Page 76 of Down Comes the Night

He nodded.

“Then let’s get some sleep and—” Wren peered over his shoulder and at last noticed the single bed squatting like a toad in the center of the room. Dread and desire both pooled in her stomach.

As if sensing her discomfort, Hal cleared his throat. “It’s yours.”

Wren walked across the room as if it were scattered with coals, then perched on the edge of the bed. Silence, unbroken save for the popping of sap in the grate, stretched out. She swaddled herself in the blanket while Hal remained statuelike in front of the fire.

“Are you just going to stand there?”

“I don’t sleep often,” he said, as if that explained anything.

“I won’t be able to either with you looming over me like that.”

Obligingly, he took a seat in an armchair. Even at rest, he was elegant, ankles hooked together, hands folded at his ribs. Wren rolled over and tried to ignore him. His presence was like breath on the back of her neck, not entirely unpleasant but entirely disconcerting. Wren flipped over to face him again. “That’s no better. It still feels like you’re watching me.”

“Shall I go outside, then?” he asked, his voice flattened with annoyance.

“Why don’t you lie down?”

Conflict burned in his eyes, like he couldn’t decide if he was repulsed or fascinated by her. For the first time, he looked like the nineteen-year-old boy he was. “With you?”

“Goddess above,” she groaned. “Don’t say it like that. Come here.”

Wren tried to settle the pounding of her heart as he came closer. He drew back the covers, admitting only a whisper of cold air that made her skin prickle, and lay beside her. They’d been close before, but something about this felt more intimate than healing. From here, she drank in this rarity. Him, unarmored, even as he refused to look at her.

“How’d you find me, anyway?”

“It wasn’t difficult. I could sense you through the healing bond.”

Never had she been so grateful for it. “You could’ve easily let me die. Why did you come back for me?”

“To settle a debt.”

“Ugh. You’re such a liar.”

“I’m tired of people dying because of me,” Hal told the ceiling. “I’m tired.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Hal turned so that they were almost nose to nose in the semidarkness. “You’re confusing.”

“So are you.”

“I can’t figure out what you want from me.” He sounded almost anguished, but his eyes still held accusation. “If I keep my distance, you needle me. If I’m vulnerable, you burn me. I let you in because you’re the first person in years who isn’t afraid of me—who actually seemed to care more formethan my magic.”

Wren winced.

“This is what trusting you has earned me. And yet, after everything else I’ve done, I couldn’t leave you to die. How can I be so pathetic?”

“You’re not pathetic,” she said softly. “Once, you told me mercy was the most difficult thing.”

Hal’s expression softened.

“I don’t know if I can ever tell you how sorry I am. I understand if you can never trust me again. But I swear to you, I’m done. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I don’t want my position back if you’re the price of it.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

Even if it would never make her actions right, she wanted to give him this. “I don’t care about the military, really. But it was an escape for me. I told you I never felt like I belonged at the abbey, but it was more than that. Being there… it was letting the queen win. Admitting I was worthless. Disposable. Like I wasn’t her niece but a piece of trash. I knew she would never love me, but I could make her acknowledge me. So I made sure I would never be disposable again.”