Page 20 of Down Comes the Night

The shame of disappointing Una again might crush her. Wren couldn’t say goodbye if she couldn’t tell the truth. And she definitely couldn’t tell the truth. Una had stood by her through a host of misdemeanors over the years—backtalking and disobeying her orders—but Wren had no doubt she’d draw the line at desertion.

As much as it hurt, her only option was to slip away unseen.

Before the bell tolled the start of visiting hours, Wren dressed in her civvies—a pleated gown, fur-lined traveling cape, and boots and gloves of bronze leather—and packed her bags full of medical supplies and warm clothes. When she’d finished, she crept through the darkened hallways and made her way to the courtyard, watched only by the waning moon and the gaunt silhouettes of trees bent-backed like crones. Walking out the front gate would draw too much attention, so she’d forge her own exit. She tossed her bags one by one over the courtyard wall, wincing at the wet thuds of her bags in the snow.

After a breathless count to ten, no one came running.

Like a runaway child, Wren climbed the rickety ivy trellis and heaved herself over the wall. She struck the earth on the other side, the shock reverberating up her knees. But she was too giddy with nerves and the taste of freedom to feel it much. No more suffocation by incense. No more waiting for someone else to fix her problems. No more exhortations for patience.

Her fate was hers.

Out here, nothing stirred. Snow-smothered fields sprawled for miles, silvered by wan moonlight and broken only by the hulking black shape of Knockaine in the distance. The wind whistled through the abbey’s towers. Cold bit through her cloak, sunk its jaws down to the bone. It spread through her limbs, slow as rot, and if she stayed still too long, she feared she’d go brittle and crack.It was the kind of night made for keeping warm—the kind Wren and Una might have spent at a pub, drunk on mulled wine and each other’s company. She shoved the reverie away. No good could come of thinking on what she no longer had.

Gathering up her bags, she picked her way to the road and began to walk. Her breath wreathed her face with every shaky exhale, and as she struggled against the wet gusts of wind, it began to flurry. In the whorls of snow, Wren swore she saw faces, indistinct in the darkness. But there was nothing out there but the night, the whisper of the half-frozen grass in the wind. No one but her, traveling by the cold light of the moon—and the distant burn of a lantern bleeding orange onto the snow.

Her carriage.

Still, Wren couldn’t shake the slithery feeling of being watched.It’s only paranoia,she told herself. Not even the stars surveilled her tonight. But as she walked, she could hear the rhythmic crunch of footsteps in the snow, perfectly in time with hers.

No, it wasn’t paranoia. Someone was tailing her.

“Wren?”

She would recognize Una’s voice anywhere.

Wren willed the earth to open and swallow her whole. Of course Una intercepted her. Of course she would ruin everything.

Sharpening all her arguments into weapons, Wren turned to face her. But every harsh word melted on her tongue when she saw Una standing in the moon’s white glow. There was the girl Wren cherished more than her own life, staring at her as if she’d done something awful. As if she’d hurt her on purpose. As if she could.

“Una.”

“Shall we keep walking?” Una said neutrally. Wren had expected anger, maybe open hostility. But this frightened her far more.

Without waiting for a response, Una took one of her suitcases from her and continued down the road. The medals on Una’s pristine black tunic twinkled cold as frost. “You weren’t at visiting hours.”

“I guess I forgot.”

Una heaved a frustrated sigh. “What are you doing, Wren?”

Wren gestured helplessly to the empty field around them. “Going for a walk?”

“Right.” Una’s eyes flitted from Wren’s suitcase to her civilian’s cloak. As if speaking to a spooked horse, she said, “I heard what happened. We can talk about this.”

“What did you hear?” Wren kept her voice breezy, her gaze fixed straight ahead.

“The queen shouldn’t have moved you from the abbey. But as soon as I capture Cavendish, I will see that she listens to reason. She’ll reinstate you and reauthorize our investigation. Together, we’ll find out what happened to Byers.”

“But what if you don’t?”

“What do you mean,what if I don’t?”

Wren stopped and dropped her suitcase into the snow. It fell heavier now, in thick flakes that clotted on her eyelashes. “What if you don’t convince her? What if you don’t find Cavendish at all? Or worse. What if you do and he kills you?”

A shadow passed over Una’s face. “That won’t happen.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“You can’t either,” Una said sharply.