Recalling what Leo had said about Galen’s letters, Wren wondered if her father might not have some of his own. They could be enough to incriminate him, or at the very least, direct suspicion his way and trap him here for a time. But whatever papers he had been reviewing at the table earlier were gone, and what remained were benign letters and scraps of incoherent notes.
She wasn’t surprised—he was not a careless man—but it had been worth a shot. She hesitated over a couple of the remnants, one of which held his signature and the other a botched glob of wax with his seal.
Back on the opposite balcony, Inara was waiting for her.
“What do you mean?” her cousin said without preamble. “Covering what tracks?”
Wren wavered over what to tell Inara. It wasn’t just the lifelong animosity between them but the fact that Wren didn’t want to drag her any further into her father’s schemes.
“Just stay out of it for once, okay?” Wren said. “And pretend you never saw me. If he asks, say you found this.”
She withdrew Ghostbane. It truly was a beautiful weapon, but all she could see when she looked at it was her father.
She held it out to her cousin.
Inara blinked. “What’re you…？” She trailed off, taking Ghostbane. Her gaze was searching, but Wren avoided her eye.
“I owed you an ancestral blade, remember?”
“Since when do you pay your debts?” Inara asked, staring down at the weapon. Then realization dawned on her face. “You’re about to do something stupid, aren’t you?”
“By your standards, everything I do is stupid.”
“Not everything,” Inara admitted, and that meant something to Wren. It occurred to her how much more fun she would have had in her life if she and Inara had been on the same side from the start. But that was a dangerous line of thinking, one she’d been tempted to follow all night. What if she’d grown up with a mother and a brother? What if her father wasn’t who she’d always thought?
What if, what if.
As before, the images wouldn’t stick, like water on wings.
“I guess this is goodbye,” Wren said. “For now, anyway.”
Inara frowned, then nodded. “For now.”
Then she turned her back on the life she’d always known, leaving Ghostbane, her father, and her family behind.
* * *
Perhaps Wren should have waited until the following night—given herself a chance to pack and prepare—but that really wasn’t her style. It had worked out before, hadn’t it?
Besides, look what her father had managed to do in a single night. She didn’t want to give him even another minute to wreak more havoc on herself, Leo, or Julian.
The halls were quiet as she moved through the fort—no doubt her father and the commander were holed up together right now, discussing the night’s events—but the places she needed to go would be well guarded. Her father’s men would be posted outside Leo’s door, and she knew from experience they couldn’t be cajoled or reasoned with. Wren wouldn’t be surprised if her father had shoehorned some of his men into the dungeons as well, ensuring everything was within his control, but she’d worry about that later. First she had to save a prince.
Again.
Good thing he’d already shown her how to do it.
The last time they’d been at the fort together, Leo had managed to give his guards the slip by using his window. His rooms were on the second floor, the windows facing the small courtyard off the kitchens, which was busy during the day but quiet and deserted at night.
The problem was, Leo had only managed to return to his rooms with Wren’s help. The wall was ill suited to climbing, with little in the way of ledges or handholds. In short: It was an easy trip down, not an easy trip up.
But maybe she was looking at things from the wrong angle.
Leaving the courtyard, Wren decided to take a page out of Inara’s book. She found an empty room that was ideally positioned directly above Leo’s, and then, using a rope she stole from the stables, she prepared to rappel down to his window.
Again she found herself thinking of Julian’s iron whip, his sure grip and reassuring strength, but she pushed the thoughts aside. She could do this.
She’d bolted the door and fastened the rope around the heavy latch, double-and triple-checking the knot before scanning for any wandering eyes, but she had no control over the wind as she carefully descended, her body buffeted this way and that.
Still, Wren was nothing if not stubborn, and she shimmied down the wall with determination, if not grace.
When at last she reached Leo’s window, she tapped gently against the pane—not wanting to startle him or rouse any of his guards. Being a prince with some manner of his own authority, she suspected he would be alone inside his room, but she pushed herself to the side and tensed in case someone else came looking.
The latch flipped and the window slid open, revealing a golden head of tousled hair. He looked at her without so much as a raised eyebrow. “Evening,” he said, as if he’d spotted her walking down the street and not hanging, midair, outside his window.
Wren attempted to look at him—the wind was combining with the rope to twist her around backward—and when she finally managed it, he was grinning. “Well?” she said. “Are you coming?”
It appeared he was. He withdrew long enough to pull on boots and a jacket, and then he was back again.
“Hurry,” Wren muttered, beginning the long, painful climb back up. She had knotted the rope to make for an easier grip, but her legs were burning and her hands fumbling by the time she reached the top.
Leo was not far behind, and despite the sweat coating his brow and his heavy breaths, he looked delighted at being sprung from his room. “Not exactly the thrilling destination I was imagining,” he mused, running a finger along the dusty window ledge. It had evidently been a while since this room had been in use.
“Shut… up,” Wren panted, leaning against the wall.
The smile on Leo’s face faltered. “Has something happened?”
Wren blew out a breath and straightened. “Yes.”
She told him first about Odile, about her father’s role in it, and how Galen was currently locked up and set to pay the price.
“I can’t say I feel sorry for him,” Leo said, his expression hard. “Still, he’s not a murderer.”
“But my father is. He was the one who paid Galen. He sent me here on purpose, as part of a deal with the regent, only…” Wren shook her head. “That Corpse Queen. She’s my m-mother,” she faltered, swallowing thickly. “That’s why she wanted me and no one else. She’s a ghostsmith, and that must be why I could… why I’m able to…” She didn’t understand how it was possible. How she could have both bonesmith and ghostsmith powers. Was it the well’s doing too? Did it amplify her magic so forcefully that it turned latent abilities into dominant ones? And was her brother the same? Maybe he would have the answers she sought and could explain what was happening to her. Or maybe he would betray her too. “My father wants to seek her out, to try to use the power in the well himself… We can’t let him.”
“We won’t,” Leo said at once, before the shock of it all settled on him. “Your father… your mother…” Wren stared at him, at a loss for what to say or how to explain her own reaction. “Family,” he said eventually, his tone dismissive, but his eyes were kind.