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‘Wren?’ she said, trying to sit up.

‘Don’t!’ her sister cried. ‘You’ll open that wound back up. You should have had stitches.’

‘I was just going to say… I’m sorry,’ Thea told her. ‘For the other day. For what I said. It’s not what I meant. You know I care —’

‘Oh shut up,’ Wren cut in, waving her off. ‘I know all that.’

‘Then what are you thinking?’

A flash of anger crossed Wren’s face, her celadon eyes narrowing. ‘You were stabbed, Althea…’

‘I’m aware.’

‘Your way of besting that bastard, Seb Barlowe, was to allow him to beat you half to death and stick a blade between your ribs?’ Wren took the cauldron off the small stove and poured the steaming liquid into a bowl.

The smell of it made Thea’s eyes water. ‘I didn’t say it was the perfect plan. But it’s about the long game, Wren.’

Wren faced her, her hands on her hips. ‘Oh? Since when? I’ve never known you to strategise past your next meal.’

Thea gave her sister a slow smile. ‘Since I realised legends aren’t forged overnight.’

Thea spent the night in her sister’s rooms, where Wren watched her like a hawk. As the hours passed, her abdomen became a patchwork of purple that Wren insisted on poking and monitoring, going so far as to trace the outline of bruising with ink. Thea was too tired to argue with her and it was a relief to not have to be on her guard. She would have even preferred the broom closet to going through this in her own dormitory, so Wren’s cosy quarters were an improvement indeed.

At some point in the night, there was a soft knock at the door and Thea heard low voices outside, but she couldn’t focus on what they were saying and soon drifted back to sleep.

Thea dreamt of the seer and the fate stone, the jade as green as ever against the pale skin of her palm.

‘Remember me,’ the words came as they always did, laced with magic and mystery and the promise of death. She remembered the relief in Hawthorne’s voice when she’d told him it didn’t belong to her.What would he say if he knew the truth?And why, in the name of all the gods, did she care? She’d lived with the knowledge since she was an infant, why the need to share it now?

In the early hours of the morning, Wren woke her to check she was still alive, which seemed ridiculous to Thea. But again, she didn’t argue, merely surrendered to her sister’s interrogation and examination. She demanded to know about tingling sensations in her hands and feet, or if Thea was experiencing shortness of breath or pain.

All of those things, Thea had muttered.

And Wren had sworn, banging about her room to make more terrible smelling poultices and tonics while Thea sweated through the sheets. Either her sister had a real grasp of the healing art, or she simply enjoyed torturing Thea.

When dawn filtered through the grimy window, Thea opened her eyes a crack to find Wren asleep in the chair beside the bed, a bowl of bloodied fabric at her feet. Her hair was dishevelled, she still wore the same clothes from yesterday, and she had dark smudges of exhaustion beneath her eyes.

Thea hated to wake her, but she knew her sister would murder her if she allowed her to miss one of her beloved shifts.

‘You’ll hurt your neck like that,’ she said quietly.

Wren stirred slowly, her hands moving to rub her temples. ‘Gods,’ she muttered. ‘I feel like I drank a barrel of wine.’ Shepulled a disgusted face as she wiped her mouth. ‘I taste like it too.’

‘Might have been all those delicious fumes wafting around here last night.’

‘That’s the thanks I get?’ she grumbled, rubbing the back of her neck with a grimace. ‘How are you feeling?’

Thea winced as she ever so slowly sat up. ‘Like I got pummelled and stabbed by a savage.’

‘Good to know he didn’t beat the humour out of you.’ Wren got to her feet and stretched. ‘You can stay here for the day to recover.’

‘No, can’t do that,’ Thea told her.

Wren turned to her, hands on hips. ‘Don’t you dare, Althea. Not after I’ve stayed up all night worrying about you and treating you. Don’t you dare go back out and get yourself —’

‘I thought I’d come with you today.’ Thea suppressed a smile. Everyone always thought she was the hot-headed one, but Wren could give her a run for her coin when she wanted to.

‘With me?’ Wren baulked. ‘What? To alchemy? To the healer’s studio? To —’