Page 34 of Down Comes the Night

How could she be anything but desperate? Hal Cavendish was alive andhere,and for the life of her she could not fathom why Alistair Lowry had summoned her to heal a man she despised. If she’d acted on her first impulse, all it would have taken was a single cut, one severed artery or neuron, and the Reaper of Vesria would have been no more. Lowry knew that, as surely as he knew tensions were rising between their countries. Concealing Hal’s identity from her wasn’t a minor omission—or a prudent one. Which meant the only logical explanation was that he’d thought her patient’s name meaningless.

Maybe Lowry simply didn’t know who Hal was.

No, not even Lowry could be dense enough to mistake the Reaper of Vesria for a common man. Then again, Cernos had maintained their neutrality for centuries, and the estate lurked deep in the isolated Dramlach Mountains. Lowry himself admitted he hadn’t followed politics before now. Still, too many questions remained. How did Hal get here? And what was hedoing,posing as a servant while his country mobilized for war?

Not that it mattered urgently when both she and Hal would be gone in two weeks. Earlier, Wren had dashed off a letter to the local carriage company, and when a servant boy dropped off her breakfast, she slipped the envelope into his hand along with two gold coins. He returned half frozen two hours later with a response:

W—

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.

—Edward Collins,

Aldershot Sled & Carriage Company

All she had to do until then was maintain this house-doctor charade. From her examination last night, she could tell Hal’s condition was critical. She’d need to treat his worst symptoms before she moved him into another room, much less across the country in a snowstorm.

Only fourteen days,she reminded herself.You can do anything for fourteen days.Even lying to the most influential man in Cernos and healing the most wanted man in Danu.

Wren winced at a sudden sting in her hands. The water gurgled as it circled the drain, stained pink with blood. The cold air last night had dried out her skin, and she’d been so absentminded as she scrubbed her hands, she must have chafed them raw. She turned off the tap. Blood ran slick off the end of her fingertip, then spattered in the bone-white basin with a dullplop.

Just then, a groan—distant, almost muffled—sent gooseflesh rippling up her arms.What was that?It sounded almost anguished.

After hastily healing the abrasions on her hands, Wren crept out of the washroom and into the hall. Nothing stirred save the painfully familiartick, tick, tickof an old grandfather clock. The air seemed frozen, already splintering at the disturbance.

This place is of the living and yours no longer,she thought.

No, she would not indulge such nonsense. There was no such thing as ghosts. She’d heard only the groan of the house as it shifted in the wind, and sleeplessness wore at her already frayed nerves. Still, it couldn’t hurt to explore her new home. For the sake of scientific inquiry, of course.

Beyond hers and Hal’s rooms, doors stood watch like a line of soldiers. Each one she tried was locked, except the last. It resisted at first, but when she pushed her weight against it, the lock gave way with a whine, and the door eased open an inch. For a moment, Wren hesitated with her palm flat against the lacquered wood. She couldn’t just invade her employer’s privacy like this. But the door had opened for her, as if inviting her inside. She entered, the cold draft from within whispering over her skin like a sigh of relief.

Dust swirled through the milky wash of sunlight. It glitteredon glass cases and dull metal, forcing her to blink until her eyes adjusted. When the spots cleared from her vision, Wren found herself in a veritable cabinet of curiosities. Wooden stands displayed a menagerie of objects: blades with elaborate pattern welding and elegant silver knots; bullets with engraved casings. In the corner was an old Danubian military uniform from the Marian era, nearly two centuries ago, a coat with long black sleeves with the moon phases embroidered in silver thread. The plaque beside it read:GENERAL AHEARN’S GREATCOAT, WORN AS SHE LED HER TROOPS TO VICTORY IN THE BATTLE OF GREINE (1663).

But strangest of all was the portrait hung on the back wall, framed by windows glimmering white as the sun refracted through the crackled layers of ice. She approached the heavy, gold-trimmed frame and squinted up at the familiar face of a boy.

It was a portrait of younger Lowry, dressed in a red wool coat and staring meaningfully into the middle distance. A shining aiguillette coiled around his shoulder like a serpent, and one hand clutched the hilt of a saber. Despite the twinkle in his eye and his dark curls catching the breeze, he looked…

Well, he looked like a soldier.

What was he doing with all this war memorabilia? The meticulousness and extensiveness of this collection indicated an obsession she’d only experienced when embroiled in her research. But as far as she knew, he had never served in the Cernosian military. Even if he had, she was almost certain they were little more than a team of munitions researchers.

“I see you’ve found my little museum.”

Wren startled, turning around slowly to the tune of a soft chuckle. Lowry himself leaned in the doorway, wearing a gold brocade waistcoat and a maroon cravat. At the sight of the silk shining at his throat, she thought of her blood circling the drain. His eyes rested heavy on her, humorless and gleaming near-white in the shadows. That stare could cut clean through her.

“My lord,” she stammered. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I finished my work earlier than anticipated, so I came to findyou,” Lowry said. “And here you are, in the graveyard of my childhood.”

“Please forgive my intrusion. I’m… ashamed this has happened twice now.”

“There’s nothing at all to forgive.” When he emerged from the darkness of the hallway, all his harshness burned away like an early morning mist. The brightness of the room softened his features into their usual, smiling placidity. “A curious mind is perhaps the most valuable trait in Cernos. I daresay you fit in perfectly.”

He wove through the exhibits until he stood beside her, and Wren swore he’d be able to hear the pounding of her heart as she tipped her chin up at him. With the sunlight threading its fingers into his dark hair, he was as radiant as ever. Had she imagined his annoyance?

Clearing her throat, she fumbled to find the gentlest way to voice her confusion. “Are you a student of history?”

“A dilettante, really.”