Page 11 of Down Comes the Night

Hers. How Wren longed for that to be true. She wanted to reach out to her—wanted to twine their fingers together in that uncomplicated way they used tobefore.

But Una had gone quiet again, the room somber in the gathering dark of night. “I think constantly about what I could have done differently.”

“You couldn’t have done anything differently. None of this is your fault.”

“His capture may not have been. But I lost our one lead, and because of that, I failed him.” Una had always put so much on herself—too much. More than anything, Wren wished she could take some of that burden from her. But part of what made Una a brilliant soldier and a commander worth following was this. Her unflinching dedication to her subordinates. Her sense of duty above all else.

“You didn’t lose the boy. I did.”

“I could have given you orders. I could have threatened you. I could have stood my ground and taken the queen’s punishment. But I didn’t.” Her voice grew rougher, the notch between her brows deepening. “Now she’s taken my healer.”

“She wouldn’t have if you left it out of the report in the firstplace.” The words slipped out unbidden. She wished she could take them back, but Una only shook her head.

“I know you wanted more from me. This is all I have.”

“Una…”

The wistful look in her eyes cooled. Once again, Una was her superior officer, imposing in her sharp-shouldered greatcoat and her silver epaulets. “I have orders for you in my absence.”

“I’m not your subordinate anymore, remember?”

Una let out an impatient, almost pleading noise. “Then just promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Until I regain her favor, stayhere.You can’t do anything—”

“Reckless.” Wren knew this for what it was, a second chance she didn’t deserve. But she couldn’t help feeling like it was more like a wound reopened. “I know.”

“Promise me.”

“Fine. I promise.” Wren tore her gaze away to hide the hurt prickling behind her eyes. “When do you leave on your mission?”

Una bowed her head, as if it had grown heavy with relief. “Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Just come back to me in one piece.”

“I will.”

This, here, was how she wanted to hold Una in her mind if this was the last image she’d have of her. Loyal. Almost loving. Wren clung desperately to the small details: the inky spill of her hair over her shoulder, the fire crackling in her amber eyes, the devout solemnity of her voice.

But louder than anything were the wordsI know you wanted more from me.

She did, but if she could not have her, being at her side had to be enough. Una needed her healer, so Wren would earn her reinstatement. For now, she would prove she could be patient. And when Una came back to her, Wren would sharpen herself into the kind of girl deserving of Isabel’s respect and Una’s trust. The kind of girl who could bring Byers home.

CHAPTER FOUR

Knockaine was a foul, moody, stinking city. But it was home.

Wren had hoped to commit every detail to memory as she carried her two leather suitcases through the waking streets. But alas, it was winter. As it did every winter morning, a thick fog had rolled off the river and devoured everything in its path. By the end of the day, it would be blackened with soot and smoke from the factories, and the whole city would reek of sulfur. For now, it only reeked of sewage and—

No, it was best not to speculate.

Bare impressions of her surroundings emerged from the fog as she walked. Half-burnt buildings, still unrepaired from the last Vesrian raids a year ago, slumped like drunks in the alleys. Cracked windows leered at her from high above, grimed by the hydrogen sulfide wafting from the fetid wells. Far in the distance, the spires of the North Tower lanced the too-low sky, solid black against heavy gray. It was the only new and unblemished structure for miles.

Wren slipped through the secluded back streets until she crossedthe River Muri. Most everyone hated it—for good reason, since its acidity was liable to dissolve nearly anything brave or foolish enough to set foot in it. But Wren harbored an odd affection for the sluggish black waters. It was said the Goddess rose up from the Muri, many lifetimes ago. That queens in the age of heroes found her washing her hair in its shallows. It seemed impossible that anything so foul and unimpressive had witnessed so many legends, but as she leaned over the bridge and found her reflection, Wren swore something stared back from beneath its surface.

With war’s breath hot at her neck, that unfeeling black reminded her too much of Hal Cavendish’s eyes.