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One, two, three steps…

An invisible force slammed into her, and she catapulted into the stone wall. Wren collapsed, darkness descending.

* * *

Pain,blood, and ash.

All three things clued her in that something wasn’t right.

Wren groaned as she turned her head to the side and spat blood. What had happened? She forced her eyes open and cried as pain spiked inside her head. Immediately, she closed her eyes again and attempted to breathe through the pain.

Just what was going on?

Think, Wren.

Jagged pieces of stone dug into her back, making it difficult for her to focus. The last thing she remembered was the ceremony. Her brows furrowed, and she lifted a shaking hand to her pounding temple. Hadn’t she just been married? The marking…

Opening her eyes, Wren lifted her left arm. A bare wrist.

Her memories flooded back. An attack. The explosions.

You need to move.

She rolled to the side, wincing when lights flashed across her eyes. Her stomach rebelled, and, somehow, she found the strength to push onto her hands and knees to retch. Her body convulsed, and her ears rung. She wiped at her mouth and scooted back against the wall. Her eyes teared up against the thick black smoke and dust that choked the air. The wind tugged at her hair, and she glanced to her right.

The entire wall was gone, exposing the chapel to the raging storm. What kind of weapon could blow through stone like that?

Her head gave a vicious throb, and she lifted her hand to massage the pain away. Vaguely, she registered rain pelting her skin as she pulled away. Her fingers were warm and sticky with blood.

A head injury. Not good.

She blinked a few more times as bright stars moved across her vision. She must not pass out. Even though her ears rang and the wind howled, she could hear screams and the dull ring of steel against steel.

Wren coughed and reached for the nearest beam. How long had she been out? Where was her family? How many were injured or killed? Where was Rowen?

Bile burned the back of her throat as she forced herself to her feet. She swayed and gagged as the wind pushed some of the smoke away, revealing the carnage.

No.

Not nearly enough people had escaped. Too many bodies littered the floor.

A grunt, followed by the clash of swords registered.

Wren jerked and moved farther into the smoke. The fighting was close. Too close. The enemy had made it into the keep. She jerked up the hem of her torn dress and pulled the short dagger from her thigh sheath, painfully aware that she needed something more substantial.

She pushed a wet strand of her hair from her face and once again pressed against the remains of the wall behind her. The smoke wasn’t ideal, but at least it gave her cover, and, thanks to the wall, no one would be sneaking up on her from behind. A man bellowed to her left, and her fingers tightened on the hilt of her blade. She held perfectly still when she registered the silhouette of a warrior creeping in her direction. She didn’t think he’d noticed her yet.

You have the element of surprise. Strike hard and fast.

He moved within striking distance, and the smoke dissipated some. Wren sagged against the wall, her eyes widening, dagger held to her chest.

“Rowen?” she gasped.

Her betrothed scanned her from head to toe, his eyes wild and far away, his bloody sword in hand. He motioned to keep silent before he took her right hand and led her through the smoke. She struggled to keep her steps quiet, but it was almost impossible. They passed through an arched doorway, and Rowen pressed her against the wall, his attention focused on his right.

“What—” Wren coughed, struggling to find her voice through the smoke. Her throat hurt so much; trying to speak was like having shards of shell stuck in her lungs.

He turned back to her, his face hovering above Wren’s. He’d clearly taken a beating. Both his eyes were black, his lip was split and swollen, and dried blood covered the left side of his neck.