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The boy shrugged, then sat with his back against the grille of the cell that separated him from Wren, indicating for her to do the same. And so, though she did not feel much like sitting, she followed suit so that their backs were to each other with just the iron bars between them. Wren felt the warmth of his skin through the grate, reminding her that she was not the only living thing in the dungeon.

The heat was welcome; between her flimsy dress and the freezing prison, Wren had already begun shivering.

“What do you think of the Verlantian Court?” the boy asked after a while, the singsong nature of his voice still not having returned. “You must have seen it when the guards escorted you out.”

“So, you haven’t?”

A surprisingly low chuckle, but otherwise no response.

Wren tried to make sense of this. It was clear that if she asked anything personal about the boy, she would receive no coherent answer. But, perhaps, through answeringhisquestions about herself, she could discern a bit more about her mysterious, possibly-not-quite-mad companion.

“I hate it,” she began. “It’s beautiful and wretched and light and evil, and I want nothing more than to escape from it. It’s fresh and pure on the outside, but it’s diseased down to its very core. Completely rotten. This land is corrupt.” Wren took a breath, pausing from her tirade, before adding in a much quieter voice, “Verlanti is the throne of vipers.”

At this, the boy barked out a laugh, but before Wren could be angry with him, he said, “They probably thinkyouare the viper, Princess of Dragons. Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?” Wren could scarcely keep up with the direction his questions took. She glanced at the water, knowing that, soon, it would rise. She knew she had to make a decision about what to do next. Only now, Wren was beginning to realize that her escape plan may have to include another body. She couldn’t leave him.

“Home,” the boy said simply.

She stilled at the word, her back going stiff against the boy’s. But then she grew slack. “All the time,” she admitted. “It’s all that’s keeping me going; getting home, how I can escape from here and reach it…” She stopped herself before she revealed everything that she had so far kept tightly to her chest. Such as the fact that her sister was still alive. Though the boy seemed harmless, there was no telling what or who he really was. For all Wren knew, he was a spy put down in the dungeon to encourage Wren to talk and reveal all her secrets.

But something about his nature suggested that this was not the case.Even so, I cannot tell him something so important. Yet, that does not mean he is my enemy, nor does he deserve to rot in here.

They sat together in companionable silence for a time, Wren carefully watching the water and picking a lamb’s bone clean while the boy hummed tunefully. She thought that she may have recognized the melody, but, whenever she tried to place it, the song escaped her mind.

It was the boy who finally spoke again. “Why eat that bone when you could eat the rest of the meat?” he asked in genuine confusion. “It will be difficult for you to eat it when the water begins to rise, and that will happen…imminently.”

On impulse, Wren reached a hand behind her, searching for the boy’s fingers between the bars that separated them. She did not expect him to reach out for her, too, and so was surprised when he did. They interlaced fingers, then Wren squeezed.

She’d made her decision. Whether the boy was a spy or not, she would get him out of the dungeon, then leave him someplace safe before she made her way back to Lorne.

“We’re getting out of here,” she told him, very quietly. “Unless you would rather remain?”

She did not need to see the boy’s face to know that he was grinning. “Are you mad, woman? Ofcourse, I want out of here. What do you have in mind?”

“The water is about to rise, as you said.”

“Yes.”

“And then the dragon might appear.”

“Might?”

“Well, have you ever seen it down here before?”

“There has never been a Dragon Princess in the dungeon before.”

“Is that a no?” Wren asked, letting go of his hand and getting to her feet, preparing to climb the bars just as the water began to rise. The boy did the same, and they found themselves face-to-face with each other. He was perhaps several inches taller than Wren, somewhat gawky and awkward with his height but possessed beautiful, wide brown eyes that she had never had the opportunity to see up close before.

A truly innocent face.He is no Verlantian spy. But still, I cannot take him with me to Lorne. I cannot risk him knowing about Britta.

The hem of her green dress floated on the surface of the water below her.

“It means I do not know,” the boy admitted. He climbed the first rung of the iron bars, and Wren did the same. “It could have been under the water, out of sight. I would not have much liked to find out, one way or the other, by stepping in the water.”

The smallest of smiles curled Wren’s lips. “No, I suppose not.”

“So, what happens when the dragon gets here?” A flash of concern crossed the boy’s face, which only made Wren’s smile grow larger. He was nervous. It was only natural. No one outside the Dragon Isles dealt with the dragons.