Page 63 of Down Comes the Night

“I can walk on my own. Thank you.” He pulled his hands out of hers. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to shower.”

“No, not at all.”

He teetered to the door without her assistance. As much as she wanted to ensure he didn’t crack his head open on the tub, she suspected he’d glower—or worse—if she tried to follow him into the bathroom.He’ll be fine,she told herself, waving away the image of him drowning in an inch of water. In the meantime, she would purge this place of his sickness.

She left the room and rummaged through the hallway closets until she found clean linens tucked away on a shelf she had to stand on her toes to reach. Then, she tore the sheets off his bed and managed to loosen the ice enough to pry open every window.With the cold light pouring in, the room already felt less heavy, less miserable. The winter chill dulled the rank stench of disease. As she shoved the blood- and sweat-stained linens into a laundry basket, the door opened again. Hal stood in the threshold, water dripping from the ends of his hair. The dampness seeped into his collar, and although he’d left the first few buttons of his shirt undone, it was startling to see him looking so presentable.

Her eyes skirted over his exposed collarbones. She’d seen him undressed before. She’d touched his bare skin. Her magic lived inside him. But now, outside the pretense of medical attention, it was as if she’d caught him out, unaware and naked. He must have noticed it, too, judging by how he slowly fastened his buttons. As if he knew she liked what she saw and meant to exploit it. He made it all the more intimate. All the more humiliating.

Allies or not, he still managed to infuriate her.

She aggressively tugged the sheet over the mattress as Hal made his way to the armchair by the window. He sat silhouetted by the pale sun, struggling to close the buttons on his sleeves. She considered letting him suffer, if only to maintain a healthy distance between them. But if she were completely honest with herself, she didn’t exactly want to keep away from him anymore—emotionally or physically. Approaching him now felt like toeing the edge of a cliffside. How close could she get before she fell?

With an exaggeratedly exasperated sigh, she dragged another chair next to his and sat. Her knees nearly brushed his, the flutter of her gown’s lace hem bridging the gap between them. “Allow me.”

Hal looked as if he were about to brush her off but then extended his arm to her wordlessly. His concession surprised her, but she said nothing as she threaded each button through its hole, as deliberate as suturing a wound. Heat began to spread through her cheeks at their warm, almost familiar proximity and the sensation of his eyes intently on her hands.

The last button went through the eyelet a little too forcibly, leaving an aching indent in the pad of her thumb. “There.”

They both sighed, relieved, when she straightened up. But thediscomfort lingered, as unwieldy as the weight of their truce. It settled lopsided over her shoulders. Hal was still something of a mystery. If she was going to trust him, she had to knowsomethingabout him—something true. If they were going to work together—if she could truly move past everything he’d done—she needed to know more about him.

“Last night, you said I could ask you anything I wanted.”

“I did,” he said warily.

“First of all, I haven’t meant to be so…” She cut herself off with a frustrated sigh. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she tried again. “I’ve said things that were perhaps unfair to you. I’m sorry.”

Clearly sensing the hesitation in her voice, he remained silent.

“But I still can’t forget who you are. If we’re going to work together, I need to understand you. You told me you don’t believe in God. So why? Why did you…?”

Mercifully, he spared her from having to finish that sentence. “I don’t believe in God, no. But God is many things to many people. All of us have something we believe in enough to kill for.”

“What’s it for you?”

Hal drew a deep breath, and for a moment, Wren feared he’d refuse to answer. “My family. My country. I was the first to manifest my bloodline’s magic in two generations. I believed I had a gift—a duty. Not only to make my father proud, but to protect the defenseless. To be useful.”

To be useful.Wren shivered at the familiarity of that sentiment. “And is that still what you believe in?”

“No. Not anymore.” Hal lowered his eyes. “Some gods are false.”

She stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue. But he only sighed.

“I’m tired.” She believed him. He sounded like he’d aged ten years in minutes. “Perhaps we can talk about this another time.”

“You have terrible coping mechanisms.”

“Yes.” He offered her a thin smile, the barest upward tug of his lips. “I know.”

Their silence was almost companionate.

Wren was certain about few things in her life. But she’d alwaysknown, as certainly as she knew the cycles of the moon, that Vesria was the enemy and Hal was the worst of them. If he wasn’t what she thought, what did that mean? What else was she wrong about? Trust and understanding—compassion—had forged this alliance between them. But after everything she’d lost, how could she let herself believe thatkindness,not ruthlessness, was the way forward?

For now, Wren could only acknowledge that she was tired. So, so tired of arguing with Hal Cavendish. So she let herself surrender to this new order. Tentatively, she reached out and placed a hand on his knee. “Thank you. I know it’s not easy to talk about the war.”

Hal did not take his gaze from her hand. “Of course.”

“I don’t know if there’s anything I’d kill for. I thought about killing you once—that moment when we first met. But I couldn’t do it. Not for my country or my friends. Not even for myself. I thought I was so weak.”