Above them, the sky is a deep, bright blue, and the wind is good, filling the sails.
“I told Jude,” Randalin goes on. “She proposed violent solutions, but you know mortals, and her in particular—no patience. I never supported her elevation. Neither kith nor kin to us.”
Oak sets his jaw and reminds himself that nothing good will come of punching the councilor in his smug little horned face. Instead, the prince tries to concentrate on the feeling of the sun on his skin and the knowledge that things could have turned out much worse.
Later that afternoon, when Oak is summoned to Wren’s cabin, he is particularly glad he didn’t hit anyone.
The guard who leads him to her chambers isn’t one the prince knows, but he’s had enough experience of her falcons for just the uniform to put him on edge.
Wren sits on a chair of white wood, beside a marble-topped side table and a settee upholstered in scarlet. Small, round windows high on the walls illuminate the space. A bed was built in to a corner, wood frame keeping the cushions from shifting with the swells, a half-open curtain for privacy. When he enters, she makes a movement with her hand and her guard leaves.
Fancy, he thinks. I should work out a signal like that with Tiernan. Of course, he doubts Tiernan would leave if there was a gesture he could just ignore.
“May I sit?” Oak asks.
“Please,” she says, her fingers anxiously turning the ring he gave her. “I summoned you to talk about the dissolution of our engagement.”
His heart sinks, but he keeps his voice light. “So soon? Shall we turn the ship around?” He settles himself grimly on the settee.
She gives a little sigh. “Too soon, yes, I agree. But we will have to break it off eventually. I understand what you did at the Citadel. You managed to keep a battle from happening and bloodshed at bay with your lies, and you managed to remove yourself from my clutches. It was nicely done.”
“I can’t lie,” he objects.
“You lived in the mortal world,” Wren says. “But you never had a mortal mother. Mine would have called that a lie of omission. But name it a trick or a deception, name it whatever you will. What matters is that this betrothal cannot continue too long or we shall be wed and you, tied to me forever.”
“A terrible fate?” Oak inquires.
She nods briskly, as though he’s finally understanding the seriousness of the problem. “I suggest that you allow your family to persuade you to put off the ceremony for months. I will agree, of course. I can conclude my visit to Elfhame and return north. You will strongly suggest that your sister give me what was once the Court of Teeth to rule.”
“Is that what you want?” he asks.
She looks down at her hands. “Once, I thought I might return to my mortal home, but I cannot imagine it now. How could they see me as that child, when I would frighten them, even without knowing the nature of my magic?”
“They don’t have to see you as a child to care for you,” he says.
“They would never love me as much as I want to be loved,” she tells him with painful honesty. “I will do well in the north. I am well suited to it.”
“Do you—” he begins, not sure how to ask this question. “Do you remember much of being Mellith?”
She starts to shake her head and then hesitates. “Some things.”
“Do you remember Bogdana being your mother?”
“I do,” she says, so softly he can barely hear it. “I remember believing she loved me. And I remember her giving me away.”
“And the murder?” he asks.
“I was so happy to see her,” she says, fingers going almost unconsciously to her throat. “I almost didn’t notice the knife.”
For a moment, the sadness of the story robs him of speech. His own mother, Oriana, is so fiercely protective of him that he cannot imagine being pushed out on his own, among people who hate him enough to arrange his death. And yet, he recalls sitting at the end of his bed and hearing Vivi explain how it was a miracle Jude was alive after the way their father carved her up. And from the time he learned that he had a first father, he knew that person tried to kill him.
Maybe he doesn’t understand how she feels exactly, but he understands that familial love isn’t guaranteed, and even when you have it, it doesn’t always keep you safe.
Wren watches him with her fathomless eyes. “It seems as though it should change me, to have those memories, but I do not feel much changed.” She pauses. “Do I seem different?”