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She huddled beneath the covers and sighed as her head hit the pillow. At least she’d get another few hours of sleep before she had to face the new day, and the fallout of everything that had occurred the night before. No one would be awake for hours unless a messenger arrived with news about Cathal.

She closed her eyes and dosed almost immediately.

A sharp knock raised her much too soon.

Wren rubbed at her bleary eyes and stumbled out of bed, grabbing her daggers before approaching the door. She hesitated to unlock it.

“Who is it?” she called softly, voice rough from sleep.

“It’s Vienne. Let me in.”

Wren tucked away her weapons and unlocked the door. Vienne pushed into the room and then frowned. “You look pale.”

“I’m tired,” she muttered, moving back to the bed and plopping down.

Her aunt sat beside Wren and placed a warm, dry hand on her niece’s forehead. Vienne clucked her tongue. “If you had a fever, then it’s broken. That’s good news.”

“Is there a reason you’re here so early?”

Vienne nodded and dropped her hand. “Will you be able to suffer on horseback?”

“We’re leaving?”

“For a time. Can you ride?”

“Yes.” Wren ran a hand down her face. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a new player in the game I wish for you to meet,” Vienne explained in hushed tones.

“And who is thisnew player?”

Was it the queen?

Vienne shook her head. “Not here. Later. Come, we must leave now while Idril is busy.”

Interesting. Her aunt was keeping secrets from the elf lord. Wren was intrigued.

“Am I still being treated as a prisoner, or will I be allowed my weapons for this journey?” she asked softly.

“You will have them returned.” Vienne smiled. “This will please you far more than your current situation. Trust me.”

Trust her? What a joke.

“What should I pack? How long shall we be gone?”

“Pack lightly,” her aunt commented. “Then meet me down at the stables.”

Wren watched Vienne leave, and then packed a change of clothes, a waterskin, and her two daggers. She pulled the black box out and ran her fingers over Arrik’s gifts. She took the mask out and cut the black diamonds from fabric and stowed them in a hidden pocket she’d sewn into her trousers. She never knew when she’d need funds.

Or escape.

Wren hid the heels once again, tossed the remnants of the mask into the embers, and stole down to the stables as quickly and as silently as she could. They mounted two mares and journeyed into the forest. Vienne urged her horse to a canter and Wren followed suit. She winced, hating how sore she was from the prior night’s escapades.

It was only once she and her aunt had been riding beneath the trees for an hour that Wren realized she recognized the path they were taking.

“We are going to Othos,” she remarked.

“Been reading up on your Verlantian geography, Wren?”