Bonesmith, page 33
As she pressed herself against him, Wren fumbled with the rope, managing to slip his slackened hand through the knot just in time. He reached for her face—or tried, his hand coming up against the restraint, tightening it with his own movement.
His eyes bugged out, and he broke the kiss just as Wren leapt back from him. She tugged on the other end of the rope as she went, securing his second hand. He struggled, but in a stunned sort of way, disbelief etched across his features.
Leo spoke from the doorway. “Ready.”
Julian craned his neck to look at him, then at Wren. He pulled again, harder this time, before his gaze darted around the room.
“They’re outside,” Wren explained, knowing he was looking for his weapons. Leo had already gathered everything and put it safely out of reach. She had no doubt he’d break free soon enough—she hadn’t tied him flush to the support beam, which meant he’d figure out a way to loosen the binds or call his weapons. She suspected he might even have other bits of iron concealed on his body that she didn’t know about, but that was okay. She didn’t intend for him to die out here. She just needed a head start.
He shook his head, a humorless smile on his face. Then it fell.
“Leaving?” he asked conversationally.
“Yes,” Wren said, jaw set. “I can’t stay. We can’t stay.”
“No,” he said thoughtfully, head tilted. “I suppose not. Still, I never pegged you for a coward.”
“I’m not—” Wren began hotly, but Julian cut her off.
“I mean, I know if it were me, I’d want to know why I could speak to the undead—and why the undead listened. I’d want to know if I was a ghostsmith.” Wren bared her teeth, but he kept speaking. “But I think you’d rather a kind lie than a hard truth, wouldn’t you? Because the hard truths are here, in the Breachlands—not there, in the Dominions. There, they’ll tell you whatever they have to, to shut you up and keep you under control. Just like they did when they kept what really happened during the Uprising a secret. When they labeled your Locke Graven a war hero instead of the war criminal he ought to have been. When they put the good of your house over the truth. But you don’t want to face that, do you, Wren? The fact that your whole life is built upon lie after lie?” He smiled, but it was a cold, cruel thing. “Or are you afraid of what you’ll find out about yourself if you stay?”
“I’m not afraid,” Wren snapped, her entire body tingling with repressed emotions. Anger. Frustration. And something very close to shame. She clenched her fists, fighting to keep herself under control. “I’m doing the right thing. I’m reporting what we discovered to the fort. I will learn the truth, and I will come back—but when I return, it’ll be with an army.”
He lunged forward suddenly, the rope creaking against the wood as it strained—but held.
Wren leapt back, though she was well out of reach. He laughed darkly. “You still don’t get it, do you? They aren’t planning an uprising.… They’re planning an invasion. Those iron revenants were built to take down the Wall. By the time you and your politicians decide what to do, it’ll be too late. He’ll”—he jerked his chin at Leo—“be tucked away somewhere until my uncle can get his hands on him again, and you’ll be right back where you started, exiled at the fort because your family doesn’t want you—”
Wren didn’t remember moving, didn’t remember touching Julian at all, but the next thing she knew, she’d flung him against the pillar, his head cracking hard against the wood. She didn’t know where she’d gotten the strength, but the force of the impact stunned Julian into silence.
He was looking at her like he’d never seen her before, but all Wren could see was that vision of herself—the picture his words painted—and she hated it.
She took a deep breath as they stared at each other, several feet of charged space between them. The shock was still evident on his face, though some of the tension had left him. He slumped against the beam.
Wren looked to Leo, who was also staring at her in surprise at what she had done.
“Let’s go,” she said. Leo left, but Wren paused in the doorway, looking back. “It’s better this way. If you came with us… I don’t know what would happen. Trust me. Just stay until daybreak. Then you can make your way to your family estate.”
“Trust?” he repeated, in exactly the same way he had in the watchtower. While then it had seemed almost a joke—what other choice did they have, when it was just the two of them?—now it seemed like a dirty word.
“You’ll be safer here,” Wren whispered.
“Is that what all this has been about?” he asked. “Safety?” Wren didn’t answer. “You think you’ll be safe there in your fort when the iron revenants march? Or will you return to your house in a blaze of glory, only to spend your life fighting undead farmers and poor folk who couldn’t afford proper burials, knowing you were meant for more?”
Her heart clenched at those last words. Meant for more. “It’s not about being safe. It’s—”
“It’s what?”
“It’s about where I belong.”
“Right. You belong there, with them. Not here.” And, unspoken: with me.
“I’m sorry,” she said, turning to go.
“No, you’re not,” Julian said, so quietly Wren wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it.
* * *
Wren and Leo followed the river south until dawn. It took them several hours off course, but not only did it keep them safe from the undead; it was the only way she knew to get to the fort. As soon as they reached the Old Roads, they’d head west until the Wall came into view.
There was probably a faster way, but she didn’t know it, and unfortunately, her guide was currently tied up in the mill house.
“Here,” Leo said at one point when they’d stopped to quickly water the horses. He tossed her a small iron dagger—it was Ironheart, the weapon Julian had given her. She gave him a questioning look, and he shrugged. “Call me sentimental, but I thought you might want a souvenir.”
Wren hesitated but returned the knife to Ghostbane’s empty sheath before glancing over her shoulder again. She kept expecting Julian to appear on their tail at any moment, but all was darkness and silence.
By the time sunlight crested the horizon and their shadows grew long on the ground before them, they were moving at a steady clip, veering west on one of the Old Roads in what Wren hoped was a straight shot for the Breachfort.
They rode all day, stopping several more times to feed and water the horses, but never for very long. Their mounts were tired, but they’d be well treated once they got to the fort.
She and Leo didn’t speak much, but as the road stretched out longer and longer—their destination feeling farther and farther away—she couldn’t help but ask, “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Leo said, expression thoughtful. “I want to face him. My cousin. I want to understand what he’s after. I want to unravel the mystery.”
“It’ll be risky. Dangerous.”
“I think you mean thrilling,” he said, using the same intonation he had before when referring to her time with Julian. Wren scowled at him, and he laughed. “Okay, okay—maybe not that thrilling, but a man can dream.” He winked, and Wren rolled her eyes, though she was smiling.
“I’d have thought the past few days were exciting enough for you,” Wren said. “What with being kidnapped and all.”
“I didn’t much care for being a prisoner,” he conceded, “but I’m not entirely sure it’s all that different from my life in the Dominions—though the clothes and food are generally much better.”
“Is it so bad? Being a prince?”
“If you asked my brothers, I think they’d tell you it’s a grand old time. But if you were the third prince to a father who has no use for you and a mother who has no use for anyone, I think you’d find it’s rather… lonely. And dull. But not since I met you. Things have been decidedly exciting since then.”
Wren smirked. “Not sure I can take all the credit.”
“I should hope not,” he said. He cocked his head at her, squinting into the sunlight. “You might be my only friend, Wren Graven. So I’m in this with you, for better or worse.”
Wren’s throat tightened. She cleared it. “You’re definitely mine.” He beamed. “And it’ll probably be for worse, by the way,” she added, and he laughed.
As they rounded yet another bend in the road with no sign of the fort or the Wall, Wren started to worry they’d gotten lost. Then, out of nowhere, a band of riders bore down on them.
“Kidnappers!” Leo shouted, just as Wren said, “Bandits!”
They were both wrong, as it turned out.
A second after Wren drew her swords, she recognized the familiar uniforms of the Breachfort guard.
It was a patrol.
She slumped in her saddle. They’d made it.
Once Wren was recognized—and then Prince Leo—the patrol circled them like an honor guard, preparing to escort them back to the fort. They’d yet to pass the palisade, which meant the fort was patrolling beyond their usual route for the first time in years.
Wren supposed they had Leo’s kidnapping to thank for that.
Before they set out, a handful of guards detached from the main group and rode past, scouring the nearby landscape for pursuit.
Wren opened her mouth, prepared to say there hadn’t been any, when two of them dragged a figure out from behind a cluster of rocks.
Her stomach dropped.
Julian.
THIRTY-EIGHT
They forced him to his knees and quickly disarmed him.
Wren couldn’t figure out why Julian was letting two Breachfort guards overpower him—she had seen him take on worse odds against the bandits—when she spotted a third guard with a bow, an arrow nocked and ready to fire. Julian wore his helmet, but unlike those on the iron revenants, it had eye holes, and the archer was close enough that he would not miss.
He definitely looked the worse for wear, and Wren’s mind scrambled to understand how he could possibly have caught up. Then she looked past him, at the soaring rocks that separated them from the river canyon where she’d left him. Rather than journey for hours around the landscape, Julian must have cut through. Wren would bet anything his whip sword had come in handy, allowing him to scale sheer cliffs and choose paths revenants simply could not follow.
Still, it had been shockingly reckless. Then when this patrol had arrived out of nowhere, his only choice had been to hide.
Heart in her throat, she watched numbly as the guards led him forward on foot between their two horses, one of them holding a rope connected to his hands. She darted a glance at Leo, and his expression of mingled shock and alarm surely matched hers.
Wren squeezed her eyes shut in exasperation. She had forced herself to betray Julian in order to save him from this, and yet here he was, in a worse position than he would have been if he’d come with Wren and Leo in the first place. He must have thought he’d be able to catch up to them, and it had been a very near thing. If this patrol hadn’t been riding beyond the palisade, he’d have managed it.
Fear flickered in her stomach. What would have happened if he had caught up to them? Would he have fought Wren for Leo? Or simply taken him and forced her to follow or return to the fort in shame?
It seemed to take forever for their party to mount the rise before them, but as soon as the ground sloped downward again, the fort came into view.
Bells tolled as they approached the bone palisade, one of their number riding ahead to alert the fort of their arrival. The distant gate opened to emit two additional columns of riders.
Wren expected Commander Duncan in the lead, or perhaps Galen—the last person she wanted anywhere near Leo—but the person riding at the front of the lines was none other than Vance Graven, her father.
Wren gaped.
What was he doing here?
It was true that she’d gone missing, along with the prince—so they’d have notified him. And he’d come. Of course he would.
He loved her.
Even if he had sent her to this hellhole in the first place. Or rather, allowed his mother to do so without much resistance.
A mix of emotions reared up then. She was relieved to be here at last and glad to see him—but angry at him too. If he’d had a little more faith in her, none of this would have happened.
And wasn’t it strange to realize that thought produced melancholy of its own?
As he drew up his horse before them, Wren smiled weakly, stunned.
“Wren,” her father breathed, his expression oddly blank for a moment before he leapt from his saddle. He was dressed in full armor, something Wren didn’t see very often. He was mostly retired from the field, though he’d seen fit to wear full Bone House regalia today, save for the eye black. He’d likely gotten dressed in a hurry.
The rest of the riders arrived, swirling around them in a rush of hoofbeats and horseflesh. Most of them descended upon Leo, and Wren wanted to keep him in her eyeline, but the next thing she knew, her father was pulling her down with him and enveloping her in a hug. He pressed his lips to her forehead, holding her close, and Wren let herself enjoy it.
“I came here as soon as they told me you were missing,” he said, releasing her, his eyes bright. His soft brown hair was wind-tossed and his olive skin flushed from the ride. “With the details of the attack, I feared the worst. But now here you are—and with the prince,” he added, bowing to Leo. He shook his head as if in disbelief. “You had me worried, little bird.”
Wren looked away, swallowing thickly. That nickname, once treasured, now made her feel sick. She had to ask him about it. About the ring, about the well and Locke and herself. Julian was wrong. Wren wanted the hard truths, whatever they cost her. She needed them.
Speaking of Julian…
The guards who were escorting him stopped before Commander Duncan, who had dismounted beside her and her father.
“He was one of the kidnappers, Commander,” one of the guards said. “I recognize him.”
“And he’s an ironsmith,” said another, disdain in every word. While Julian had been disarmed, he still wore his armor, though his helmet had been removed.
“What are you waiting for?” Vance said, looking between the commander and the guards. “Kill him.” Then he wrapped an arm around Wren’s shoulders, preparing to walk her back to the gate.
Commander Duncan held up a hand, staying the guards, and frowned at Vance’s turning back. “We should question him, should we not, Lord-Smith Vance?”
There was tension in his voice—he clearly did not like being ordered around on his own turf, but Wren’s father was the highest-ranking person here. He was not only nobility, but he was also heir to his house. Even Leo couldn’t claim that same status, despite being royal.
Julian, on the other hand, could.
“He’ll just spew lies and misinformation,” her father drawled, and Wren was surprised at his apparent lack of interest. It was almost like he didn’t want Julian to talk. Did he suspect Wren’s involvement with him somehow?
“All the same, given what has happened here, we should at least hold him until—”
“I’d rather take the word of my daughter and a prince of the realm over some traitor’s brat.”
Julian’s attention had been fixed on the ground during this entire conversation, sparing Wren the decision of whether or not to meet his eye…. But he raised his head at Vance’s words, specifically “my daughter.”
He stared between them, lips pulled back in a sneer. All this time they’d discussed Locke Graven and the House of Bone, and she’d never told him her connection. That she, too, was theoretically in line to rule her own house.
“Better to kill him here and now and put his head on a spike. Send a message to those who would target us. Their assault on the fort was an act of war, and we will treat it as such. There is only one way to deal with treason.”
Commander Duncan appeared like he wanted to argue but didn’t. The guards around them looked ready for blood, given that they’d lost several people to Julian’s original attack. Galen was there, too, and his face was pale—shocked, no doubt, to have the prince he’d betrayed back in his midst.
“He’s not just some ironsmith,” Wren blurted. Julian’s gaze snapped to hers, his eyes wide. Pleading. He had protected his identity the entire time she’d known him because he was heir to his house and there were people who would use that against him. His own uncle had turned on him, and Wren was about to reveal it to the entire fort. But what other choice did she have? Stand aside and let him die? “His name is Julian Knight. He’s heir to the House of Iron.”
Julian looked down again, but there was tension visible in his corded neck muscles. He wasn’t disappointed or hurt. He was livid.
Let him be.
She’d take the rage of the living over the silence of the dead any day.
“How do you know that?” her father asked sharply, and Wren was forced to look him in the eye.
“H-he and I, we rescued the prince together. He was my guide. And then”—she swallowed, hating herself for what she said next—“once we’d gotten Prince Leopold to safety, I tied him up and left him behind. He must have gotten free and followed us.”
Her father’s expression was unreadable, but she saw a barrage of emotions flicker through—surprise, distaste, and then something almost like fear. Wren knew he’d have questions for her. Many questions.
“Lock him up,” he said. “No one is to speak to him until I do.” Then his arm tightened like a vise around Wren’s shoulders as he led the way to the fort.
Julian was dragged off to a cell without a backward glance, and though Galen insisted that Leo needed rest, Wren’s father demanded Leo and Wren speak with him immediately.
“My rooms will work just fine,” Vance insisted, steering Wren toward the stairs. “Have some food and drink sent up, won’t you, Galen?”
The man looked unhappy at being reduced to the level of a servant, but then he glanced at Leo, who looked dirty and exhausted, and straightened his spine. “I shall bring it up myself.”
His eyes bugged out, and he broke the kiss just as Wren leapt back from him. She tugged on the other end of the rope as she went, securing his second hand. He struggled, but in a stunned sort of way, disbelief etched across his features.
Leo spoke from the doorway. “Ready.”
Julian craned his neck to look at him, then at Wren. He pulled again, harder this time, before his gaze darted around the room.
“They’re outside,” Wren explained, knowing he was looking for his weapons. Leo had already gathered everything and put it safely out of reach. She had no doubt he’d break free soon enough—she hadn’t tied him flush to the support beam, which meant he’d figure out a way to loosen the binds or call his weapons. She suspected he might even have other bits of iron concealed on his body that she didn’t know about, but that was okay. She didn’t intend for him to die out here. She just needed a head start.
He shook his head, a humorless smile on his face. Then it fell.
“Leaving?” he asked conversationally.
“Yes,” Wren said, jaw set. “I can’t stay. We can’t stay.”
“No,” he said thoughtfully, head tilted. “I suppose not. Still, I never pegged you for a coward.”
“I’m not—” Wren began hotly, but Julian cut her off.
“I mean, I know if it were me, I’d want to know why I could speak to the undead—and why the undead listened. I’d want to know if I was a ghostsmith.” Wren bared her teeth, but he kept speaking. “But I think you’d rather a kind lie than a hard truth, wouldn’t you? Because the hard truths are here, in the Breachlands—not there, in the Dominions. There, they’ll tell you whatever they have to, to shut you up and keep you under control. Just like they did when they kept what really happened during the Uprising a secret. When they labeled your Locke Graven a war hero instead of the war criminal he ought to have been. When they put the good of your house over the truth. But you don’t want to face that, do you, Wren? The fact that your whole life is built upon lie after lie?” He smiled, but it was a cold, cruel thing. “Or are you afraid of what you’ll find out about yourself if you stay?”
“I’m not afraid,” Wren snapped, her entire body tingling with repressed emotions. Anger. Frustration. And something very close to shame. She clenched her fists, fighting to keep herself under control. “I’m doing the right thing. I’m reporting what we discovered to the fort. I will learn the truth, and I will come back—but when I return, it’ll be with an army.”
He lunged forward suddenly, the rope creaking against the wood as it strained—but held.
Wren leapt back, though she was well out of reach. He laughed darkly. “You still don’t get it, do you? They aren’t planning an uprising.… They’re planning an invasion. Those iron revenants were built to take down the Wall. By the time you and your politicians decide what to do, it’ll be too late. He’ll”—he jerked his chin at Leo—“be tucked away somewhere until my uncle can get his hands on him again, and you’ll be right back where you started, exiled at the fort because your family doesn’t want you—”
Wren didn’t remember moving, didn’t remember touching Julian at all, but the next thing she knew, she’d flung him against the pillar, his head cracking hard against the wood. She didn’t know where she’d gotten the strength, but the force of the impact stunned Julian into silence.
He was looking at her like he’d never seen her before, but all Wren could see was that vision of herself—the picture his words painted—and she hated it.
She took a deep breath as they stared at each other, several feet of charged space between them. The shock was still evident on his face, though some of the tension had left him. He slumped against the beam.
Wren looked to Leo, who was also staring at her in surprise at what she had done.
“Let’s go,” she said. Leo left, but Wren paused in the doorway, looking back. “It’s better this way. If you came with us… I don’t know what would happen. Trust me. Just stay until daybreak. Then you can make your way to your family estate.”
“Trust?” he repeated, in exactly the same way he had in the watchtower. While then it had seemed almost a joke—what other choice did they have, when it was just the two of them?—now it seemed like a dirty word.
“You’ll be safer here,” Wren whispered.
“Is that what all this has been about?” he asked. “Safety?” Wren didn’t answer. “You think you’ll be safe there in your fort when the iron revenants march? Or will you return to your house in a blaze of glory, only to spend your life fighting undead farmers and poor folk who couldn’t afford proper burials, knowing you were meant for more?”
Her heart clenched at those last words. Meant for more. “It’s not about being safe. It’s—”
“It’s what?”
“It’s about where I belong.”
“Right. You belong there, with them. Not here.” And, unspoken: with me.
“I’m sorry,” she said, turning to go.
“No, you’re not,” Julian said, so quietly Wren wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it.
* * *
Wren and Leo followed the river south until dawn. It took them several hours off course, but not only did it keep them safe from the undead; it was the only way she knew to get to the fort. As soon as they reached the Old Roads, they’d head west until the Wall came into view.
There was probably a faster way, but she didn’t know it, and unfortunately, her guide was currently tied up in the mill house.
“Here,” Leo said at one point when they’d stopped to quickly water the horses. He tossed her a small iron dagger—it was Ironheart, the weapon Julian had given her. She gave him a questioning look, and he shrugged. “Call me sentimental, but I thought you might want a souvenir.”
Wren hesitated but returned the knife to Ghostbane’s empty sheath before glancing over her shoulder again. She kept expecting Julian to appear on their tail at any moment, but all was darkness and silence.
By the time sunlight crested the horizon and their shadows grew long on the ground before them, they were moving at a steady clip, veering west on one of the Old Roads in what Wren hoped was a straight shot for the Breachfort.
They rode all day, stopping several more times to feed and water the horses, but never for very long. Their mounts were tired, but they’d be well treated once they got to the fort.
She and Leo didn’t speak much, but as the road stretched out longer and longer—their destination feeling farther and farther away—she couldn’t help but ask, “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Leo said, expression thoughtful. “I want to face him. My cousin. I want to understand what he’s after. I want to unravel the mystery.”
“It’ll be risky. Dangerous.”
“I think you mean thrilling,” he said, using the same intonation he had before when referring to her time with Julian. Wren scowled at him, and he laughed. “Okay, okay—maybe not that thrilling, but a man can dream.” He winked, and Wren rolled her eyes, though she was smiling.
“I’d have thought the past few days were exciting enough for you,” Wren said. “What with being kidnapped and all.”
“I didn’t much care for being a prisoner,” he conceded, “but I’m not entirely sure it’s all that different from my life in the Dominions—though the clothes and food are generally much better.”
“Is it so bad? Being a prince?”
“If you asked my brothers, I think they’d tell you it’s a grand old time. But if you were the third prince to a father who has no use for you and a mother who has no use for anyone, I think you’d find it’s rather… lonely. And dull. But not since I met you. Things have been decidedly exciting since then.”
Wren smirked. “Not sure I can take all the credit.”
“I should hope not,” he said. He cocked his head at her, squinting into the sunlight. “You might be my only friend, Wren Graven. So I’m in this with you, for better or worse.”
Wren’s throat tightened. She cleared it. “You’re definitely mine.” He beamed. “And it’ll probably be for worse, by the way,” she added, and he laughed.
As they rounded yet another bend in the road with no sign of the fort or the Wall, Wren started to worry they’d gotten lost. Then, out of nowhere, a band of riders bore down on them.
“Kidnappers!” Leo shouted, just as Wren said, “Bandits!”
They were both wrong, as it turned out.
A second after Wren drew her swords, she recognized the familiar uniforms of the Breachfort guard.
It was a patrol.
She slumped in her saddle. They’d made it.
Once Wren was recognized—and then Prince Leo—the patrol circled them like an honor guard, preparing to escort them back to the fort. They’d yet to pass the palisade, which meant the fort was patrolling beyond their usual route for the first time in years.
Wren supposed they had Leo’s kidnapping to thank for that.
Before they set out, a handful of guards detached from the main group and rode past, scouring the nearby landscape for pursuit.
Wren opened her mouth, prepared to say there hadn’t been any, when two of them dragged a figure out from behind a cluster of rocks.
Her stomach dropped.
Julian.
THIRTY-EIGHT
They forced him to his knees and quickly disarmed him.
Wren couldn’t figure out why Julian was letting two Breachfort guards overpower him—she had seen him take on worse odds against the bandits—when she spotted a third guard with a bow, an arrow nocked and ready to fire. Julian wore his helmet, but unlike those on the iron revenants, it had eye holes, and the archer was close enough that he would not miss.
He definitely looked the worse for wear, and Wren’s mind scrambled to understand how he could possibly have caught up. Then she looked past him, at the soaring rocks that separated them from the river canyon where she’d left him. Rather than journey for hours around the landscape, Julian must have cut through. Wren would bet anything his whip sword had come in handy, allowing him to scale sheer cliffs and choose paths revenants simply could not follow.
Still, it had been shockingly reckless. Then when this patrol had arrived out of nowhere, his only choice had been to hide.
Heart in her throat, she watched numbly as the guards led him forward on foot between their two horses, one of them holding a rope connected to his hands. She darted a glance at Leo, and his expression of mingled shock and alarm surely matched hers.
Wren squeezed her eyes shut in exasperation. She had forced herself to betray Julian in order to save him from this, and yet here he was, in a worse position than he would have been if he’d come with Wren and Leo in the first place. He must have thought he’d be able to catch up to them, and it had been a very near thing. If this patrol hadn’t been riding beyond the palisade, he’d have managed it.
Fear flickered in her stomach. What would have happened if he had caught up to them? Would he have fought Wren for Leo? Or simply taken him and forced her to follow or return to the fort in shame?
It seemed to take forever for their party to mount the rise before them, but as soon as the ground sloped downward again, the fort came into view.
Bells tolled as they approached the bone palisade, one of their number riding ahead to alert the fort of their arrival. The distant gate opened to emit two additional columns of riders.
Wren expected Commander Duncan in the lead, or perhaps Galen—the last person she wanted anywhere near Leo—but the person riding at the front of the lines was none other than Vance Graven, her father.
Wren gaped.
What was he doing here?
It was true that she’d gone missing, along with the prince—so they’d have notified him. And he’d come. Of course he would.
He loved her.
Even if he had sent her to this hellhole in the first place. Or rather, allowed his mother to do so without much resistance.
A mix of emotions reared up then. She was relieved to be here at last and glad to see him—but angry at him too. If he’d had a little more faith in her, none of this would have happened.
And wasn’t it strange to realize that thought produced melancholy of its own?
As he drew up his horse before them, Wren smiled weakly, stunned.
“Wren,” her father breathed, his expression oddly blank for a moment before he leapt from his saddle. He was dressed in full armor, something Wren didn’t see very often. He was mostly retired from the field, though he’d seen fit to wear full Bone House regalia today, save for the eye black. He’d likely gotten dressed in a hurry.
The rest of the riders arrived, swirling around them in a rush of hoofbeats and horseflesh. Most of them descended upon Leo, and Wren wanted to keep him in her eyeline, but the next thing she knew, her father was pulling her down with him and enveloping her in a hug. He pressed his lips to her forehead, holding her close, and Wren let herself enjoy it.
“I came here as soon as they told me you were missing,” he said, releasing her, his eyes bright. His soft brown hair was wind-tossed and his olive skin flushed from the ride. “With the details of the attack, I feared the worst. But now here you are—and with the prince,” he added, bowing to Leo. He shook his head as if in disbelief. “You had me worried, little bird.”
Wren looked away, swallowing thickly. That nickname, once treasured, now made her feel sick. She had to ask him about it. About the ring, about the well and Locke and herself. Julian was wrong. Wren wanted the hard truths, whatever they cost her. She needed them.
Speaking of Julian…
The guards who were escorting him stopped before Commander Duncan, who had dismounted beside her and her father.
“He was one of the kidnappers, Commander,” one of the guards said. “I recognize him.”
“And he’s an ironsmith,” said another, disdain in every word. While Julian had been disarmed, he still wore his armor, though his helmet had been removed.
“What are you waiting for?” Vance said, looking between the commander and the guards. “Kill him.” Then he wrapped an arm around Wren’s shoulders, preparing to walk her back to the gate.
Commander Duncan held up a hand, staying the guards, and frowned at Vance’s turning back. “We should question him, should we not, Lord-Smith Vance?”
There was tension in his voice—he clearly did not like being ordered around on his own turf, but Wren’s father was the highest-ranking person here. He was not only nobility, but he was also heir to his house. Even Leo couldn’t claim that same status, despite being royal.
Julian, on the other hand, could.
“He’ll just spew lies and misinformation,” her father drawled, and Wren was surprised at his apparent lack of interest. It was almost like he didn’t want Julian to talk. Did he suspect Wren’s involvement with him somehow?
“All the same, given what has happened here, we should at least hold him until—”
“I’d rather take the word of my daughter and a prince of the realm over some traitor’s brat.”
Julian’s attention had been fixed on the ground during this entire conversation, sparing Wren the decision of whether or not to meet his eye…. But he raised his head at Vance’s words, specifically “my daughter.”
He stared between them, lips pulled back in a sneer. All this time they’d discussed Locke Graven and the House of Bone, and she’d never told him her connection. That she, too, was theoretically in line to rule her own house.
“Better to kill him here and now and put his head on a spike. Send a message to those who would target us. Their assault on the fort was an act of war, and we will treat it as such. There is only one way to deal with treason.”
Commander Duncan appeared like he wanted to argue but didn’t. The guards around them looked ready for blood, given that they’d lost several people to Julian’s original attack. Galen was there, too, and his face was pale—shocked, no doubt, to have the prince he’d betrayed back in his midst.
“He’s not just some ironsmith,” Wren blurted. Julian’s gaze snapped to hers, his eyes wide. Pleading. He had protected his identity the entire time she’d known him because he was heir to his house and there were people who would use that against him. His own uncle had turned on him, and Wren was about to reveal it to the entire fort. But what other choice did she have? Stand aside and let him die? “His name is Julian Knight. He’s heir to the House of Iron.”
Julian looked down again, but there was tension visible in his corded neck muscles. He wasn’t disappointed or hurt. He was livid.
Let him be.
She’d take the rage of the living over the silence of the dead any day.
“How do you know that?” her father asked sharply, and Wren was forced to look him in the eye.
“H-he and I, we rescued the prince together. He was my guide. And then”—she swallowed, hating herself for what she said next—“once we’d gotten Prince Leopold to safety, I tied him up and left him behind. He must have gotten free and followed us.”
Her father’s expression was unreadable, but she saw a barrage of emotions flicker through—surprise, distaste, and then something almost like fear. Wren knew he’d have questions for her. Many questions.
“Lock him up,” he said. “No one is to speak to him until I do.” Then his arm tightened like a vise around Wren’s shoulders as he led the way to the fort.
Julian was dragged off to a cell without a backward glance, and though Galen insisted that Leo needed rest, Wren’s father demanded Leo and Wren speak with him immediately.
“My rooms will work just fine,” Vance insisted, steering Wren toward the stairs. “Have some food and drink sent up, won’t you, Galen?”
The man looked unhappy at being reduced to the level of a servant, but then he glanced at Leo, who looked dirty and exhausted, and straightened his spine. “I shall bring it up myself.”
