Her choices were simple. Stay and be arrested. Hide and become Lowry’s next victim. Or leave and reap the rewards of Hal’s capture.

She wouldn’t be abandoning her comrades, even if they were still alive. With the queen’s trust and a full unit, she could easily return to Colwick Hall and find Byers. Danu could use Hal to bargain Vesria into submission. And she’d prove at last to Isabel and Una that she was worthy. All of it was within reach, and it would be too easy now that Hal trusted her. Maybe even cared for her. The very thought of exploiting that made her feel despicable.

If I can quash just one feeling in my life, she thought, let it be this one.

She would have to kidnap Hal tomorrow.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The next morning, Wren stirred sugar into Hal’s sedative-infused tea and carried it into the parlor. Hal stood with his nose nearly pressed to the window, a blade of predawn light slicing through the parted curtains.

Past the glass, rimed with frost and the ghost of Hal’s breath, the world had darkened to an eerie slate gray. Wren saw only unbroken miles of snow and the restless churn of storm clouds over the mountains. Cold drummed its fingers against the windowpanes, impatiently waiting for her.

Dread weighed her down, like stones in her pockets. She didn’t know if she could do this, but for now, treachery was as simple as placing the teacup into Hal’s hands. “Will three teaspoons of sugar suffice, or shall we hasten your death by sweetener even more?”

“I’ve survived worse.” Hal took a sip of tea and furrowed his brow.

Wren went rigid with panic. He couldn’t know, could he? It only smelled of bitter, long-steeped leaves and lavender.

She forced a laugh. “What? Not enough? Too much?”

“No.” Hal drank again. She watched the bob of his throat as he swallowed his tea and wasn’t certain if she wilted with relief or regret. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Sure.” She leaned against the wall beside him. “Do you mind if I check how you’re doing before we go?”

Hal shook his head.

Wren lifted her hand to his temple, trying to ignore the way her face heated under his scrutiny. When they first met, Hal had been sallow and frail. Beautiful in that stark, wasting way impermanent things were: the sunlit drip of icicles in early spring, the flush of trees in late autumn. Now, he looked almost solid—present, with his height and the shrewd glint in his eye.

Her initial sweep of his system turned up mercifully clear of goddessblood toxin. He wasn’t completely recovered, but his body would begin to repair itself without her magic.

Everything but his eyes, of course.