“This is the easiest way for me to find out what you’ve been taught,” she adds. “The sooner we do this, the sooner we can properly teach you. Isn’t that why you came here?”
She’s not wrong.
Wren looks up at me, violet eyes wide. “Gabe?”
“I’ll do it if that’s what you want.” For her, I’d do just about anything.
I get the sense Wren hears the true meaning of my words. She inhales deeply, and a look of understanding passes between us before she dips her chin.
“Okay.” She presses her thigh against mine even though her words are directed to the seer. Burning suns, a simple touch has never felt so good. “We’ll do it.”
A smile pulls at the seer’s lips, and she rises, claiming the seat on Wren’s right. “Wonderful.”
The seer holds out her hands, wrinkled palms facing up. “Place your hands in mine.”
We comply. Her skin is paper-thin and wrinkly, lacking warmth. Bony fingers wrap around mine. The seer’s Mark pulses steadily, drumming to music I can’t hear, and she murmurs something under her breath.
Violet sparks hover above our hands, increasing in number exponentially, fluttering around like fireflies. They land on my skin, but rather than burning, they tickle.
Her fingers constrict, pinning us in place with a strength that a woman her age shouldn’t possess. Her Mark is a pulsing, brilliant star, and purple light flows from her in waves.
“Hold still,” she says, her eyes flitting up to meet mine, then Wren’s, before they drop back to our joined hands.
The light comes faster until violet has consumed my field of vision.
There’s a tightness in my chest, a prodding as if someone is trying to look into my soul. It’s uncomfortable but not painful, and it continues for a few minutes before it stops, apparently satisfied.
Rather than pull away, the seer’s muttering gets louder, her fingers clinging to mine, and it feels like my bones are a moment away from breaking. Her Mark is resplendent and blinding, and for one long moment, it’s all I can see.
Then, as quickly as it first appeared, the light vanishes.
When my vision returns to normal, Evelyn is swaying on the bench. The rebels have moved back, their mouths thin and bracketed in white lines.
And then I look at Wren. My breath catches, and worry weaves around me like a vine, squeezing tight.
My beautiful gods-blessed doesn’t appear to be alert. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and she’s rocking back and forth in her seat, sharp tension radiating from her body. Even when I say her name, she doesn’t react.
It’s then I wonder if allowing this was a grave mistake.
31
THE HAVEN
WREN
The seer’s magic glides across my skin, feeling like cool rain on a hot summer’s day. It calls me, drawing me closer.
There’s a rightness to it that the king’s magic never had.
“Wren Lilith Nightingale,” a melodic female voice says in front of me, her words tinkling like wind chimes. “Welcome, Blessed One. Please, open your eyes.”
The words wash over me, and I do as requested. My eyes adjust to my new surroundings, and a small gasp slips from my lips as wonderment fills my chest.
“Where am I?” I breathe, turning in a slow circle.
The main hall is nowhere in sight. I’m in a small grove, surrounded by ancient trees taller than the highest buildings I’ve ever seen. It’s lush, with crawling vines covered in flourishing blue and pink flowers, vibrant bushes, and soft, cushiony grass beneath my bare feet.
I’m not sure what happened to my shoes, but it doesn’t seem to be the most pressing issue. I have no idea where I am or how I got here.
