Page 18 of Down Comes the Night

“You show too much promise as a healer to be wasted.” Isabel finally laid down her stack of papers and folded her hands. “As you well know, the miners’ strike has vexed me for months. In recent negotiations, they’ve requested safer working conditions, and as a part of that, a medic to prevent avoidable casualties. I believe it will be a good placement for you.”

Wren’s knees almost buckled beneath her. This was a sentence far worse than dismissal. It wasn’t hard labor, but it was no less deadly. Wren had heard horrific stories of workers crushed under rubble or suffering under a lifetime of lung disease. It was a future as long and dark and brutal as a mining shaft. Blood rushed in her ears, and everything sounded muted and garbled. Like she was underground. Already buried alive.

A sudden, horrible truth struck her. Isabel had never intended to reinstate her.

How could she be so naïve? Since her suspension, she’d struggled to do the right thing, the responsible thing. To do nothing reckless. And for what? No matter what Wren did, it would make no difference. With Isabel, there were no second chances. There was no mercy. Every path ended here: with Isabel disposing of her once and for all.

“That is very generous of you.” Wren tried to speak calmly, but it came out surly and strange. As always, her emotions betrayed her.

“I understand it’s not what you envisioned for yourself, but you will do well there.”

“Your Majesty, if I may propose an alternative.” Wren pulled the letter out of her bag. “I received this yesterday.”

Wren watched Isabel take in the red coloration, the gold-leaf antlers. All the tendons in her neck strained against her paperyskin. Wren didn’t exactly expect happiness—maybe surprise, considering Cernos had never answered her requests for aid against the Vesrians. But the queen only glared at the envelope with a weary exasperation.

“What is that?” she said without inflection.

“It’s a letter from Cernos.”

“From whom?”

“Lord Alistair Lowry.” Her face burned under her aunt’s scrutiny. “He has a job for me. There is a disease in his household.”

Isabel let out a harsh note of laughter, as high as shattering glass. “Lord Alistair Lowry? That fool?”

“But, Your Majesty—”

“He is mocking me. He and his people think themselves better than us, above our plight. This is clearly one of his games. One I don’t intend to play.”

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but this seems to be the opportunity you’ve been waiting for. Why would you turn down the first contact from Cernos in years? He’s offering a political union in exchange for my help. His support could prevent a war. It could save lives.”

“If I want your counsel, I will ask for it. You will not address me so informally.”

“Your Majesty, I insist you reconsider! For the good of Danu, we cannot turn him away. We’ve already lost too many—”

“Allow me to be more blunt.” Isabel rose from behind her desk. She dripped with clinking silver jewelry and venom. Even in ivory silk and a lacy muslin collar, she was terrifying. “Let us assume that Lowry requests your service in earnest. Let us assume that you would be the first person to establish contact with Cernos. With your track record, you’re sooner to start a war than to end one.”

“I know how to handle myself in—”

“You’ve done nothing but disappoint me.” Isabel’s voice grew sharp. “You’re foolhardy. You’re emotional. You’re easily manipulated. You are the very last person I would consider sending on an assignment like this.”

Every word was a needle, each one piercing deeper than the last. Wren forced herself to swallow her anger, and it burned all the way down. But the queen was not finished.

“And you are so very naïve. What did you believe you could do? You have no training in diplomacy or politics, no grace. You have nothing of my sister in you, and you tarnish her legacy.” Her silver eyes flashed like steel. “She was a brilliant strategist, a fierce warrior—beloved by her people and feared by her enemies. Your no-name father was her one mistake. It was he who got her killed in the war. A descendant of the Goddess—aqueen—throwing away her life to protect a man who grew up in a bar. I cannot fathom it.”

Tears stung the backs of Wren’s eyes—butno.No. She would not cry. She would not give Isabel the satisfaction, the power, of hurting her again.

Isabel only sighed as she opened a drawer on her desk and retrieved a silver case full of matches. She struck one, and the firelight gilded the sheer outer layer of her dress, glimmered on every silver ring and diamond on her throat.

“I see him when I look at you.” Isabel lit a candelabra on her desk. As each flame sprang to life, the shadows deepened beneath her eyes. “His hair. His eyes. His insolence. And yet my sister gave you her name, and you carry it as if you deserve it. You dare to come before me as if you are fit to carry out the work of a princess. You arenot.”

Still, Wren said nothing.

“Now,” Isabel said. She blew out the match, its heat still shimmering like a veil over her face. “Shall I arrange for your Severance or will you accept your new assignment?”

It wasn’t an option to refuse the assignment. She only wanted to hear the admission of defeat. And even if Wren did refuse for the sake of her pride, she’d sentence herself to a life without magic, a life half lived and entirely wasted. Without it, she would never be anything. She would never be worthy of love.

“I accept.”