Page 49 of Down Comes the Night

“I need a few more minutes.”

“Fine.”

Wren sank onto the edge of a pink settee and stared past Hal,a solid black shape against the charcoal sky. Outside the window, snow continued to fall. The muffling silence of the estate would drive her mad soon.

Sometimes, she wondered if Hal would be easier to deal with were he as violent and tempestuous as the Vesrian stereotypes promised, or as cold as the war stories—and her own memory—described. In the Battle of the River Muri, she had seen a monster wearing his face. Remorseless.Empty.Even though he had spared her life, she could chalk it up to some kind of strange serendipity.

But the man sitting across from her was only pensive, sometimes even dryly amusing if she was being generous. Which one was the facade? What would she find if she pushed him hard enough?

“So, Cavendish. Are you always so taciturn, or is it only with me?”

“I don’t believe in talking for its own sake,” he said. “I grew up around people who enjoyed the sound of their own voice too much. It seems I can’t escape them.”

“What’sthatsupposed to mean?”

He closed his eyes, as if bracing himself for a fight. “I don’t mean you.”

If not her, then…? Oh.Oh.Lowry.

Wren choked back a laugh. “Then let’s discuss something of import. Danubian history, perhaps? Or maybe the ever-engaging philosophical writings of Walsh?”

Wren watched emotion pass over his face like clouds over the moon, a slow bleed from defensive to confused to resigned. Hal sighed. “Have you read them? They’re quite interesting.”

“Alas, I haven’t had the pleasure.” Wren snapped her fingers. “But I can do one better. Let’s discuss religion.”

“You want to talk about religion,” he repeated.

She’d meant it as a joke, but now that it hummed in the air between them… “Why not? If you’re really interested in Danu’s culture, I can tell you more than books can. Consider it a thought exercise. When have a Danubian and a Vesrian ever had the opportunity to discuss these things civilly?”

“I’m afraid you’ll find me an inept conversation partner on the topic. You’re clergy.”

“Military,” she corrected.

Hal cast her a sidelong look. “You were raised in an abbey.”

“I’m not sure whether to be flattered or unnerved that you know that, but yes, I was. Case in point.”

“Did you not study scripture?”

“Idid.But I didn’t do it because I wanted to. It’s like you said. The queen wanted me out of the palace and out of her sight. She resented me for my mother’s death. Said I reminded her too much of my father.” Wren absently rubbed at the pilling fabric of the settee. “I think my magic awakening was the greatest thing that ever happened to her. It gave her the perfect excuse to disregard my mother’s wishes to raise me in the palace.

“So, yes, I was raised in the abbey. But it wasn’t a normal childhood or some training for my greater divine purpose. It was like… a prison, or a holding pen. Something to overcome. But the abbess taught me everything I know, and I was always so absorbed in my lessons, so focused on leaving, I never really made any attachments. I never truly felt like I belonged.”

When she looked up again, he was watching her intently.

Her face heated at the realization she’d offered up some part of herself to Hal Cavendish of all people. But something odd stirred within her at his expression, a mixture of appreciation and shyness. He was actually listening.

“Sorry,” she said. “That was more than you asked for, I’m sure.”

“I don’t mind.” He replied more quickly than he usually did, startling her. Then, as if realizing his mistake, he paused to consider his next question. “So you don’t believe in the Goddess?”

“Certainly not how most people think of her.” She flexed her fingers. “How could a goddess of regeneration, who gave us this kind of magic, want so much destruction? I cannot believe the Threefold Law was meant to be applied this way. Your god, on the other hand…”

“It’s true that the old books say death pleases God,” he saidcurtly. “But just as yours have, it was politicians who warped that into what it means today.”

Wrenhmphed her begrudging acknowledgement.

“Vesria’s God is similar to your Crone. A being that eases the passage into death—a mercy killer. Whereas Danubians believe souls return to this Earth, reborn, Vesrians believe they remain untouched by suffering forever after.” He seemed lost in thought. “All the same, neither demands violence for its own sake. Only for mercy, or protection. That’s what war should be for.”