Page 4

“I wish he was here,” Wren said finally.

“Me, too,” Anneke replied, her eyes gleaming with sadness. She had loved Alec deeply, but she had grown to love Wren’s papa, too.

Wren loved her adopted father with his broad smiles and booming laugh, but it still hurt that Alec was gone and couldn’t see her wed.

The breeze picked up, and she peeked at her mother. The scarf around Anneke’s neck shifted, revealing the wraparound scars curling around her neck. Wren’s thoughts darkened, and she focused her attention back on the keep.

Hate was a poisonous thing, but she couldn’t help but hate the people who had done such a thing to her mother. The Verlantians had made Anneke so terrified for her life that she’d fled the kingdom. The northern dark elven kingdom needed to be dealt with. The people were cruel and untrustworthy and as sharp as their pointed ears. Their greed infected everything. It was only a matter of time before they waged war again for the isles.

Her jaw clenched.

They are not getting my dragons.

The Isles of Lorne were not huge, but they were wealthy and prosperous, thanks in part to the water dragons that bred there—and only there—and in even greater part to the black diamonds that were created from the underwater volcanoes which birthed Lorne itself. As a result, though small, the Dragon Isles were rich in fertile, verdant meadows and dark, volcanic soil. The black-as-night sand beaches were a sight to behold for any trader coming upon their shores, no matter if it was their first time visiting or their hundredth.

What the elves really coveted were the trade routes.

The oceans around the isles were too dangerous to traverse, so any vessel that wished to trade had to sail through the isles which the Lord of Lorne controlled.

Wren’s papa.

He was a just man for all, but both the northerners and southerners hated his power of the trade routes. Which made the Dragon Isles a constant target of their enemies.

It was dangerous being related to the Lord of Lorne. More times than Wren could count, there had been an attempt on their lives or an attack on the islands.

That’s when her papa had started paying the tithe, and it all stopped. At least, the very public attacks had. If she ever got her hands on one of those rock lickers, she’d…

“What is it, Wren?” her mother asked. “I can practically hear your thoughts from here.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Out with it. You haven’t been known to keep anything to yourself before.”

She glanced at the wraparound scars that circled Anneke’s neck once more. While Wren assumed that the scars were punishment for some perceived wrongdoing, her mother had never outright admitted what had truly happened. Pulling her hand from her mum’s, she rubbed both her hands together and licked her lips, nervous at the mere thought of asking the question. Her mother was right; she never shied away from saying what she thought or wanted to know.

“Your scars,” she ventured. “What…what happened to you? It must have happened before you reached Lorne. So wh—”

“Not all men are honorable.” Anneke sighed. “The Verlantians enjoy owning slaves. Collars are quite the fashion statement.”

Wren’s hands curled into fists, and she wanted to hit something. Slavery was disgusting. No one had the right to own another human being. “They chained you like an animal?” she spat.

“Some things are best forgotten, Daughter. They cannot hurt me any longer.” Her mum lifted her head high and jerked her chin toward the village, the keep, and the teeming mass of bustling people. “We should not talk about such grim things on a girl’s wedding day. Our people will soon greet you. Let me give you one last hug before we are mobbed.”

Anneke pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.

“M-mum!” She laughed against Anneke’s neck. “I can't breathe!”

“I’m so proud of you, you know?” was her mother’s response. Her voice was thick with tears. Wren’s eyes heated. “You've grown into such a lovely lady. Fiery, like your hair, but so gentle and loving to your sister. I really could not ask for a better daughter.”

The sentimentality was too much, and Wren pushed Anneke away in an exaggerated fashion, wiping at her watering eyes. “Who are you?” she mock-accused. “The mother I know would say I am the reason she has gray hair.”

“You’re not wrong,” her mother quipped.

Wren snickered. “There you are. I was worried, for a moment, I would have to go hunting for my mum.”

“Never. I wouldn’t miss this day for anything.” She held her hand out. “Let’s make a pact not to cry anymore today, shall we?”

“Deal,” Wren agreed, shaking her hand.