Page 110 of Down Comes the Night

“So be it.” Isabel’s voice dripped disdain. “I, Isabel of House Southerland, by the blood of the Goddess queen of Danu, sentence you to die. You will face execution by hanging tomorrow morning. May the Goddess have mercy on your soul.”

As the crowd broke into raucous cheers, Lowry eagerly leaned forward in his seat. Isabel held up a hand, and the room fell deathly silent.

“Lord Lowry, as you are now a friend to the crown, I would like to extend a gesture of goodwill. You deserve restitution for the attempt on your life. What will you have?”

Lowry did not hesitate. His eyes gleamed black in the sunlight.

“Before the platform drops, I want his eyes.”

The courtiers tittered with laughter. Wren wanted to scream. Did they think this some petty aestheticized justice? Nothing but his typical dramatics and macabre eccentricity?

“And I want Wren Southerland to remove them for me. I do, after all, owe her a debt for saving my life.”

Every head on the balcony turned toward her, but Wren kept her attention trained on the dais. Isabel was staring at Lowry, andalthough she couldn’t see her clearly through the layers of lace and pomp, Wren knew she was hesitating. She’d never agree to his demand; it was complete madness—and far too much to ask for after the soldiers he’d already taken.

“Very well. You shall have them.”

No.Wren wanted to throw herself at Isabel’s feet and beg.Please, no. You can’t do this. You can’t make me do this.

Whether or not Isabel’s decree satisfied the crowd, Wren didn’t know. She heard only the frantic sound of her breathing, and as her vision constricted like the tightening of a noose, she saw only Lowry as he smiled. It was a slow, terrible smile that split open his face like a knife drawn across flesh.

If she did this, Lowry would possess the very magic that had turned the tide of war in Vesria’s favor. Now that he had the queen’s trust, it would take only a glance to plunge the government into utter chaos. The havoc he could wreak on Danu… Wren didn’t want to imagine it.And I won’t have to,she thought. Getting Hal safely to Vesria would delay the outbreak of a war that would doom them all. From there, they’d figure out how to dislodge Lowry’s hold on Isabel. They’d save their people together.

But first she’d have to free him.

She had no allies. No combat skills. No plan. She needed at least one of those things—and quickly. No matter what happened or what Lowry took from her, he’d never stop. Until he had what he wanted, he’d never let her go. She’d escaped Colwick Hall, but now there was nowhere left to run.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

In a secluded turn on the palace’s marble staircase, Wren curled into herself and listened to the dull roar of the crowd. It wasn’t far enough away to feel safe, but at least it was dark. In the throne room, it had been too bright, too overwhelming.

Here in the stairwell, a single point of light streamed through the sliver of a window at her side. It reminded her of a confessional, cramped and airless, like the ones she’d spent so many hours of her childhood huddled within. She’d once found it difficult to dredge up failures and sins to lay bare. Now, it was too easy. She had far too many to name.

The cold stone beneath her and the glass at her cheek grounded her. But her thoughts still came in a panicked rush, all of them spiraling into the same inevitable images.

Hal’s hanged body swinging to thetick, tick, tickof one hundred clocks.

His eyes like gems in her bloody hands.

If she dwelled on it a moment longer, she was going to be sick.Once, she’d dreamed of the day Hal would stand trial for his crimes. Now, she could only wonder at how thoroughly she’d unmade herself, caring for the Reaper of Vesria. She’d always known what they had couldn’t last. She’d tried to protect herself from the pain of losing him, of wanting him when duty would inevitably call him away from her. Time and time again, she’d measured out the distance between them. And just as many times, she’d run headlong toward him.

Her stupid, reckless heart.

If only she could despise him as she was supposed to. It would be far easier to hate him than to feel the way she did for him. And yet, it had been so easy—too easy—to love him. She couldn’t have fought it.

Despite her best efforts, he’d changed her, smeared all her black-and-white beliefs into gray. Now she’d carry him with her forever, a bright, tender flame to keep safe. Even now, she could still feel the warmth of his arms around her, the shyness of his smile against her mouth. Still heard the gentleness of his voice when he spoke to her, the dry wit when he indulged her. Still saw all those hidden, brilliant blues in his eyes—and deeper still, such sadness, such hope.

Hal had let her believe, for the first time in her life, that it was alright to feel passionately, fiercely. And oh, she did. Shedid.If any feeling would kill her, it was this one. She was in love with Hal Cavendish, and he would never know it.

Wren let out a shaky breath and buried her face in her hands. She couldn’t do nothing, no matter how afraid she was. She couldn’t lose him. Every path—try or try not—led to death. It led to war. She might as well go down fighting.

Down two flights of stairs, a door creaked open and jerked Wren out of her thoughts. It admitted a wash of noise from the throne room, fever-pitched jeers and stomping feet. Then it slammed shut, muffling Wren in imperfect silence—until the footsteps began, a staccato, determined beat.

They were coming toward her, but Wren was resigned to her fate. She lifted her eyes. Through the haze of tears and the waywardtendrils of her hair, she saw Una standing on the flight below her. Her face was impassive, as hard as granite, but Wren knew exactly where to look for the fault lines in her military polish. As well as she hid it, Una looked exhausted.

Neither of them spoke. Wren wasn’t sure how they could ever shove off the weight of everything unsaid between them.

At last, Una asked, “Can I sit?”