Page 70 of Down Comes the Night

“Yeah. Thanks. Good night.”

As soon as the door latched behind him, Wren raked her hands through her hair and tried desperately to dissect these bothersome feelings. He left her with something bubbling bright within her chest. And beneath it, something sour and strange. What she felt for Hal was more than attraction—far more than the familiar pull of the tether between them.

She admired him for his dedication to his cause. She liked the way he listened and the way he looked at her, like she was the first breach of sunlight on the horizon. He made her feel important. Like she mattered. Like she wasn’t entirely broken.

Goddess above, she was such amess.Even if she chose to indulge herself, they could never be together. Besides, what good did this distraction do when their investigation was about to crumble around them? Staying here promised certain discovery. Leaving—and so blatantly breaking Lowry’s rules—promised somethingworse in its mystery. How much would he curtail their freedom? What horrific plan did he have in store for them?

With poison, Lowry had taken down six elite soldiers and kept them imprisoned here. In his prime, Hal might have stood a chance, but he had no magic now. They had no defense and no evidence. They didn’t even know where the key to that door was.

They hadnothingbut the hope they’d uncover something at the Guiding Light. And only a week and a half before the ball, presumably when Lowry would act against them. If they failed before then, a war would break out, and they would be dead.

Panic knifed through her. Desperate for a distraction, Wren returned to her desk to rummage for disinfectant. Shoved in the depths of the drawer was a slip of paper that crinkled under her touch. She pulled out a letter and scanned the messy handwriting.

The weather is far too dangerous to leave today, but we should be able to get you down the mountain two weeks from now. Meet at 0500 sharp. Stay warm.

She sucked in a sharp breath. Since she’d begun working with Hal, she’d nearly forgotten about the carriage she ordered. As if from the shadows, a voice whispered,It’s not too late.

Itwastoo late. She couldn’t take Hal prisoner—not anymore.

Or could she? What was Hal Cavendish against everything she held dear? What was guilt against the certainty of survival, of redemption? She liked him, yes. Far, far more than she should. But she could not trust her own heart; she had wrecked herself in the storms of its desires time and time again.

You have to be rational,she told herself.Ruthless.

Her choices were simple. Stay and be arrested. Hide and become Lowry’s next victim. Or leave and reap the rewards of Hal’s capture.

She wouldn’t be abandoning her comrades, even if they were still alive. With the queen’s trust and a full unit, she could easily return to Colwick Hall and find Byers. Danu could use Hal to bargain Vesria into submission. And she’d prove at last to Isabel and Unathat she was worthy. All of it was within reach, and it would be too easy now that Hal trusted her. Maybe even cared for her. The very thought of exploiting that made her feel despicable.

If I can quash just one feeling in my life,she thought,let it be this one.

She would have to kidnap Hal tomorrow.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The next morning, Wren stirred sugar into Hal’s sedative-infused tea and carried it into the parlor. Hal stood with his nose nearly pressed to the window, a blade of predawn light slicing through the parted curtains.

Past the glass, rimed with frost and the ghost of Hal’s breath, the world had darkened to an eerie slate gray. Wren saw only unbroken miles of snow and the restless churn of storm clouds over the mountains. Cold drummed its fingers against the windowpanes, impatiently waiting for her.

Dread weighed her down, like stones in her pockets. She didn’t know if she could do this, but for now, treachery was as simple as placing the teacup into Hal’s hands. “Will three teaspoons of sugar suffice, or shall we hasten your death by sweetener even more?”

“I’ve survived worse.” Hal took a sip of tea and furrowed his brow.

Wren went rigid with panic. He couldn’t know, could he? It only smelled of bitter, long-steeped leaves and lavender.

She forced a laugh. “What? Not enough? Too much?”

“No.” Hal drank again. She watched the bob of his throat as he swallowed his tea and wasn’t certain if she wilted with relief or regret. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Sure.” She leaned against the wall beside him. “Do you mind if I check how you’re doing before we go?”

Hal shook his head.

Wren lifted her hand to his temple, trying to ignore the way her face heated under his scrutiny. When they first met, Hal had been sallow and frail. Beautiful in that stark, wasting way impermanent things were: the sunlit drip of icicles in early spring, the flush of trees in late autumn. Now, he looked almost solid—present, with his height and the shrewd glint in his eye.

Her initial sweep of his system turned up mercifully clear of goddessblood toxin. He wasn’t completely recovered, but his body would begin to repair itself without her magic.

Everything but his eyes, of course.

The swollen and leakingfolabehind his eyes made her shiver. She let the magic flicker from her hand, sighing at the way it hummed between them. “You must have terrible headaches.”