Page 79

“…they may help us,” a familiar voice murmured from the kitchen when Wren crept up to the door.

Her brows furrowed.

Vienne?

Wren slowed and paused by the door, out of sight. She peeked around the corner. Vienne and Ever were sitting by the gargantuan fireplace within the kitchen, wine in hand as they conversed with each other.

Ever nodded, her graying hair shining like silver in the light of the fire. “Anything would be better thanhim,” she said, inclining her chin to take in the castle in general. Wren knew she meant Lord Idril.

Wren didn’t know what they were talking about, but she agreed with Ever. Anything was better than Idril.

“This new power would vastly overshadow his,” Vienne reassured her friend. She touched Ever’s hand tenderly. “I know this has been tough on you, but it needn’t be that way for much longer. Once—”

The woman paused, her gaze flickering to the door.

Wren bit her lip.

If she hung around, she’d be caught. She silently backpedaled and rushed back up to her room, and didn’t stop until she had locked her door and buried herself beneath the covers on her bed, fatigue riding her hard.

Just what the devil is going on?

She settled against the mattress and pulled her weapons from her thighs, stashing them beneath her pillows. Her hands shook and she found herself humming an age-old dragon song in an attempt to settle her nerves. People were making decisions on her behalf and expecting her to follow them, all the while changing the game behind her back.

Who was this new power that would render Lord Idril disposable?

Who killed Prince Cathal and all his men?

Was Rowen haunting her because of her attraction to Arrik?

Wren clutched at her chest as tears began to fall. Was she losing her mind? Or was she seeing Rowen because, for the briefest of moments within the magic of the masked ball, Wren hadn’t minded being in Arrik’s arms?

But it was more than not minding. She’dwantedto be there despite herself.

A shadow passed by Wren’s window, then again a minute or so later. Wren pulled one of the daggers from beneath her pillow and sat up in bed before creeping over to the window.

She jerked as Trove flew by the glass, almost blending into the darkness.

He’d come for her.

“You foolish, beautiful creature,” Wren murmured, beside herself with gratitude and relief. Fearlessly—because this wasn’t the first time she’d done so—Wren opened the window and stepped up onto the balcony, dropping her weapon onto the floor.

Trove dove again and she jumped into thin air, biting back a laugh of delight when the dragon swooped to catch her on his back. Her breath fled as she landed, clutching at his spines to keep from slipping off.

The wind whipped at her hair and nightgown as he flew low over the forest. She peered over her shoulder at Idril’s castle, almost breaking down and going back. News of Cathal’s death would soon be spread everywhere.

Wren continued flying. She had time to live her life on her own terms for a short while.

Her fingers squeezed Trove’s frills tightly when they descended by the mouth of a sizeable cave protected by a waterfall. She squealed as he moved through the cold water. She was soaked from head to toe, but it felt as if it cleansed her soul. He lowered to the floor and she wasted no time sliding off his back to wring out her nightgown and hair.

“Thank you for the bath,” she said with a small laugh.

The dragon blinked at her and laid his head on the floor. He moved his tail and exposed his belly to her.

Wren stilled and stared down Trove.

An act of trust and submission.

He wanted to claim her.