Wren released Julian’s hand, looking flustered. “We can cross over the alley to the next building,” she said, pointing to the other side of the sloping roof.
“Hang on,” Julian muttered, digging into their bag and hastily donning his armor. He added his dented helmet, making a mental note to repair the damage as soon as possible.
When he was ready, Wren led the way, up the peak of the roof and back down again. The building next door was level to this one—a quick jump was all it would take to get them across.
Julian was already taking several steps backward, preparing for a running leap, when voices echoed up from the street below. He skittered to a halt.
“Your Majesty,” came the unmistakable sound of his uncle’s voice.
He looked to the others. Then all three of them threw themselves down onto the tiles, creeping to the edge of the roof on their stomachs.
His uncle stood at the mouth of the alleyway, his Red Guard ranged around him, while opposite stood a woman, tall and veiled, surrounded by gleaming iron revenants.
THIRTY-FIVE
Wren sensed them before she saw them—the presence of the undead. Ever since the Breach, her magic was powerful, vivid, and her newfound abilities continued to linger. She feared they’d disappear at any moment while secretly hoping they would, that she could go back to being a regular smith and an excellent valkyr.
With Leo and Julian on either side of her, she took in the scene below.
The regent and his guards. A woman, draped in a black veil and surrounded by at least a dozen iron revenants.
The rumors, however limited, didn’t do her justice.
Yes, she wore a veil, but it was no maidenly shroud. The fabric was jagged and uneven, trailing to the ground and nearly opaque, giving only the vaguest sense of a face, a person, beneath. And atop her head? There was a crown, made of twisted, broken bones—a sick parody of the champion’s wreath Inara had won during the Bonewood Trial—punctured at irregular intervals with the same dark spikes that pierced Wren’s ring, creating a haunting halo. When she moved, she sounded like a revenant—bones shifting and clacking together—but they weren’t her own. Bright in Wren’s senses but barely visible through the veil were bracelets and necklaces, pieces of pale bone flashing like scraps of moonlight on inky black waters.
“It’s her…，” Wren whispered, mostly to herself.
“The Corpse Queen,” said Leo, his expression intent.
“Forgive me,” the regent continued, though his voice held no contrition, “but I thought we had agreed to meet outside the walls?” He glanced around, at the street behind him, where people huddled together or poked their heads out windows and doorways, watching and whispering.
“We agreed on many things, Regent.” Her voice… it reminded Wren of the boy’s—low and rasping—but there was an edge to it, a sort of rawness that grated against her skin, making it tingle. “Where is my prize? I will not grant you continued use of my iron revenants without it.”
What prize? She couldn’t mean Leo, could she?
The regent’s expression turned cold. “They wouldn’t be iron revenants without me, my lady.”
“I’m not a lady. I’m a queen.”
“Rule you may, but not over me.”
There was a note of amusement in her voice when she replied. “Nor you over me, Regent. You know why I am here. It’s time for you to uphold your end of the bargain. We cannot proceed without her.”
Her? Both Leo and Julian turned to look at Wren, and she was reminded of the conversation between the regent and the captain. The third target.
Wren didn’t know what “proceed” meant, but she could only assume it had something to do with that boy, the legions of undead… and the fact that Wren could command them, the same as him.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to. I don’t have her. You’ll need to find another way—”
“She is the only way.”
“She’s dead,” he snapped back. “Somewhere near the fort. It’s over.”
The woman took a slow step forward, bones rattling. The regent’s men tensed but didn’t act—the iron revenants loomed large and threatening without moving a single rotted muscle.
“Death is not the end.”
A collective shiver went through the entire group, as if an icy breeze had blown down the alleyway, though there wasn’t a hint of a wind. Even Wren felt it.
“We’ll find you another bonesmith,” the regent said reasonably. “There are hundreds west of the Wall.”
“It is her, or it is no one,” the queen said, complete and utter conviction in her voice. Wren thought again of that messenger in the Bonewood, the ring in her pocket… What if this was not the first time the queen had come calling for her?
One of the Red Guard moved from the back of the group to the regent’s side and whispered in his ear. Wren feared their escape had been detected, but the regent nodded and turned to the queen.
“I’ve requested a private parlor at the inn. It’s ready. Why don’t we step inside and discuss a solution that suits us both?”
“Why don’t you step inside alone, Regent, and think of a solution yourself. I’ll be taking my revenants with me, and you’ll have no further use of them until I am satisfied.”
She turned on her heel, walking away from the regent—whose expression tightened with frustrated rage—into the shadows of the alley and away from the main street.
Thus far Wren had only been able to see the side of the queen’s head, but now she caught a glimpse of the face—or rather, the impression of a face behind the veil. Wren kept telling herself that the woman wasn’t actually a corpse; she just commanded them. But she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that the sight of the woman gave her.
Especially when her gaze flicked up to the rooftop and landed squarely on Wren. Her eyes were visible through the fabric, shining an even more shocking shade of green than the ghostsmith boy’s, and they bored into her.
Fear pierced Wren’s gut, rooting her to the spot.
She expected the woman to stop, to point or cry out… but she kept moving. When at last she looked away, it was to turn her head slightly and speak to one of the iron revenants. It halted in its tracks, while the rest continued. It didn’t crane its head or look her way, but it didn’t need to. When it spoke, the words echoed as loudly and clearly as if they’d come from inside Wren’s own mind. And they might as well have, because no one else could hear them.
“Come to me when you are ready to know more. Come to us. I know you feel it. Blood calls to blood and like to like.”
And then it walked away.
Wren stared, unseeing, at where it had stood until Julian touched her arm.
“You ready?” he asked, and she blinked, realizing the iron revenant had gone and the alleyway was empty. The regent had returned to the inn—he’d discover their disappearance in no time. They had to move.
They leapt the gap between buildings, climbed down a trellis, and made for the exterior wall.
“We should take horses,” Leo panted, trying to keep up with them as they ducked between buildings and ran past the glow of lantern lights.