Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

WREN

The smell of woodsmoke and the crackle of a fire woke her.

Wren was lying on the forest floor, wrapped in Finn's cloak, her head resting on one of the saddlebags. Finn sat opposite her, gazing into the flames, as if his mind was a million miles away. She watched him, the light playing on his fine features, reflecting in his dark blue eyes.

She didn't know where they were. Some distance away she could hear a stream, and a night bird called out softly through the trees. It wasn't quiet. There was nothing of that deep empty silence of the darkwood. Just the forest at night, which was probably a good sign.

Her clothes felt loose around her body and she realised she was just wearing a shirt. Her tunic, leather jerkin and cloak were folded neatly on a rock nearby. Which meant someone had undressed her, presumably checking to see if she was wounded – not completely but enough, enough to realise…

Wren pushed herself up, and Finn started as if under attack, rising to a half crouch from sitting, a knife in his hand. That same knife. At least it wasn't the sword still strapped across his back. He froze, staring at her, and sank back down to the ground.

‘You're awake.' His voice sounded rough.

She just nodded slowly. Her head was pounding and her body felt wrung out like an old rag. There was no sign of Dancer. Of Dancer's body. He had moved them both away from the scene. He must have carried her.

‘I'm sorry,' she tried to say. Her own voice came out in a hoarse croak.

Her hair whispered around her face, coming almost to her shoulders. She froze as she tried to push it back, to hide it.

‘You're a girl,' he said, and winced. ‘A woman, I mean. A?—'

‘A witch,' she finished for him. ‘An apprentice, anyway. Not a very good one.'

Might as well warn him that she'd be no help at all. Before he got his hopes up.

He just raised his eyebrows.

She felt the urge to explain, but even then, it all came out wrong. ‘I didn't mean to—I was trying to stop them and I—I failed, didn't I? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get your horse killed.'

He slumped down again, the knife still in his hands. It was covered in blood. So were his fingers.

‘No, that was me. I should have… I don't know. I should have been better, kept more of an eye on the road ahead.' Except there hadn't been a road. Or any light to see it if there had been, not with a wave of pure darkness bearing down on them. Finn let out a small, bitter noise. ‘These things happen, isn't that what they say? He was a good horse though. Saw me through a lot. The stablemaster is going to be so… so angry.'

His voice sounded bleak and broken and she didn't know what to do. It wasn't as simple as he said, clearly. He was trying to say the right thing, trying to be strong and hide his emotions. But he couldn't. He was grieving. He just didn't want to let her see that.

But she could see far too much.

‘Who are you?' he asked at last, once he had gathered his thoughts again, or steeled himself for an answer.

‘Wren,' she said.

‘Wren what?'

‘Just Wren. I live here.'

‘In the darkwood?'

‘In the forest,' she replied carefully. A witch from the darkwood… that was not a title to carry lightly.

‘I see,' he said and prodded the fire with a stick, lost in thoughts.

‘Who were those men?' she asked, eager to change the subject as quickly as possible. She didn't want him to think about what a witch from the darkwood might be capable of doing.

It was the wrong tack. He looked away, staring into the darkness beyond the trees now, his mouth hard. He bit out the answer. ‘Ilanthians.'

‘Witchhunters?' The words made her shiver. Elodie had told tales of terror about the Ilanthian witchhunters. They grabbed women from their homes and dragged them back to their fortress in Sidonia. They enslaved anyone with a scrap of power, bound them to the service of the Nox, or what remained of it, and used them in unspeakable ways to try to raise that dark power again, to gather the fragments together and make it whole. To control magic for themselves.

If they ever come for us, it's better to die first. Never let them take you. If they come, you run and hide. Understand? I'll take care of it.

Was that what she'd done? Wren wouldn't put it past Elodie to set fire to the tower rather than let them take her.

Was Elodie dead? No, she couldn't be. Not Elodie. She couldn't let herself think that.

Finn finally spoke again. ‘Witchhunters. Among other things.'

‘The man in charge of them, who is he? You knew him.'

‘Everyone knows him. Leander of House Sidon, the crown prince of Ilanthus. We need to get word to Knightsford as soon as possible. If he's here…' He sighed, as if the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders. ‘He's dangerous. And it means that he's not keeping to the Pact.'

‘The Pact?' she asked.

‘At the end of the last war, there was a treaty. It's known as the Pact. To the Ilanthians it was a humiliation. If it's broken that could lead to another war. And even if not… well, it's not good.'

That much was clear.

‘You said he was hunting you.'

‘You don't miss a thing, do you?' A bitter laugh came from his lips then and she didn't like it. He barely sounded like himself, the little she knew of him. Maybe that was part of the problem. She didn't know him, not really. ‘He is. But now I fear he has another prey in mind.'

‘Where did they go?'

‘Why don't you tell me?' he said. ‘I don't know what you did. I've never seen a power raised like that. It wasn't just Dancer that died back there.'

The other men then, the Ilanthians. The shadows had swallowed them up.

That wasn't her. It was the darkwood, or the forest itself.

She hadn't done anything. Except… except she had…

She had called the powers that lingered there. Oh, she might not have meant to, but… Ever since she was little they had come if she called them and in her panic, in her terror…

No, she couldn't have…

‘I don't know what you mean.'

The look he gave her branded her a liar. ‘I went back and checked. Dead horses, dead men, torn apart, crushed and broken. Shadow kin. Nothing else does that.'

Oh. She chewed on her lower lip. There had always been shadow kin in the darkwood and they had always been attracted to Wren, dancing attendance on her if she let them. Wild creatures spun from the fragments of the Nox that lingered here, but usually they avoided anything that might fight back. Elodie had taught her how to drive them off as soon as she could learn the words to do so. But this time she had called them, the shadow kin.

That sentient, rage-filled darkness, those voices that had whispered to her, that hunger, that need…

She pushed the thoughts away. She couldn't face them right now.

‘And the prince?'

He laughed. ‘Oh no, not him. He retreated long before it got near him. But he'll be back with reinforcements. I know him. He will not give up, especially now that he knows what you can do.'

‘But I?—'

‘Don't give me that. What else would have done that?'

She let out a shaky breath. She had to persuade him that it hadn't been her. Not directly, not intentionally. ‘The darkwood. It answers sometimes. Never like that, not before. But it's dangerous. It… it has shadow kin and other things living there, gathering together… Elodie says?—'

‘Who is this Elodie? If she's teaching you she must be powerful indeed. Is she your mother?'

‘She's… she's…' How did she explain? Her mother, although Elodie had never said it out loud. There hadn't been a need. And now she might not ever get a chance. Everyone else said it though. They were snide about it sometimes. A beautiful woman who arrived alone with a child in her arms. The witch's bastard… that's what they had called Wren. Now the words hung around her neck like a noose. ‘She was in the tower. That's where we lived. And you saw it.'

The flames, so hot, consuming the whole building. Like it had been doused in oil and burned from the inside out. No one could have got out of that.

‘You think she's dead?' he asked and his voice gentled again. He was trying to be kind. Even in the midst of all this, he was trying. That was the sort of man he was. She didn't deserve that, not if she really had called up that wall and the shadow kin within to tear their pursuers apart.

Wren shrugged. She didn't want to think it. But what other option was there? She just couldn't seem to force the words out, so she settled for staring at him defiantly, aware of the tears burning in her eyes. He read her face easily. ‘You want to go back and look, don't you? It won't be safe. We should go to Knightsford. We can get help there.'

And on foot it would take days. But she needed to know if Elodie was there now. If she was still alive.

‘I'll be careful,' she told Finn. ‘What if she's hurt? Or captured? What if this Leander has her?'

She couldn't say the rest. All her other fears. But invoking the prince of Ilanthus's name seemed to do the trick.

‘Fine,' he sighed. ‘But we will go only in daylight. And you do exactly what I say, understand? No tricks, no adventures of your own. We stay away from the darkwood. And definitely no magic.'

She let him think it was his decision to make. It was the least she could do.