Page 126 of Down Comes the Night

Cringing apologetically, Wren removed it and tossed it onto the ground. Metal rang against stone as it skittered across the floor. Then, she set to work unfastening the buckles that bound him and slipping the IV from the crook of his elbow.

“Let me.” His words slurred together. His eyelids drooped. “I can do it.”

“Oh,” Wren said almost fondly. “I don’t think so.”

Even as he fought to sit up, the anesthetic reclaimed him. As she laid a hand on his cheek, he sank back into unconsciousness. It seemed disposing of Lowry fell to her. For once in her life, she would have to be ruthless.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Her whole body ached. Her movements and thoughts were muddy with lingering anesthetic. But she was angrier than she’d ever been. She clung to it, nursed it like the last spark of a dying fire. It gave her purpose, clear and simple and driving.

Alistair Lowry would pay for what he’d done.

It would feel so good to kill him.Justice,some dark part of her slavered. Justice for all his servants. Justice for Byers. Justice for Hal and Una. Justice forher.

In the gloom, over the rumble of distant thunder, the North Tower was as terrifying as Colwick Hall. Grabbing a lantern from a hook outside the door, she chased the echoing sound of footfalls on the main staircase. Over the rush of blood in her ears, the yawning space of darkness past the railing whispered,Fall.With every step, she propelled herself deeper into the bowels of the Tower—so deep, she worried she’d never find her way to the light again.

She stumbled on the last stair and threw her hand forward to catch her balance. The rough scrape of the wall against her palmsteadied her. In the snatches of light from her swaying lantern, Wren saw the walls were inlaid with bone, femurs and humeri layered like brick, shattered fragments like tiles.

She stood at the entrance to the catacombs. The Tower was built into a cliffside, and the tunnels housed not only bodies of queens and saints but functioned as an escape route to the sea. A precautionary measure for a monarch fleeing an invasion—or a runaway lord evading Wren’s fury. She did not hesitate. She slipped into the shadows, and the hiss of the tide swelled around her.

After what felt like miles, the passage emptied onto a bluff. Slick stone stairs were carved into its side and led down to the docks. Tonight, in the stormy darkness, the ocean was made of ink. Waves crashed against the rocks, bursting into frothy white peaks. Rain fell steadily, draping everything in a sparkling liquid veil.

Wren stepped into the downpour and gasped at the shock of the cold. The air smelled of salt. And something else—something terrifyingly familiar. Burning things, like gunpowder and coffee. And beneath it, the vinegary sterility of formaldehyde.

Cold metal pressed to the base of her skull.

“How gallant,” Lowry said. The safety on his pistol clicked off. “You’ve come after me all alone.”

Wren’s shoulders bunched around her ears. “Are you so afraid I’ll hurt you?”

“Youarequite unpredictable. And frustratingly resilient. At any rate, you’re a convenient shield should anyone else decide to be a hero tonight.”

If he wanted her as a hostage, she had at least a few minutes to live. It was time to end this.

Hal’s knife was tucked into her belt. For one weak moment, she remembered the sled driver she’d knocked unconscious. Imagined him blue and stiff, buried beneath the ice because of her. It was one thing to kill in self-defense. It was another thing entirely to mete out justice. Could she forgive herself if she did this?

She thought of Jacob Byers, who had died brutally and all alone.

She thought of Una, her life pouring out of her onto the cold stone floor of the Tower.

She thought of Hal, pale and bruised on that operating table.

Yes. He deserves it.

Wren unsheathed the blade and slashed it across Lowry’s shoulder. She carved out an arc of blood that spattered into a pool of rainwater. He hissed in surprise. Wren jumped back, but he caught her hand too fast. His pistol came down hard on her arm, and she screamed at the burst of agony, the snap of bone.

As her vision blackened, she doubled over and dropped the knife. It clattered to the ground, gleaming with water and blood and poison. Wren cradled her arm, her eyes watering with pain and hatred. The poison would already be making its way into his bloodstream. She just had to survive longer than him.

“You could have ushered in the beginning of a new era. One of peace.” He retrieved the knife. “You stupid, selfish girl.”

“How?” she shouted. “In what world would this bring peace?”

“How can you not see that Danu and Vesria will never end this of their own accord?” He trembled with the force of his rage. “No matter what you believe you can do, you cannot throw off the weight of centuries of violence. Look around you. Your land has been burned and salted. Your economy ruined. Your children orphaned. This world is a mess. Do you think your people will forgive Vesria without the proper guidance? Do you think we can ever see progress without intervention?”

She thought of Hal. The brightness of her love for him, the hope he filled her with. If two people like them could love each other, then maybe one day their broken nations could learn to coexist, too.

“Yes, I do.” Cold sweat and rainwater streaked down her face, and adrenaline set her to shaking. But she lifted her chin and stared evenly into his eyes. “I know we’re better than our ancestors are. I know we can heal from this. But only if we set aside violence. Only if we stop meeting wrong with wrong. Your way isn’t superior. It’s only more of the same.”