Page 86 of Down Comes the Night

The damaged kidney lay discarded in a bloody dish. The dead man looked like a slaughtered goat: slit open hastily, his abdomengaping like a maw. Blood trickled slowly from the wound like sap from a splintered tree.

After peeling off her gloves, she dunked her hands in the bucket of water and scrubbed with a poultice of herbs until her skin was raw. She stopped only when she was bleeding, soothed when her own magic closed the abrasion. A buzz in her joints followed. Then, a familiar numbness in the tips of her fingers.

Overuse. The bitterest irony of healing magic.

She’d known she was pushing herself, but she’dalwayspushed herself. She always teetered on the brink of too much. This time, she feared she was dangerously close to toppling over the edge completely.

She needed to rest. Herfolaneeded to recover from what she’d put them through, or else she’d risk permanent damage. Experimentally, she pushed magic into her palms. Its silver light guttered like a candle. Still there, still hers, as faint as it was.

Hers.

Her magic was the one thing she had left in this world. How crushing—and how unsurprising—to learn not even that little was guaranteed.

Wren found Lowry in the drawing room, speaking with a man in a hushed voice. She couldn’t make out what they were saying but observed the small nonverbal details. The man resolutely angled himself away from Lowry and white-knuckled his snifter.

So it was an argument.

This must have been Fitzwilliam Barrett, the Duke of Matthonwy. She knew little of him other than his long-standing friendship with Lowry—and his Danu-Cernosian heritage. He was chief among the Cernosian nobility lobbying for an alliance with the Danubian Crown. Beyond that, the slim dossier the Guard had on him only included notes on his collection of antique Danubian-made swords and his rumored enthusiasm for military strategy and history.

Wren cleared her throat to announce her presence. Both men startled. “I’m sorry to interrupt. He’s resting now, but he’ll survive.”

When Barrett looked up, he fixed her with a sad but earnest smile. It was out of place with his sanguine complexion and thick beard. Unlike most politicians, he had a face like undisturbed water, transparent to anyone who looked into it. His money gave him his influence, but it was easy to see why he’d earned his reputation as gregarious. “I’ve heard so much about you over the years. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Southerland.”

Wren grimaced. If he’d heard of her, it was likely only for what little publicity she got as the queen’s castaway. “The pleasure is all mine, Your Grace.”

“How unfortunate that making your acquaintance is overshadowed by such a horrific accident.”

This was far from an accident,she thought bitterly.How could you be so blind?All she said was, “Horrific indeed.”

Lounging with one ankle hooked over his knee in a figure four, Lowry watched her from above the rim of his glass. His eyes were alight with interest and self-satisfaction. Like he’d proven something to himself—or won big on a wager.

“I hope to make your acquaintance properly soon,” she said, “but I’m exhausted.”

“Of course, of course. It’s been a long evening for you, I’m sure.”

“Although I would like a word with you before I retire, Lord Lowry.”

“As you wish.” Lowry’s smile didn’t falter as he turned to Barrett. “Would you leave us a moment?”

Barrett excused himself gallantly, with only a murmur of “good night” before he vanished through the doorway. Wren came inside the room and gingerly took his place.

Lowry tipped so far back in his chair, Wren prayed he would fall backward into the fire. “What do you think of the décor?”

It seemed he intended to toy with her. “It’s lovely.”

“Lovely, yes. It’s remarkable, too. While you were gone, I finally finished wiring the grand hall. For the first time, this estate will belit by hundreds and hundreds of incandescent lightbulbs.” Lowry looked almost longing. “Soon enough, you’ll never need to waste candles again. All across the country, marvels like these are becoming a reality. A device that will let you communicate verbally over long distances. Carriages powered not by horses, but by combustion engines.”

Wren did not have it in her to look impressed.

“Where’s your sense of wonder tonight?” He clucked his tongue. “It will bespectacular—a showcase suited for the star-studded company we shall have. We Cernosians are always eager to share our knowledge. We are always looking forward, progressing, evolving. See, the evolution of species is such a fascinating, frustrating concept. I—you are familiar, yes?”

She would endure his prattling, but she would not abide condescension. “Of course I am.”

“Ah, excellent. Then stop me if I’m wrong. From my understanding, it claims that the fittest survive—that mutation drives genetic variation. It stands to reason that you mages are the more evolved of us humans.” His voice grew darker, more fervent. “Yet Cernos has immense wealth, expansive trading routes, and technology that you could not dream of achieving for decades. We are superior by all accounts, and yet we have never been taken seriously as a global power. Why do you think that is?”

Wren let out a thin breath through her teeth. “Magic.”

“Magic.” Lowry snapped his fingers. “Exactly. In this war-torn world, all anyone cares about is magic. But for hundreds of years, Danu and Vesria have sent your mages to die like dogs in the street. You’ve squandered this genetic gift. Used it for your squabbles over nonsense likereligion. Just imagine if every healer applied themselves to research as you do. What diseases could be cured? How long would your people live?”