Page 19 of Down Comes the Night

“Good.” Isabel stretched out her hand. “Give me the letter.”

“No,” Wren whispered.

“I will not ask again.”

Wren slammed it onto the desk. Isabel dipped its edge into the flame of the candles flickering at her side. As the envelope withered and blackened, Isabel dropped it into a metal bowl. There went all Wren’s hope, crumbled to ashes.

“That will be all.” Isabel was barely audible, her words borne up and away in the writhing smoke.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Wren managed to lift her chin and marched out with grim purpose. But in the main hall, the panic she had staved off pounced and crushed her under its weight.

Soon, Una would leave on a mission to pursue the Reaper of Vesria. If her new healer wasn’t competent enough to not leave scars, for the Goddess’s sake, what hope did they have of protecting her against Hal Cavendish’s magic? Soon, Una could be another name on a headline. Another tragic story to fuel Isabel’s war. Another blow Wren couldn’t take.

She would never forgive herself if Una didn’t come home.

And she would not let herself rot in that mine. She would not let Isabel win.

The steadytick, tick, tickof the clocks chipped away at her restraint. She had half a mind to tear them all from the walls and hurl them across the room. She took perverse satisfaction in imagining the shower of springs and gears, how Isabel and her attendants’ mouths would gape in a collective, silent scream.

She needed to get outside. She needed to get out of this habit and away from its suffocating heat. Wren shoved her way through the door, and when she stumbled outside, she sucked in huge gulps of air. The sky pressed too close, but she wasn’t afraid. She was furious.

Her anger brewed the entire walk back to the abbey, hardened by the whip of the snow and wind against her face. When she at last made it to her room, she cast her satchel aside, tore off her habit, and tossed them both on the ground. The fabric lay there like a skinned animal, alongside a slip of paper that fluttered from her bag.

The return address that had been enclosed in Lowry’s letter.

Wren nearly threw herself on the floor and cradled the note against her chest like a newborn. Tears prickled the backs of her eyelids. She could still accept the offer. It wasn’t too late. Once Wren secured the alliance, Isabel would come to understand the service she’d done the crown. She’d have no choice but to reinstate her.

It was the only hope she had left.

Wren sat at her desk, pulled out a sheet of parchment, and dipped her quill in ink. She hesitated for only a second before she reminded herself that she had been dismissed for insubordination. She was no stranger to disobedience and was well-known for acting recklessly.

With careful strokes, she composed a response:

Dear Lord Lowry,

Thank you for your letter. I am grateful for your kind words about my work and your condolences for my, as you say, misfortune. Mostly, however, I am sorry to hear of your servant’s illness. To be brief, I would be honored to accept your gracious offer and am intrigued by your proposal. While I cannot be sure what ails your servant until I examine him myself, I am confident I can be of assistance. Please consider me at your service and thank you again for your trust.

Faithfully,

Wren Southerland

The wet ink on the page gleamed. It was a beautiful thing, dark and treasonous. She was not only disregarding the queen’s orders but lying to her as well. When she failed to report for duty at the mines, Isabel would figure out soon enough where she was. But by the time she realized it, it would be too late.

This wasn’t just about securing an alliance. It wasn’t just about Una or Byers. This was about her. Running away might make her a coward, but at least she would be free.

CHAPTER SIX

On the third night, another red letter arrived by personal delivery. Wren slid a knife into the envelope’s lip with trembling, overeager fingers. The note within was brief.

You’re truly Goddess-sent. Be ready to leave tonight at 8. A carriage will be waiting for you a mile down the westbound road from the abbey.

—A

Excitement and terror struck her at once. Tonight was both far too late and far too soon to leave. She hadn’t prepared. She hadn’t packed. She hadn’t figured out what to tell Una.

Una.She’d written to tell Wren she was coming to visiting hours tonight. How could Wren have forgotten?

All young healers were sent to the abbey for training before taking vows or enlisting in the military. The prospect of sitting in that stuffy reception room, surrounded by weepy apprentices beggingtheir families to take them home, was enough to make her break out in hives. Besides, how was she supposed to face Una now? Striking a bargain with a foreign nobleman against the queen’s orders was perhaps the very worst of Wren’s bad, impulsive ideas. Una would take one look at her face and read the guilt there like a brand.