“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.”