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He left without another word.

Wren stood there for too long, trying to sort herself.

* * *

Two weeks passed in a blur. Wren sent word to Arrik by way of Josenu about Rowen and the Vadonese dagger, and about how he was likely in cahoots with his brother. Arrik was yet to respond.

But now Wren and the rest of the rebellion were in the capital, so if Arrik had anything to say to her she reasoned he had been waiting to say it in person. Nerves flipped her stomach and threatened to make her vomit, though Wren hadn’t been able to eat anything that morning and so had nothing to throw up.

Today everything would change.

They were swimming into the harbor from the derelict side of the city. That had been Rowen’s idea, of course. The man seemed more fish than human at times, hence why he rose through the ranks of the Dragon Isle navy so quickly. But now even that memory was soured in Wren’s mind: had Rowen only done so to gain a position of power as fast as he was able? To make himself a viable marriage candidate for her?

She shook the thought from her head. There wasn’t time to dwell on such things.

When they reached the ships they had to prepare the black powder beneath them to go off simultaneously. Arrik had assured her nobody would be around to get hurt. But as she was attaching the second-from-last charge, the one she had only just attached to a ship went off with a delayed, watery explosion.

She had no time to swim away from the blast, or even to cling to the ship to avoid being blown away. Before Wren knew it, she was being buffeted and tossed this way and that beneath the surface, the air she was holding in her lungs thoroughly knocked out of her with the force of ten punches to the gut. She was seeing stars, breathless and dizzy and in pain.

Then, through the haze, something very solid appeared beneath her. Wren grabbed at it with all her might, knowing it was Trove. He pulled her away from the explosion and the turbulent water, up to the surface, where he tumbled her out onto the dock. Wren barely had a chance to splutter in a breath and shake her eardrums free of water when she heard theshingof metal pointed at her.

Soldiers from the palace, their spears and swords aimed directly at Wren.

“Take her,” the captain of the guard commanded. At once, Wren felt two pairs of burly hands unceremoniously grab her, dragging her to her feet and away from the docks. She didn’t even have the opportunity to see if Trove had been seen or attacked. She could only hope his rescue of her had been invisible to the soldiers beneath the murky, uneven water.

Wren didn’t bother to put up a fight as she was pulled up to the palace, then brought into the throne room to be dropped onto the marble floor in front of High King Soren. Just because one of the charges had gone off early did not mean Arrik couldn’t use the attack to get rid of his father. There was still a good chance Wren would come out of this with ringing in her ears but otherwise unscathed.

So then why was Arrik standing to the left of Soren, stony-faced and immovable as the day Wren was first brought before the king?

“Ah, the barbarian princess,” Soren drawled, though his tone belied the wicked delight on his face. He took a long draught of wine when a servant refilled his goblet. “Had you been upon land too long? Were you that desperate to swim with the oversized fish you call your friends?” The usual ghouls of the high court snickered. Wren went red with fury and shame. “Or did you mean to swim back home? My, how audacious of you. How precious.”

Wren said nothing. Of course she said nothing. But she expectedArrikto say something. To defend her, or drive a sword through his father’s chest. Anything but expressionless silence.

And then it occurred to Wren.Had Arrik been playing with her?Had all of this been some long game to amuse both himself and his father? Standing beside the elf, they looked so similar. Were they both rotten right down to their very core?

Wren shook with disbelief and white-hot rage.He made me care for him. He made me feelsorryfor him. He made me—

“Has the dragon forgotten how to speak in human tongues?” Soren continued, laughing at Wren dripping seawater all over the floor, chest heaving with the effort it was taking her not to scream. “I think you have spent too long in the wild, my dear. There is no helping you. But now your people shall pay for your disobedience. Mark my words, if you thought things were bad for the isles already, then they are about to get a whole lot worse. I—”

The king paused, a hand going to his throat as a frown darkened his brow. “I—” He tried again, only to cough and splutter. The white of his eyes began to go red, and when he coughed again his spittle was crimson, too. He clawed at his throat, wildly swinging his gaze around for help.

Nobody came to his aid.

“Arrik,” he spat out, through a mouth rapidly filling up with froth. “Help m—”

Arrik remained, as he had been the entire time, stony and expressionless. He didn’t move. Didn’t look at his father.

He did nothing at all.

With one final gurgle, High King Soren fell to his knees, then the floor, and then he was dead.

33

WREN

At first there was silence. Nobody dared move. And then:

Pandemonium. Chaos. People began screaming as they finally comprehended what had just transpired. With a clatter of spears, Soren’s guards, who had been stationed outside the throne room door, barged in to attack their counterparts who stood by the throne. Arrik’s men, going by the fact they did nothing as the king died, now drew their weapons to face the guards.