The Court of Sworn Tongues

The carriage was riding toward the entrance of Halcombe.

The gates rose ahead, pale stone against the afternoon sky. It felt like the capital itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Inside the carriage, Wren was sleeping, her head resting on Pryce's thigh. Her breathing was soft and even, the exhaustion of the past days finally catching up to her. Pryce sat still, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder, his eyes fixed on the window.

Rowan and Rourke were talking among themselves, their voices low so as not to wake her.

"How should we report this whole incident?" Rowan asked, glancing at Rourke.

"First of all, no one mentions Silas's name in there." Rourke's voice was clipped, professional. "Not to Bellweather. Not to anyone."

"Yeah." Rowan nodded, his jaw tight.

Wren stirred and woke. The carriage was already pulling up to the Hall of Vows. The building loomed ahead. She sat up slowly, her hand moving to the white streak in her hair out of habit.

Rourke turned to her. "I'll summarize what happened in there. You don't need to say anything unless someone asks you directly. And you already know how much to tell each person."

Wren didn't reply. She just nodded, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress.

The carriage came to a stop. Far fewer people than usual stood around the Hall of Vows. The wide steps were empty, the street in front of the building strangely still. Only a single silhouette was visible at the entrance.

It was Fiona.

She came up to Wren as they climbed out of the carriage, her expression bright but careful. "How was your first mission? Did it go well?"

Wren nodded, not trusting her voice.

Fiona looked behind her at Pryce, her eyes lighting up. "Are you the mentor? I've heard so much about you from Wren."

Pryce patted Fiona's head gently. "Really? I'm not that special."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you." Fiona put a hand on her head, as if scolding herself. "You have a visitor. A little girl. What name did she say?" She thought for a second, her brow furrowing. "Ah, yes. Della."

Wren and Pryce both froze. Their eyes widened.

"What? When?" The question came out of Wren's mouth before she could stop it.

"Just today. I saw her sitting on that bench across the street this morning." Fiona pointed to the bench near the fountain.

"When I asked her who she was, she said she was your sister. So I put her in your room. She's probably waiting for you right now."

The words hung in the air. Della was here. In Halcombe. In Wren's room.

Wren rushed inside, going into her room.

Della was sitting there, her legs hanging down from the edge of the bed. She was bouncing up and down on the mattress, her copper curls bouncing with her. "This is such a soft bed! I love it! You sleep on this?"

Wren didn't say anything. She just crossed the room and pulled Della into her arms, hugging her tight.

Della, who had been laughing, stopped. Her small body went still for a moment, and then her arms came up and wrapped around Wren's back, holding on just as tightly.

The words of Rowan came back to her. Look forward. At the future. At what's left to lose. And make sure to protect it at all costs.

Wren held Della closer, pressing her face into the girl's curls. She thought to herself, Wren will keep you safe. No matter what happens... I will keep you safe.

Pryce entered the room from behind. Della looked at him, and her face immediately turned to anger. She pulled away from Wren and rushed at him.

"What are you doing here, old man?" She reached him and started hitting him with her small fists, the blows light and ineffective. "You came here to meet her? You didn't bring me with you? You came alone? I hate you!" She kept punching, her voice rising with each word, though there was no real force behind it.

Pryce caught her hands gently, stopping the assault. "I'm sorry. I was busy with work, and I was already near the capital, so I came directly. And anyway, you made it here on your own, didn't you?"

Della pouted, still glaring at him. "That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

"The point is you should have told me." She pulled her hands free and crossed her arms. "I waited for days. I didn't know where you were. I didn't know if you were okay."

Pryce's expression softened. "I know. I'm sorry, little one."

Della held her glare for a moment longer, then her face crumpled slightly. "Don't do it again."

"I won't." Pryce put a hand on her head. "Now, are you going to keep hitting me, or can I sit down? These old legs aren't what they used to be."

Della huffed. "Fine. Fine. You can sit."

"That's fair."

She led him to the chair with exaggerated care, as if he might break if she let go too quickly. The tension in the room began to ease. Wren watched them, a small warmth settling in her chest despite everything.

It had turned evening. They were still talking among themselves, filling the room with ordinary sounds. Della was telling them about her journey, the carriage driver. Pryce was listening with the patient attention he always gave her.

Wren sat on the bed, her back against the headboard, watching them both.

Everyone's head turned when knocks came at the door.

It was Fiona. She was breathing raggedly, her chest rising and falling like she had run the whole way. Her usual bright expression was gone, replaced by something sharp and urgent.

"What did you do?" she asked, her voice tight.

"What? What happened?" Wren's eyes widened.

"You've been summoned to the meeting room." Fiona stood up straight, trying to steady her breathing.

"Bellweather is furious. And the Verdian king is here too. You've been called."

The words landed like stones in the quiet room.

The Verdian king. Here. And Bellweather, furious.

Wren looked at Della, then at Pryce, then at Rowan, who had appeared in the doorway behind Fiona. His face was hard.

"Now?"

"Yes. Let's go."

Pryce came from behind, his cane tapping against the floor. "I'll go too."

"No, you stay here." Rowan stepped in front of him, his hand raised. "You shouldn't go before the Crown like this. Not right now."

Rowan then turned to Wren. "Then let's go."

They rushed to the meeting room. Fiona and Rowan both stopped at the door, their faces tense. They could go no further.

The door opened for Wren. She entered alone.

Inside, it was not like that first day when she had registered. That day, the hall had been mostly empty, a few scattered officials in the rising seats. But today, every single chair was filled. High-ranking officials, people in the formal blue of the Vesmark Crown, their emblems gleaming on their chests. And in between them, scattered through the hall, were people bearing the emblems of the Verdian Empire. Foreign eyes, watching her.

Just as Wren entered, all eyes shifted to her.

The weight of their attention pressed down on her like a physical thing. She felt it on her skin, her shoulders, her chest. The hall was silent, so silent she could hear her own footsteps as she walked forward. Each step was too loud. Each breath was too loud.

She moved slowly, her hands clasped in front of her to stop them from shaking. The grand hall stretched out before her, the dome above letting in the last pale light of evening. And there, under the queen's throne, at the table that sat in the central space, was Rourke. He stood stiffly, his face unreadable.

And with him was Bellweather.

Her glasses caught the light, her posture rigid. Even from across the hall, Wren could see the tightness in her jaw. This was not the calm, irritated woman from the office. This was a Vow-Marshal whose authority had been challenged.

The door closed behind Wren with a heavy thud.

Bellweather stood up. Her voice rang out across the hall, sharp and commanding.

"Ascend, everyone."

The whole room rose as one. The sound of it was like thunder, the scrape of chairs and the rustle of robes echoing up into the dome. Wren stood still, her heart hammering in her chest.

Queen Adelinde III entered the room. But with her was another man. He entered alongside her, not behind her. His presence was as large as hers, his bearing regal, his clothes rich with foreign colours.

Is he the Verdian king?

They both came to a stop near the throne. There was only one throne there, the living seat of wood and branch that Wren remembered from her registration. The queen raised her hand, and the throne dissolved. It broke apart into smaller tree branches, twisting and curling in the air like serpents. Then, slowly, new branches began to grow. They wove together, shaping themselves into something new.

Now there were two thrones.

They stood side by side, identical in form but distinct in the way they had grown. The queen sat on one. The Verdian king sat on the other.

The queen's voice came, calm and absolute.

"Begin."

Bellweather bowed low. Then she straightened and began walking toward the center of the hall, where Wren stood.

"As all of you present here know," she began, her voice carrying through the vast space, "the Hollow Choir has become a significant problem in both our nations over the past seven years. First, they were active in the southern continent. Now, they are causing chaos here. Their stronghold is located directly on your border and ours."

She reached Wren's side and stopped.

"But no one has been able to reach it." Bellweather's voice rose slightly, taking on the cadence of a speaker addressing a crowd. "However, some of our kingdom's brave officials managed to sneak inside and gather information on them."

Wren was visibly shaking now. Her hands were clasped tight in front of her, her knuckles white. The whole crowd was focused on Bellweather's words, their eyes sharp and unblinking.

"And today, she will share all of this information with us." Bellweather's hand came to rest on Wren's shoulder, the grip light but unyielding. "So that both our kingdoms can deal with this problem together."

The hall was silent. The weight of every gaze pressed down on Wren like water, like stone, like something she couldn't breathe through.

Bellweather leaned in close to Wren's ear. Her lips barely moved, her voice a whisper that only Wren could hear.

"Say whatever you found out. Or whatever deal you made. The one that means you meant to betray the Crown."

Wren's heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. Her hands were cold. Her lips were dry. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

The hall waited.

The queen's eyes met Wren's. Her voice was calm, but it carried the full weight of the Crown behind it.

"Begin."

Wren closed her eyes. The darkness behind her lids was a small mercy. She could pretend, just for a moment, that she was somewhere else. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe.

"Yes. Wren and her team went on the mission." Her voice came out low, barely carrying past the front rows.

An official stood up from the rising seats. "We can't hear you. Speak louder."

Wren flinched at the sudden voice. Her eyes opened, darting toward the man.

A woman's voice followed, calm but pointed. "Oh, Mr. Ashford, give her a little time."

The official laughed and sat back down, his expression still sharp, still watching.

Wren increased her voice, forcing the words out past the tightness in her throat. "Yes. Wren and her team went. And halfway through the journey, Wren got separated from Rourke."

Another official interrupted before she could continue. "Why is she talking like this? Speak properly."

Bellweather put a hand on her shoulder. The touch was light, but Wren felt it like a warning. Careful. You are running out of rope.

Wren took a breath. Her hands were shaking at her sides. She forced them still. The third-person was a wall she had built around herself, and now they were asking her to tear it down in front of everyone.

She closed her eyes again. And then she opened them.

"Yes. My team and I went on the mission. But halfway through, me and Rourke got separated."