caution in his voice, but then, behind them, Anselm let out a groan and they all turned. ‘He's going to bleed out at this rate. Help him.'

The noblewoman wasted no time, examining him as efficiently as Elodie might have.

‘Call one of the servants, Finn,' she said. ‘Tell them to bring me a knife, hot water, bandages and as much lark's root as we have in the store. And poppy milk. He's going to need it.'

‘How can I help?' Wren asked, kneeling down again and running a hand over Anselm's brow while Finn went to the door and called out for help, passing on Hestia's commands. The other knight was already feverish. This wasn't good. Wren knew that much.

‘We need to get the arrows out first. Then get his shirt off so I can see the wounds. Finn, I may need both of you to hold him down.'

One of the shafts had already broken in their rush here and jutted from his side like an old tooth. The one in his shoulder shook with his fitful breath. None of this was good.

Anselm opened his eyes weakly, fixed them on Wren and winced. ‘I…I can feel them inside me.'

What was he talking about? Were the arrows poisoned? She glanced at Finn but he looked just as mystified.

‘What can you feel?' Wren asked.

The word was a long, low hiss but it made her blood turn cold.

‘Shadows…'