Twin Crowns (Twin Crowns, #1)

by Catherine Doyle

At that moment she spotted someone wandering among the roses. It was a girl about Wren’s age. Her dark hair was arranged in loose curls that tumbled all the way to her waist, and she was wearing a fine pink dress with a full skirt. Her dainty chin was tipped to the sky, as though she was lost in thought. Wren stood up without meaning to. Shen tugged on the end of her cloak. ‘Get down.’ She pointed towards the distant trellises. ‘Do you see that girl?’ Shen squinted. ‘What about her?’ ‘That’s her. That’s my sister.’ Wren felt a strange pull in her heart, like a thread going taut. For a maddening second, she wanted to go barrelling towards those golden gates. ‘That’s Rose.’ Shen stood up, slowly. ‘Princess Rose wandering in her rose garden,’ he said, with a low chuckle. ‘I’d say that’s as sure a sign as any … well, that and the fact she appears to have your face.’ Wren was staring so hard she wasn’t blinking. She had grown up knowing she had a twin sister half a world away, but seeing her here in the flesh had rendered her speechless for the first time in her life.

‘Will you catch me if I fall?’ ‘No, but I’ll wave at you on your way down.’

She kept her voice low. ‘Well. What do you think?’ ‘She’s certainly a prettier sleeper than you. You’re a hideous drooler.’ Wren punched him in the arm.

LOL

He chewed the smile from the inside of his cheek. ‘You’ve got more freckles. And her hair is darker than yours.’ Wren passed a hand over her braid, frowning. ‘I bet she’s a lot nicer.’ ‘I will fling you back out of that window, Shen.’

Wren flung herself on to the four-poster bed, landing face down like a starfish. She burrowed between the pillows, sinking into the warmth her sister had left behind. She might have felt strange about it if her blood wasn’t buzzing with the success of the switch. She hoped Shen had made it out safely, that the spirit of Ortha Starcrest would guide him safely home to the cliff-side haven the witches had named in her honour. Wren turned on to her side and slipped her hand underneath her pillow. The dagger was cool to touch; a comfort in this foreign place. With it close at hand, sleep came swiftly. She drifted into darkness, leaving all thoughts of home behind her. In the morning, she would be Rose Valhart, heir to the throne of Eana. Sweet and pure and dangerous.

Before them, the hallway vaulted into a marble archway that overlooked the sprawling courtyard. Chapman turned from her, murmuring something as he went, but Wren was too dumbstruck to share in his babble. She was adrift now, floating across the pale stones in a cascade of golden sunlight. And there he was, waiting for her at the edge of the rose garden. Prince Ansel. Wren’s eyes widened. Hissing seaweed. Ansel was handsome. Being Rose was becoming more enjoyable by the minute.

‘Keeping yourself nice and trim, I see,’ said Ansel, approvingly. Well, that certainly wouldn’t do. Prince or no prince, he had no right commenting on how she ate. Wren shot her hand out and shoved an entire tart in her mouth. ‘SHANGED SHMY MINDSH,’ she said, crumbs flying from her lips. ‘MMM, DELSHSSS!’

Suddenly, her fingertips began to prickle. Shen opened his mouth to say something, then blinked in surprise. He pressed his hand down on hers. ‘Don’t move,’ he said, gruffly. ‘That’s helping.’ Rose left her hand where it was. Her breathing slowed, and she felt a faint pulling inside her. Stars twinkled at the sides of her vision until she thought, for a horrifying moment, she was going to pass out. She gasped as the prickling sensation in her fingers intensified and then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. ‘Ah.’ Shen let out a long, relieved sigh. He lifted his hand. Rose pulled her fingers away from his leg. She blinked, twice, then leaped to her feet. The wound was gone! The skin had stitched itself back together, leaving behind a light brown line. She staggered backwards. ‘You … you did that. It’s witch magic! You’re a witch!’ Shen’s eyes were wide, the word soundless on his lips: No. ‘Yes,’ heaved Rose. ‘You did it! I saw you do it!’ Shen shook his head, as though he couldn’t quite believe it. ‘You did that.’ There was a beat of silence, Rose’s heart pounding so hard she couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t see straight. And then Shen said the worst five words she had ever heard in her life. ‘Rose, you’re a healer witch.’ ‘Liar! Take that back!’ Panic clawed up her throat, choking her. ‘I’m not any kind of witch! I’m not a witch at all!’ A witch, a witch, a witch. Shen only stared at her. ‘It couldn’t have been me! It’s not possible!’ Rose’s fear of the witches burn...

Omg

‘I’m not a witch,’ she repeated, sensibly. ‘I would know if I were a witch.’ She stared down at her traitorous fingers. She was still light-headed. It was the hot water. And maybe the sight of the blood. ‘You are the witch.’ Shen shrugged. ‘Well, you’re not wrong.’ Rose began to tremble. Even as she’d thrown the accusation out, she hadn’t expected he’d admit to it so plainly. ‘But I’m not the only witch in this pool. And I’m definitely not a healer,’ he went on. ‘I didn’t think I’d be the one to tell you, but you, Rose of Eana, are most certainly a witch.’ He ran a finger along his thigh, tracing the faint pink scar. And an impressive one by the looks of it.’ Rose promptly fainted.

Elske shook her head. Ortha sand spilled out on to the stones. Wren crawled towards her, swiping at the pouch. ‘Here, wolfy wolfy.’ A shadow fell across her. Tor whistled through his teeth. ‘Elske, release.’ Elske dropped the pouch. Wren snatched it, just as the wolf’s paw came down on it. The string snapped, releasing a shower of sand everywhere. ‘No, no, no.’ Wren tried to catch the grains, but they sifted through her fingers, turning dull and brassy on the stone floor. Elske sneezed. Wren cursed. ‘What is that?’ said Tor, bending down. Wren retrieved the empty pouch and scrabbled to her feet. ‘Nothing that concerns you.’ He gathered the grains on his finger, his brows drawing close. ‘It’s sand …’ He snapped his chin up. ‘Why do you carry sand with you?’ ‘It’s fertilizer,’ said Wren, smoothly. ‘For my roses. How do you think they grow to be so fine?’ Tor stood up, slowly. ‘But you had it with you last night. Down by the—’

Oh no

The pathway to the crown had become infinitely more dangerous. Not only did Wren have to contend with a moon-eyed prince obsessed with marrying her, but with Ansel came a bloodthirsty alliance that would spell the end of the witches for good. Wren couldn’t let that happen – she wouldn’t. There was only one course of action left. Since Willem Rathborne was intent on making her go through with the wedding and all the brutality that would come with it, she had no choice but to remove his influence over Rose’s life as soon as possible. Wren sat at her vanity and dragged a brush through her hair, her green eyes blazing in the mirror. It was time to plot a murder …

‘All I’ve ever wanted is to do what’s best for Eana,’ she said, quietly. ‘You have much to learn about the Eana you claim as your own.’ ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Rose conceded. The mist thickened, hiding the world beyond the trees. The vines stroked her cheeks and tangled in her hair, as though to pull her back. The wind wept. The seeds were drifting after her again, their flickering lights glowing in the fog. Rose squeezed her eyes shut. Her nerves were frayed and her thoughts were reeling. She needed to get out of this cursed place and gather a moment to herself. To think. To breathe.

Her eyes flew open, bright and burning. ‘I know what you want from me,’ she said in a choked voice. ‘You want me to admit it.’ She could hear their whispers in her ears, feel them tugging at her sleeves. ‘FINE! I’m a witch.’ Her voice broke. ‘I’m a witch.’ The wind stopped, and all was still. The mist parted, revealing the edge of the forest. Beyond it, across a rolling plain of wild grass, loomed the knife-edge of a cliff. As they treaded onwards, all Rose could see was endless grey sky. She tasted brine on the wind, salty and tangy on her tongue. Waves crashed somewhere far, far below. A seagull crested the edge of the cliff, looked straight at her, then disappeared with a screech. Rose looked over her shoulder at Shen, her voice a frightened whisper. ‘Why have you brought me to the edge of the world?’ Shen kept his gaze on the cliffs. ‘Welcome to Ortha, Princess. Home of the witches.’

Rose’s life wasn’t so bad, after all. And once Wren had removed Willem Rathborne from it, it would be even better.

‘Very well, Shen Lo.’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘But if I fall to my death, I promise you my spirit won’t linger in that forest. It will haunt you until the end of your days, and then when you die, I will berate you until the end of time itself.’

‘We’ve been so worried!’ Shen hugged her back. ‘You know you never need to worry about me, Tilda.’ The girl turned to look at Rose. She gasped, her mouth dropping into a perfect circle. ‘She’s just like Wren!’ Rose frowned. ‘Excuse me?’ What did Shen’s best friend have to do with her? ‘Tilda,’ said Shen, warningly, but the girl wasn’t listening. She was staring so hard at Rose, it seemed she had forgotten to blink. ‘I knew you were twins but I didn’t expect you to look so—’ ‘Tilda!’ scolded Shen. ‘That’s enough.’ The girl grinned as she stepped back. ‘Anyways, I’m Tilda. I know you, obviously. Princess Rose.’ She dipped into a clumsy curtsy. ‘Everyone knows you.’ Rose turned on Shen, but he was looking at his feet now. ‘Shen,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘What is she talking about?’ When he looked at her again, his face crumpled. ‘The healer thing was overwhelming enough, and I wasn’t supposed to say anything. I wanted to, I really did, but Banba ordered me not to. It wasn’t my place—’ ‘You didn’t tell her about Wren?’ cried Tilda. ‘I wouldn’t have been able to hold that in!’ ‘Clearly,’ said Shen, with great exasperation. ‘Rose, I can explain.’

Rose forced herself to remain calm even as her heart threatened to beat its way out of her chest. It was a misunderstanding – it had to be. ‘Please do,’ she said, curtly. ‘Who, exactly, is Wren?’ ‘Wren is your sister!’ Tilda burst out. Her cheeks were bright red and she was bouncing up and down with excitement. ‘She lives here in Ortha. Well … no, actually. I guess, technically, she—’ ‘Stop talking, Tilda!’ snapped Shen. Rose’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t think. She could barely breathe. ‘Is that true?’ Shen winced. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—’ ‘You told me I could trust you.’ Rose stumbled away from him. Of course she couldn’t trust a kidnapping bandit! How could she ever rule a kingdom if she let herself be so easily taken in by a thief with pretty words and a nice smile? She’d been a fool, a terrible fool. ‘You’ve been lying to me all this time!’ Over his shoulder, more witches were drifting towards her. Suddenly, it all became too much. She couldn’t face them; she couldn’t face any of this …

Rose screamed as a band of wind tightened around her waist, like a rope. She was tugged backwards, towards Ortha. Towards the witches. ‘Let me go!’ She fought against the wind but it only yanked her harder, until she landed with a thud on the sand. The strange pressure snapped away as quickly as it had come, and Rose found herself blinking up into a fierce emerald gaze. It belonged to a wiry old woman with creviced skin and short white hair. She wore a forest-green cloak, the silver clasp winking at her throat. ‘Forgive me, Rose, but I can’t have you leaving when you’ve only just arrived.’ The woman’s voice was deep and earthy, rippling with a power of its own. ‘My name is Banba,’ she said, as she extended a hand. ‘Perhaps you and I should take a walk.’ Rose glared at the woman’s hand. And why would I want to do that?’ ‘Because I am your grandmother.’ The old woman moved her fingers and the wind tightened its grip around Rose. She was yanked, roughly, to her feet. And I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter.’

‘Your mother is dead. And so is your father.’ She gave Rose a measured look. ‘And now that you’re here, it’s time you knew the truth about what happened. Your parents were killed in cold blood by Willem Rathborne, the man who now orbits the throne, pretending it’s his.’ Rose tried to shake her grandmother off, but her grip only tightened. ‘Willem isn’t capable of such a thing,’ she said, before she could even consider it. ‘It was a witch who killed my parents.’ Even after what Rose had seen in the Weeping Forest, this was the story she held closest to her. The one that informed so much of who she was. If it wasn’t true … then nothing in her life was, and she simply couldn’t accept that. She wouldn’t. ‘The witches were angry at my mother for marrying a Valhart. They were jealous of her. They—’ ‘Don’t you dare say such a thing in Ortha!’ Banba squeezed Rose’s wrist until it felt as if talons were digging into her skin. ‘You’re hurting me!’ cried Rose. Banba released the wind and Rose stumbled backwards, cradling her wrist to her chest. She looked away sharply, tears burning in her eyes. She didn’t know a great deal about family but she felt very certain this was not how meeting your long-lost grandmother was meant to go. ‘The witches loved your mother. I loved your mother,’ said the old woman, fiercely. ‘But it was not enough to save her from Willem Rathborne. A man who has always sought to destroy us.’

‘What nonsense! Willem is a good man,’ said Rose, just as fiercely. ‘He has taken care of me my entire life. He loves me.’ Banba gave her a piteous look. ‘No, Rose. He needs you.’ At Rose’s silence, the old woman went on, her words like a dagger, twisting and twisting in her chest. ‘Don’t you see? Willem Rathborne had to keep you alive – you were the perfect prop princess that would allow him to rule Eana from behind the curtain. Of course he only needed one of you. He would have killed Wren, too, if he had found her in that chamber.’ Rose pressed her lips together. She knew there was no point in arguing back, in saying what she had always believed. That Willem had burst in just in time to save her. But if that was true, then what had happened to this supposed sister of hers? If Wren was real, then how could Willem’s story be real, too? She looked down at her hands, imagining another pair next to them. A twin. Was it truly possible?

‘Willem Rathborne is no innocent,’ Banba went on. ‘He would kill every last witch in Eana if he could. But yo...

of them pretending as if they hadn’t been looking for each other.

Rathborne looked wretched in the flickering candlelight. He was thin as a spindle, and his pale skin had adopted a greyish hue. Shadows pooled beneath his eyes and the hair around his temples was fraying. It was obvious he wasn’t sleeping at night, and Wren knew from Celeste that he’d been anxious about something. Well, the only thing he should be nervous about was her. ‘Willem looks like a corpse,’ whispered Celeste. Wren hmm’d in agreement. After tonight, he’ll be one.

‘I feel faint,’ she said, sinking into her chair. ‘It must be the fumes.’ ‘I don’t think I’ve ever encountered such a dramatic evening before,’ announced Ansel. ‘And that includes the time Anika hurled an ice sculpture at my mother. There must be something in the air tonight.’ ‘Must be,’ said Wren, tightly. Then Rathborne groaned. She spun around. ‘Willem?’ He wrapped his arms around his stomach and began to retch. A wild, maddening hope took hold of Wren. ‘Are you feeling all right, Willem?’ ‘I … think … the … fizz … was … too … strong … for … me.’ ‘You only had the barest sip,’ said Ansel, with a small giggle.

Rathborne pushed away from the table. Tor rushed to his side as he staggered to the door. Wren could tell the soldier was studying Rathborne – the colour quickly draining from his pallor, the sweat beading on his brow. Another minute and that pesky Gevran might figure out what she did. She jostled Tor out of the way. ‘Stand back. Let his guards through.’ Tor stepped back, and the palace guards promptly escorted Rathborne from the room. Wren followed them out into the hallway. ‘Tell Chapman to fetch Hector. Ah. There is such a twisting in my stomach. It burns.’ Rathborne winced. ‘She warned me … the flames are inside me … the burning … ah … but the moon is not yet full, oh, the moon …’ He trailed off, into senseless muttering. Wren reached for his hand. ‘Let me help you, Willem. You can trust me.’

Rathborne pushed her away. He retched again, this time bringing up a mouthful of blood. ‘The enemy wears two faces, Rose … We must come for the witches before they come for us … And they are coming … they will burn us … the flames … I can see them … I can taste them …’ A violent shudder passed through him and he retched again. ‘May the Great Protector watch over us now.’ He staggered away, still muttering feverishly to himself. Wren watched him go, wondering who had told him those strange things and what on earth they meant. ‘Rose?’ Celeste was standing in the doorway to the dining room. ‘What the hell is going on?’ ‘It looks as if the frostfizz didn’t agree with poor Willem.’ Wren clutched her stomach just as Tor appeared behind Celeste, wearing the same look of bewilderment. She stepped away from both of them. ‘Come to think of it, I don’t feel too good either. I really should retire.’ Before either of them could say another word, Wren hurried away, the clatter ...

‘You needn’t be frightened of me, Rose. I was not the one who killed your mother.’ Thea’s one eye was unblinking, her face unusually grave. ‘I believe you now know who it was.’ Rose pressed a trembling hand to her chest. She knew in her bones it couldn’t be Thea – this soft-eyed woman, who carried the healing gift within her. Which meant it was Willem. It had always been Willem.

Rose flinched. ‘I don’t want to hear any more.’ Thea reached for her hand, and a trickle of warmth came with it. ‘You should know, Rose of Eana, that your mother had made her peace with death. Her last wish was for you and Wren to be safe. She named you before you were born.’ Rose’s eyes burned. ‘Willem said she whispered my name with her dying breath.’ ‘The only honourable thing that rotten vermin ever did was give you the name your mother wanted.’ A tear slid down Rose’s cheek. ‘Why did you leave me with him? Why didn’t you take me, too?’ ‘It had to be that way, Rose. Everyone in Eana knew Lillith was pregnant. Nobody but your parents, the seer and I knew that there would be two babies. A secret blessing.’ Thea’s smile was watery. And you were the one he saw. Your mother told him your name.’ ‘And then he killed her.’

‘I was bathing Wren in the next chamber when he drew the knife. I knew then that I had one chance to escape, to save the child in my arms and the one in his.’ Thea’s face crumpled. ‘I wish I could have taken you. I’ve wished that every day for almost eighteen years. But you were so loved, Rose. Even from afar.’ Rose drew a shuddering breath. She felt as if she couldn’t get enough air, as if all the lies were filling up the space in her lungs. All her life, she thought she was blessed. But she’d been wrong. ‘Your mother named you such because she wanted you to grow where you were planted,’ said Thea. ‘And one day, she wanted her children to bring the witches back home to Anadawn. It must be a shock to know you will not be Queen, but you see, it has to be Wren. A witch who knows what is best for her people; a witch ready to welcome us home. Only then will there be peace – true peace – in Eana.’ ‘It doesn’t sound as if Banba wants peace,’ said Rose, bitterly. ‘She wants revenge.’ Thea laughed. ‘Peace will come after.’

‘Willem is too clever. He’ll see right through Wren and when he does, he’ll come looking for me with two armies at his back.’ When Thea didn’t respond, Rose went on. ‘Wren will never make it to the throne. She’ll be lucky to escape with her life.’ Thea gave her a pitying look. ‘You don’t know our Wren.’ Rose bristled at those words. Our Wren. That was what the witches who had attacked Rose last night had called her sister, too. Wren was precious to everyone in Ortha. She had been blessed with a family of witches. They had raised her, taken care of her, and loved her for exactly who she was. She had everything Rose never had and it still wasn’t enough for her. She wanted the throne of Eana, too. My throne, said a voice inside Rose’s head. A spark of anger ignited inside her at the thought of giving up what rightfully belonged to her. Wren had the witches. Let her keep them. And let Rose keep the throne that was her birthright. After all, she had not grown up in a palace, starved ...

Thea went on as if she hadn’t heard Rose. ‘Eana, of course, is not the bird itself. Rather, it is who this land is named for. Eana was the first witch. Many thousands of years ago, she lived among the stars, flying from one to the next on the back of her green-tailed hawk. But one day she grew tired of flying in the sky. She wanted to settle somewhere, to feel sand on her feet and the spray of saltwater against her skin. And so, she bid her hawk to land in the sea, and with her magic, turned him into land. In time, others like Eana came, and the land grew to welcome them. She ruled as the first witch queen, and the gift of her magic was passed down from generation to generation.’ Thea nodded at Rose, a sudden knowing look in her eye. ‘The blood of Eana runs through every witch. That is why we are fated to rule this island.’ Rose didn’t know if it was exhaustion from healing or the weight of another truth settling on her shoulders but she found she was trembling again. ‘I am Eana; Eana is me,’ she whispered. ‘Exactly,’ said Thea. ‘Exactly.’

‘Father can’t find a cause for his sudden illness,’ Celeste continued. ‘He suspects he might have been poisoned.’ A bead of sweat trickled down Wren’s spine. ‘Really?’ ‘He even asked for my account of the dinner.’ Wren went very still. She recalled how Celeste had knocked her into Rathborne, sending the frostfizz flying everywhere. She had been hoping it really was an accident, but the back of her neck was beginning to prickle. And what did you tell him?’ ‘I told him I didn’t see anything.’ Wren exhaled through her nose. ‘Perhaps Willem is allergic to frostfizz. Whatever it is, I’m sure we’ll get to—’ ‘But I think I did see something.’ Celeste pitched forward, her face appearing in a cloud of steam. ‘You tampered with his drink.’ ‘What?’ A strangled laugh seeped out of Wren. ‘I thought I imagined it at first,’ said Celeste. ‘It was so quick, so unexpected. But then I watched you watch him. It was as if you were willing him to drink.’ She planted her arms on either side of Wren, pinning her to the seat. ‘I was already suspicious, of course. You were acting strangely all night. You’ve been acting strangely for a while now.’ Another bead of sweat dripped off Wren’s nose and pooled in the hollow between her collarbones. She felt suddenly as if she was in a heat-addled dream. She dipped her hands in the water and splashed some on her chest. ‘I think the steam is toying with your memories, Celeste.’ Celeste’s frown sharpened. ‘Who are you?’ ‘I’m your best friend,’ said Wren, but...

OH NO

Celeste tightened her grip, her nails digging into Wren’s collarbones. ‘Remember after my mother died, you decided we should sneak into the kitchens when everyone was asleep and eat our fill of pear tarts, and the following morning, when Cam found me asleep by the stove and covered in crumbs, you leaped to my defence and swore on all the stars in Eana it was the palace rats that did it.’ ‘Of course,’ said Wren, without blinking. ‘How could I forget something like that?’ Celeste pursed her lips. ‘That never happened.’ Hissing seaweed. ‘You tricked me,’ said Wren, indignantly. ‘How about another one, then.’ Celeste’s voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘When’s my birthday?’ Suddenly, Wren was glad of the steam gathering between them. It hid the look of sheer panic on her face. Celeste released her with a shove. ‘It’s today.’ Wren squeezed her eyes shut, dread sinking like a stone in her gut. How had she forgotten something so important? What a fool she was! ‘Happy birthday?’ she said, weakly. ‘Don’t even bother,’ snapped Celeste. ‘In all the years we’ve known each other, you’ve never once forgotten my birthday. And last night, you threw a dinner for your prince and served cake in his honour.’ ‘Oh,’ was all Wren could manage. She was well and truly scuppered. In fact, she had been since the moment she’d planned that cursed dinner.

Celeste wasn’t done. ‘I’ve known Rose Valhart all my life. I know her every expression, her sense of humour, her heart. I know her. And I don’t know you. You might be a good imitation but you are not good enough.’ She prodded Wren in the chest. ‘I’ll give you one chance, here and now, to be honest with me. If you lie one more time, I’ll scream for the palace guards and have you hauled to the dungeons. Who are you, really?’ Wren raked the damp hair from her f...

‘My name is Wren. Rose is my twin sister.’ Celeste stood over her. ‘How is that even possible?’ ‘Eighteen years ago, Willem Rathborne murdered my parents,’ said Wren, raising her head so Celeste could read the truth in her eyes. ‘The midwife escaped with me moments before Rathborne killed my mother. He only kept my sister alive so he could keep control of the throne. He’s still trying to keep control of it.’ ‘That’s not what happened,’ said Celeste, firmly. ‘The midwife—’ ‘Everything you’ve heard is a lie,’ said Wren, flatly. She knew it wasn’t Celeste’s fault for being hoodwinked like the rest of Eana, but she couldn’t help the sudden bite of her anger. ‘The midwife, Thea, was part of my mother’s family. She came to Anadawn to protect her.’ Celeste shook her head. ‘No. That can’t be true.’ ‘Then explain me.’ The silence stretched, the steam thickening between them. ‘I can’t explain you,’ said Celeste, uneasily. ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’ ‘It does if you listen to my version. The correct one.’ ‘What have you done with Rose?’ ‘She’s safe.’ ‘Where?’ ‘Far away.’ Wren pointed in the general direction of west. ‘She’s in a village by the sea.’

‘Are there cliffs there?’ ‘Towering ones,’ said Wren. ‘The sight of them alone would steal the breath from your lungs.’ ‘I think I’ve seen that place in my dreams,’ murmured Celeste, more to herself than to Wren. ‘It’s where our mother grew up.’ ‘You’re like Lillith, aren’t you? You’re a witch.’ Celeste’s voice caught on the last word. Wren offered the ghost of a smile. ‘I suppose it takes one to know one.’ ‘Don’t you dare call me that,’ said Celeste, through her teeth. ‘I’m no witch.’

Wren rolled her eyes. ‘You think your visions of Rose in Ortha are some kind of happy accident? Come on, Celeste. You’re smarter than that. Haven’t you been wondering why you’re so sensitive to Rathborne’s starcrests?’ Wren could tell by the horror on Celeste’s face that she had never even considered that a possibility. If Wren’s suspicions were true, then Celeste’s craft must be half buried in her bones, stifled by years of fear and denial. Now was clearly not a good time to prod her on the matter. Celeste gripped the edge of the bath. ‘Why are you doing this?’ ‘I have to save the witches from the Kingsbreath.’ ‘And you really think wrecking Rose’s marriage and stealing her crown is the only way to do that?’ ‘Yes,’ said Wren, evenly. And it’s not as if you even want the marriage to happen either. In case you hadn’t noticed, Rose is being tricked. The second she says “I do” to Ansel, she’ll be shipped off to Gevra, and this kingdom will remain under the control of Willem Rathborne.’ Celeste didn’t deny her concerns. ‘If you really cared about Rose, you wouldn’t have delivered her to the witches.’ ‘It’s the Gevrans you need to w...

Celeste pulled her arms around herself, studying Wren for a long moment. ‘It’s the strangest thing,’ she said, at last. ‘You look so much like Rose that my instinct is to trust you.’ Wren smirked as she bent down to retrieve her slippers. Perhaps Celeste wasn’t a seer after all.

‘Hello, traitor.’ Rowena was suddenly standing before her. Rose froze. Rowena’s eyes flashed. ‘I’ve been wondering when I’d catch you on your own.’ ‘I’m not alone,’ said Rose, quickly. ‘Shen is right behind me.’ ‘Of course he is. Besotted with you, clearly. Although I don’t know why.’ Rowena craned her neck to look over Rose’s shoulder. ‘But he’s not here now, is he?’ She raised her hand to her mouth, and for a fleeting moment, Rose thought she was blowing her a kiss. Then she felt the sharp gust of wind. It hit her squarely in the chest. Rose didn’t even have time to scream before she realized she was falling. She tumbled through the air, plummeting down, down, down, towards the roaring sea. The waves swallowed her in a shock of cold, snatching the breath from her lungs as she sank like a stone in the darkness.

Rose took a sip of tea to settle her nerves. ‘How did you become so powerful?’ ‘Sixty years of practice and vengeance.’ Banba smiled, her teeth yellow in the firelight. ‘You truly know nothing of witches, do you, Rose? I thought – I had hoped – that somehow our stories would have reached you in the palace.’ Rose put down her tea and stared hard at Banba. ‘You underestimate Willem Rathborne. He has scrubbed the palace, scrubbed all of Eshlinn, of any truth to do with witches.’ Banba sighed. ‘Perhaps you’re right. The last time I underestimated the Kingsbreath, he killed my daughter.’ Rose stilled at the mention of her mother, at the flash of pain in the old woman’s eyes. ‘Thea said my mother knew she was going to die. That a seer told her so.’ ‘The seer was my sister, Glenna,’ said Banba, with a confirming nod. ‘Before the war, she lived in the Amarach Towers in the south. It was in those skies that she foresaw Lillith’s fate. But the vision did not sharpen in time. She didn’t see the man who wielded the dagger until it was too late.’ Banba closed her eyes, the lines in her face deepening as the memory aged her. ‘Glenna couldn’t save Lillith, nor indeed herself. Like so many of our kind, my sister was killed in the bloodbath that came after.’ ‘Oh,’ said Rose, quietly. She could think of nothing else to say to pierce the loss that seemed to fill up the space between them, dark and heavy as a thundercloud. Banba snapped her eyes open. ‘You think I am powerful, Rose. If only y...

The fire seem to crackle in agreement. And a kernel of curiosity awoke in Rose. ‘Tell me,’ she said, leaning closer. Banba lifted her hand and a cool breeze stirred about the room. The fire began to dance. Flame shadow crawled across the wall, and in it, Rose glimpsed the figure of a woman wearing a crown. A thousand years ago, Eana blossomed under the rule of Ortha Starcrest, the last true witch queen. We were at the height of our power, then – not bound to just one strand of magic. The crafts were not separate. There were no warriors nor healers, tempests nor enchanters, no seers. The witches held all the strands of power as their own – they had everything. They were everything.’ Rose could scarcely imagine power like that. It sounded almost … other-worldly. The shadows danced and in them, another woman emerged, side by side with the first. She, too, wore a crown. But when Rose blinked, she disappeared, leaving her wondering if she had imagined the second figure entirely.

‘Ortha Starcrest was a good queen, a fair queen and a wise one,’ Banba went on. ‘But that was not enough to pacify the Protector and his followers who feared her power, who had spent long years plotting against the witches. They found a way to curse Ortha, to splinter her magic into five separate strands, leaving only one for herself.’ In the shadows, Rose saw a five-pointed star shatter into pieces. A queen ripped of her crown, as she fell to her knees. ‘They weakened her.’ Rose glimpsed the Mother Tree, rising alone over the desert, and felt the sudden urge to weep. ‘And then they killed her.’ ‘They stole our queen, they stole our throne and then they stole our kingdom.’ Banba’s face darkened and so too did her voice. ‘Our magic remained broken, splintered forever into five separate crafts. A paltry echo of what they had once been. We were driven out of our own country, forced to live in the frigid corners of Eana, with nothing but the memory of what we once were to keep us warm. To keep us fighting.’ Banba closed her fist and the shadows went out. Her green eyes flashed. ‘Reclaiming the throne is the first step to r...

Banba cackled, but offered no denial. Rose squirmed uncomfortably. Something else was tugging at her. She stared into the flames, trying to find what she had glimpsed before. ‘I swore I saw another shadow beside Ortha just now. Another woman.’ Now it was Banba who look...

‘My allegiance is to Wren.’ ‘I’m not asking you to choose.’ Rowena staggered to her feet. ‘Why are you helping me?’ ‘Because a good leader rules with compassion, not cruelty. My grandmother might own these sands, but Eana belongs to me.’ Rose levelled Rowena with a dark look. ‘You would do well to remember that.’ Rose smiled to herself as she walked back across the beach. Her blood was warm inside her, and her hands were tingling, but it wasn’t magic that set the new spring in her step. It was power. She had held it firmly in her grasp just now as she looked down on Rowena, and despite her anger and resentment, she had used it in the right way. With mercy, and justice. For the first time in her life, on this ragged little beach at the edge of the world, with sand in her hair and salt in her teeth, Rose felt like a queen. A queen, who was ready to face anything and anyone that stood in her way. When she returned to the hut, Banba was sitting in her rocking chair. ‘I know what you did.’ Rose squared her jaw. ‘It was the right thing.’ Banba snorted. ‘I should hang you from the cliffs for disobeying me.’ ‘Then go ahead.’ The old witch sighed and shook her head. ‘Your mother had the same kind heart. And it got her killed.’ A sweeping sadness came over her, and for a terrifying moment, Rose thought her grandmother was going to cry. She took a step towards her but then something in the old woman shifted. Banba’s gaze hardened, and so did her voice. ‘I won’t let that happen to you.’

Early the next morning, the sound of scratching woke Rose before the others. She tiptoed to the door and opened it, expecting to see Tilda. Instead, a starcrest stared up at her with bright, beady eyes. It had a letter tied to its left leg. Rose recognized the ribbon as one of her own, and knew at once who it was from. She retrieved it with trembling fingers, and as the bird returned to the dawning sky, she read the name scrawled on the letter. Banba. She looked over her shoulder to make sure her grandmother was still snoring. Then she stepped out into the sea air, crept down to the beach and opened the letter. I can’t stop the wedding. The Gevrans are coming. Run.

She flung her hands up, splashing about in the water. ‘Help! I’m drowning! I can’t swim! Oh, help me! Ahhh! I’m going to die!’ ‘Tor, for the love of Grinstad! DO SOMETHING!’ cried Ansel. Wren let the water gargle her pleas while Tor tore his boots off and shed his coat. The last thing she saw before she let herself sink beneath the waterline was the Gevran soldier launching himself off the riverbank. She let herself go limp in the river, her hair floating eerily about her face as he weaved towards her. The Gevran was a good swimmer. But Wren was pleased to note that he was not as good as her. And certainly not as graceful. He reached her in a matter of moments, his arm tightening around her waist as he hoisted her up above the waterline. Wren broke the surface in a dramatic gasp. Then she spluttered and flailed for good measure. Tor pulled her against his body until her head flopped back against his shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ she heaved, as she lay in his arms. ‘You saved me.’ The soldier used his free arm to swim them back to the riverbank. ‘You can drop the act. I know you can swim.’ Wren fluttered her lashes. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ ‘If you want a moment alone, there are better ways to go about it.’ Tor’s lips were cool against the shell of her ear. ‘I saw you float at first. You looked as if you were enjoying it.’ ‘I was in shock,’ said Wren, mildly. ‘Everyone knows I’m terrified of water.’ He turned to look at her. Droplets hung like beads from his lashes, the grey ...

LOL

‘It’s too late,’ said Tor, who being considerably taller than the others, could see much further. He wasn’t looking at the first boat of Gevran soldiers but to the one gliding directly behind it. The one full of beasts. Wren frowned. ‘Is that—?’ ‘Yes,’ said Ansel and Tor at the same time. King Alarik was standing alone at the bow of the ship, his beasts roaming freely around him. He was tall and slender, wearing an immaculate white coat trimmed with fur and inlaid with silver brocade. His skin was pale as winter’s snow and his hair was the colour of summer wheat, a single dark line streaking through it like a lightning bolt. It was swept away from his face by an elaborate silver branch crown that lent him the impression of a proud stag. Behind him, a mighty ice bear reared up and released an earth-shattering roar. Alarik Felsing didn’t even flinch. ‘So, the king rides with his beasts?’ Wren couldn’t tear her eyes off him. There was a kind of terrifying beauty about Alarik – a delicacy that belied his brutal nature – and his unexpected presence on the river had inspired an icy kernel of fear to take hold inside her. ‘He trusts them more than his men,’ said Tor, darkly. Ansel shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, that’s … disturbing,’ she muttered. Alarik jerked his head as though he had heard her. His gaze came to rest on their drenched huddle by the riverbank. There was a breath of confusion, his brows drawing close as he made sense of the scene, then he pulled his lips back, the ...

Once she started climbing the Whisperwind Cliffs, Rose never looked back. After hours of practice, her feet knew where to go and she was quicker now, braver. She almost wished Shen could have seen her. When she reached the top, she dragged herself on to the grass and looked up at the same stars she’d been watching with him. She felt the strands of her destiny tugging at her, leading her back to Anadawn. To Wren. She knew she didn’t have much time. But she had conquered the cliffs, and no matter what lay before her, she would not be stopped. ‘I am Eana; Eana is me,’ she whispered before getting to her feet. Storm seemed happy to see her, nuzzling Rose’s hand as she led her from the stables. Out in the cool night air, she climbed on to the horse’s back. ‘Take me home to Anadawn, Storm.’ She curled her fingers in her mane, holding on for dear life as she whispered, ‘Hush, hush, rush.’ Storm took off like thunder, carrying Rose into the night.

Without thinking, Rose stuck her hand out and caught it in her palm. She tensed, waiting to be thrown into another memory, but nothing changed. She was still sitting atop Storm at the edge of the forest. The wind was whistling through the trees and dawn was breaking in beautiful brushstrokes of amber and pink. She was about to open her hand and set the soul free when a bellowing cry split the air in two. A man in silver armour stepped out from the other side of the Mother Tree and came charging towards her. He was tall and broad with a large chin and a heavy brow, and though Rose had never glimpsed the angry brightness of his eyes, she knew him at once from his portraits. It was the Great Protector. ‘DIE, WITCH!’ Spittle spewed from his mouth as he lunged at her. ‘YOU HATEFUL, FOUL CREATURE!’ Rose recognized his sword in the split second before he swung it at her – the revered Sanguis Bellum that lived under lock and key at Anadawn, confirming her suspicions. She screamed as she lurched backwards, toppling from the horse and landing in the dirt. Rose scrabbled away from the man she had worshipped her entire life, his face distorted with rage and bloodlust as he stalked towards her.

‘Please!’ she cried to the spirits in the forest. ‘Someone, help me!’ But there was no one alive to hear her. Even Storm had disappeared, and she couldn’t see the Mother Tree beyond the Protector’s looming shadow. He stood over her now, hatred dripping from his words as he raised his sword. ‘Your end has come, Ortha Starcrest. May your soul and the souls of all the witches die with you.’ Rose flinched as his sword came down. It sluiced through the air and sailed past her left ear. There came the sickening sound of steel tearing through flesh and blood and bone, and then a new voice cried out beside Rose.

Oh no