Page 15

Get up.

An anguished bellowcut through the cacophony for a moment. Her father screamed and roared and took down every Verlantian soldier between himself and Anneke. But it was too late. The life drained from the queen’s eyes with every passing second, and between one blink and the next, she was gone entirely.

Wren clutched her sister to her and rocked back and forth, grief threatening to drown her. The sounds of the room dulled until all she could hear was her own heartbeat. They’d killed her mother. Her sweet, kind mum.

Avenge her.

She shook her head and cuddled her sister closer. Her mum’s sacrifice would be for nothing if Wren didn’t get Britta out. She had to keep them out of harm’s way until they could make their escape.

She locked her grief away. There wasn’t time to take in what had happened. Plus, her emotions would make her weak and slow. Wren needed to focus on protecting her sister from the enemy and from the heartache of what was taking place. The little one didn’t need such horrors in her mind.

Rowen took down his last opponent and glanced in her direction. He’d carved out a small window of escape for them. It was time to leave.

“We’re going to run, little one,” she murmured into Britta’s ear as she scooted out from beneath the table. “Keep your eyes closed.”

Her sister’s arms tightened around her. “Don’t leave me.”

“Never,” Wren said fiercely as she got to her feet, Britta in her arms. She hardly weighed anything. “Here we go.”

Rowen rushed forward and Wren shadowed him, hot on his heels. They weaved through the destruction toward the nearest corridor. The hair at the nape of her neck raised and she glanced to her left, locking gazes with her father. Time stilled as his dark brown eyes seemed to convey all his emotions.

Fear.

Rage.

Pain.

Guilt.

Love.

Love for her. Love for Britta.

The king opened his mouth as if intending to say goodbye, or to tell Wren to look after her sister, but the words he was about to utter became a choke in his throat when a sword erupted through his stomach. He dropped to his knees, and he smiled at her before he crumpled to the floor.

A scream lodged in her throat and tears rushed down her cheeks. Her steps slowed as she stared at her father’s body. This couldn’t be happening. Not both her mother and her father.

“Move faster, Wren,” Rowen commanded.

Her feet felt like they were stuck in mud. She couldn’t tear her gaze away.

Her to-be-husband’s hand circled her wrist and urged her forward. His fingers squeezed and he insistently pulled her forward. Maybe if she closed her eyes this would all be over. It had to be a nightmare.

“Sissy?” Britta whispered in her ear. “You’re crying.”

Wren snapped out of her daze, Britta’s shaking finally cutting through some of her pain. She swallowed down her sobs and clutched her sister harder to her body. She picked up her speed once again as they entered the smoky chapel that would afford them some cover.

She had to look after Britta. That was her main focus now.

Rowen released her wrist and attacked a solider that appeared from the gloom. The elf didn’t even have a chance. Wren didn’t even break stride.

A few moments felt like hours as they managed to cross the chapel unimpeded, a path cleared before them as Rowen cut down any threat. He flanked them with wild efficiency. Their escape loomed before them, and a thread of hope wrapped around her heart. They were going to get out. Wren followed her to-be-husband through the thick cloak of smoke and dust toward the exit. Her parents’ sacrifices would not be in vain. They could do this. She could do this.

A dark elf appeared on Wren’s left, lifting up his sword. Her mind stopped as he swung. This was how it ended. Like a fool she’d left her bow by the table. Wren covered Britta with her body. At such close quarters, she probably would not have been able to fire an arrow in the first place. She moved so that her sister was protected by her body and closed her eyes, surprisingly calm.

There were worse ways to die.

But the gleaming, wicked metal never hit her head.