‘Wrenwyn,’ she whispered. ‘Wrenwyn … Lavor.’
Six’s paws stopped just at the edge of it. Her wings drooped upon her back, and she inclined her head. Like she knew this stone.
This place.
Ezer glanced up at Kinlear, who still sat on Six’s back.
‘Wrenwyn the Wrong,’ Ezer said. ‘She was buried here?’
Kinlear shrugged. ‘I suppose she was.’
‘She was killed on her wedding day,’ Ezer said. ‘A terrible end.’
The raven cawed again.
Kinlear shook his head. ‘Perhaps in your version of the story. In others, she survived. She was brought back to the temple. That was the Aviary, at the time, where she spent years fading away slowly. She was confined to her rooms for protection from those who wished her ill. One of her siblings became King in her stead.’
‘When did she die?’ Ezer asked. ‘In your version of the story.’
Kinlear shrugged. The wind lifted his curls from his eyes and he shivered and coughed. As if his warming runes weren’t doing enough for him. He quickly reached for the vial on his throat, uncorking it.
There seemed to be only a drop left.
‘We’ll go,’ Ezer said. She grabbed Six’s halter and began leading her back.
‘Some say Wrenwyn escaped,’ Kinlear said. ‘That she had help sneaking out of the castle. She made it far away from here, and when her brother sent his men after her … they made it to the Sawteeth. And were eaten alive by raphons. The first recorded instance of them hunting men.’
Ezer shivered at that.
She couldn’t imagine Six eating anyone alive.
‘Either way, the story is timeworn,’ the prince said. ‘It changes by the year. Wrenwyn is a figure for dark, strange stories, but the real one is probably far less thrilling.’ He sighed and looked down at Wrenwyn’s meager grave. A princess, buried alone and forgotten beyond the wards. A sad ending, for a tale Ezer had always loved. ‘We need to go. It’s almost sunset.’
The wind howled again, and Six lifted her beak, letting it roll over her.
Ezer smiled at another caw of a raven, because it was lovely, and it reminded her of her past, when things were simpler, when?—
The raven’s sound cut off with a strange, choking sort of screech.
‘What was that?’ Kinlear whispered.
Ezer’s blood roared in her ears.
A low growl sounded in Six’s throat.
Ezer looked to the treeline, but she saw nothing. Six stamped her paws, her tail twitching twice. ‘Ezer,’ Kinlear breathed. ‘Let’s go.’
The wind had gone still. It was utterly quiet, until another gust came. It kicked up the snow, and with it …
Something rotten.
The scent of death.
Ezer had just turned around, just climbed upon Six’s back in front of Kinlear, when the wind whispered ‘Run.’
And she saw the two dark figures that had landedbehindthem. Blocking the way to the ward Gates. Trapping them outside.
Shadow wolves.
