Court of Dragons (Dragon Isle Wars Book 1) by Frost Kay

Author:Frost Kay [Kay, Frost]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Renegade Publishing
Published: 2021-11-15T22:00:00+00:00

For two days the boy truly did only speak in riddles—going by the dry, tasteless meals they were brought at random intervals, Wren could only guess how much time had passed—she still did not risk touching the water. Instead, she found that she had not yet exhausted her ability to physically grieve for her family.

“So much for being too angry to cry,” Wren sniffed, not caring if the mad bard could hear her or not. He’d heard plenty of her tears over the past two days, anyway. At first, when it had become apparent that all Wren was going to think about was her family, she had tried to focus on Britta. For Britta was still alive and safe, of that Wren had to firmly believe in.

Rowen’s grandparents will look after her. You know that things will be bad for her for a while—will likely never be the same again—but Britta will recover. She can grow up and be happy. Even if you never reach her side again, even if she never ascends the throne…she will be all right.

But this train of thought caused Wren to inevitably replay the moment her mother and papa had died over and over and over again, until there was nothing but the sound of their final screams in her head and she had to hold her hands over her ears in a desperate attempt to keep them out.

“Hearing voices in your head?” the boy asked from two cells over. “In that direction madness lies!”

Wren ignored him. She knew, in fact, that his words were at least in part true. If she kept mulling over the ghosts of her past then she would go mad, and then what use would she be to anyone?

Rowen would not act like this.

Her heart stung as his image raced through her head, first smiling and delighted and so full of love Wren could have burst, and then…covered in blood, his lungs struggling as he told her to go save her sister. To save herself.

He would know what to do. He would not lose hope. He would sit and think on the matter for barely a second and then he’d be up and ready for action. That’s how he is.

Wren gulped.

How he was.

Rowen wasn’t rash. You cannot lash out again. You must think your every action through. No more mistakes.

Her tears dried and Wren vowed not to cry again. It helped no one. Dwelling on the past and stewing in her emotions would only serve to weaken her.

On the third day, when two guards brought food to the two of them for part of the time—which Wren took to mean nighttime, though she could have been wrong—a third man also entered the prison, and he did not seem like a guard. He held within his arms a large bucket, which sloshed loudly as he moved. It was clearly heavy; even with his muscled arms, his legs still bowed slightly beneath the weight of the bucket.

She watched as he entered the cell to her right and approached the water, though he kept at least two feet from the edge of it.

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