Page 9 of Down Comes the Night

Wren groaned, curling into a smaller ball. She considered ignoring her, but then she saw her flat through Una’s eyes and understood at least some of her concern. She was always away on missions or buried in her research, mapping out the paths of thefolato perfect her surgical techniques, or studying the poisonous plants the apothecary down the street saved for her. She was here so infrequently that she’d never bothered to decorate the place. Only dried herbs bound with twine hung from the ceiling, sprigs of clustered lavender, jagged bundles of nettle, and orange calendula. Below the chipped cornice was peeling floral wallpaper, stained from candle smoke and spattered with the exploded remnants of some failed tincture.

Wide windows, although caked with dust, overlooked a view of her busy street, which glittered with fog-muffled lamplight. From her desk, she could watch the woman across the street hang clothes to dry on the line in the mornings; and by night, she saw the soil men cart off reeking wicker baskets from the cesspools. Although she had the luxury of a military salary, she owned little but an unmade bed shoved close to the iron stove, on which rested a dented kettle. Its sparseness made its disarray starker, more pathetic. At least it would be easy to pack up tonight.

Una pulled a loose thread on the ratty chaise. In the sickly evening light sneaking past the blinds, Wren could see the cracks in her facade and the exhaustion lurking underneath. “I’m not here to make you feel worse. I thought you’d want some company.”

She did. She always wanted Una’s company, even though it was a special brand of torture to have herhere,on this chaise again, taunting her with the memory of what they could never have again.

Wren pressed her knuckles into her stinging eyes. “Goddess above, Una. What were you doing back there? You could have ruined everything you’ve worked for.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Why?”

“It’s my responsibility to keep my subordinates safe and out of trouble.” Although her face was as stark as ever, the strain in her voice betrayed her. Wren didn’t have to push to know Una was thinking of Byers. “And I— Oh no. Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Sorry. I can’t help it.” Wren scrubbed her face to hide any evidence of her tears. When she looked up again, the world was still soft and hazy. “I’ve got to cry enough for the both of us.”

“Save it. You’ve troubles enough of your own, and I can handle mine.”

“I’m well aware.” Wren pulled the blanket back over her head. “I still don’t understand what I have to do to get her to respect me—or at least notdespiseme.”

“You could try following orders for a start.” Una paused, her expression softening. “You know there’s nothing you can do. The queen has high expectations, but she’s never intended for you to meet them.”

That was true enough. When Isabel banished Wren to the abbey, she hadn’t expected the military recruiter to come knocking on their gates. With the war’s body count rising, they needed every willing and able healer they could find, young or old. And Wren was more than willing. Since then, the queen had found every way to maintain the distance between them. Wren would never fully grasp why Isabel hated her so much, what unlovable thing lay at the core of her. She was a bastard, yes, a stain on the perfect Southerland line, but they had no other close family but each other. Rather than accept her, Isabel would sooner let some distant cousin swoop in to take the throne when she died heirless.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Wren asked.

“You will wait patiently until I clean up this mess and convince the queen to reinstate you.”

“I can’t be patient doingnothing.”

“Fortunately, you won’t be doing nothing in the meantime. Healing works and prayer and general drudgery, if I recall? I’ve endured your complaints enough to know that much.”

“I’m not joking, Una.”

“Neither am I.” She kicked her feet up onto the armrest. “It’s only a suspension. All things considered, yours is a mild punishment. You should be grateful.”

“Yes, technically it’s mild, but she knew it would hurt me the most. The helplessness is almost worse than the humiliation. I’ll never forgive myself if you get taken, too.”

Una flinched. “I won’t be.”

“How do you know that?”

Una thinned her lips into a grim line.

“Exactly. And in the meantime, what am I to do? Content myself with hours of contemplating the Goddess in her infinite mystery? Or wait for your letters to come like some lovesick housewife?” As Una’s expression grew darker, more distant, Wren homed in on the single infuriating thing within her control. “Get your filthy boots off my chaise.”

“It’salreadyfilthy.”

“Just listen to me,” Wren snapped. “Please.”

Una slowly lowered her feet to the floor and watched Wren through narrowed eyes. “I’m listening.”

“Not three weeks ago, Byers was sitting exactly where you are. We had tea. We chatted. We said goodbye. Everything was so… normal.” She couldn’t scrub the very last image of Jacob Byers from her mind: him, carelessly waving over his shoulder as he walked down the moon-silvered cobblestone street outside her flat. “I can’t go through that again, Una. Especially not if it’s you. I don’t know if I’d survive it.”

“You can’t protect me.” Una’s hand ran along the sheathed blade of her saber. The filigree of the scabbard gleamed cold in the light. “It won’t make a difference if you’re there or not.”

“That’s the least reassuring thing you’ve ever said to me, and that’s saying something.” Una was completely missing the point. But how could Wren ever make her understand something so irrational? That if she stayed behind, the world might crash down. Inside the abbey’s walls, she would be alone, unable to sweep up the pieces.