The Lonely Ones

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Numbing Booze

Winter follows Wren through the forest, casting all in wisps of white and strings of ice. The forest breathes in warmth only after he departs to his domain, relishing in the cold that swirls around his rigid form. Then he screams.

Winds howl. Snow falls. Trees creak and bend. Ice erupts in towering spears to pierce the gray sky. His eyes shine brilliant blue, cold enough to freeze the blood in one's veins. His voice echoes over the hills, frightening any fae smart enough to hide in their dens. There's no telling what the winter prince will do or conjure in his sudden rage.

At least everyone assumes it's rage. Even Wren. But his scream settles and an unfamiliar ache grows. An ache that isn't quite warm or cold, merely a heavy pain in his chest that yearns to be filled. With what, he isn't sure. Destruction and mayhem? Doesn't seem likely because no matter how many trees he uproots, storms he summons, or fae he frightens, the ache remains.

What eases an empty chest? Alcohol sounds like the next best option.

"You've returned," Dust states when Wren bursts into his greenhouse. It is the only warm sanctuary in all of the Winterlands. Dust keeps it that way, by Wren's permission, of course.

Plants of all kinds litter the dome placed crooked on the mountainside. Some grow tall enough to crush against the ceiling, others are tinier than Wren's pinky nail. One beast snaps at him, jaws hidden behind purple petals. It is frozen for daring to do such a thing, shattering into starlight from a wave of Wren's hand.

Dust scowls. "That was a Neimic from the south. They bloom once every hundred years."

"Good thing you are immortal and a hundred years will pass in an instant."

"Are you here to torment me and my plants?" Dust asks, eying Wren, who paces the thin walkways of the greenhouse. The plants shrivel from his presence.

"No."

"Have you come to speak to me?"

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

"I don't know."

Dust curls his nose, rising from the plants he had been watering. He glides across the grass towards the exit. "You've been acting odd of late. That long sleep has done more damage than you think."

"Perhaps it has," Wren mutters, remembering Maggie close to Artemis and how it made his blood boil. She isn't allowed to be that close, at least she shouldn't be allowed. Who is she to be on such good terms with Artemis? She makes him smile and laugh so easily. It's infuriating.

Then he remembers Artemis' words; You can't threaten me with force either. There's little I can do against you, I know that, and it terrifies me.

Threatening is what Wren has always done, and he always came through with his threats. He was gifted with power and used it without care. But right then, when he learned Artemis was terrified, he suddenly didn't want power. He thought he'd cast it away if it meant Artemis would never fear him again. Why does that matter so much?

Well, it doesn't matter now. Wren is an unwanted guest and he will not bother Artemis again.

"Let's get a drink," Wren growls, brushing past Dust. He snaps his fingers at a nearby goblin, who scurries away to retrieve what his master wants.

"A drink between us? Only us?" Dust follows Wren to a lounge, staring curiously at him. "That's unlike you."

"I'm not in the mood to entertain." Wren drops on the couch, digging his nails into the arm until the fabric rips.