How could she sit back and watch another friend walk headfirst into danger? If Una disappeared, too, then Wren would truly be alone. Locked away in the abbey, she’d become that scared little girl again: unwanted and forgotten. Denied the chance to have some small say in how she lived her life. A failure.

“Please,” Wren rasped. “I can’t go back.”

“Wren,” Una whispered sharply, almost pleading.

“Since you’ve been relieved of your post, I’m afraid you don’t have much choice in the matter.”

All mages served the Goddess in one way or another. As her earthly representative, Isabel headed both the state and the church and could dispose of her subjects as she willed. With all mages subject to mandatory enlistment—a precautionary measure in this war-torn queendom—she’d be forced into contempt of the law. As a retired combat medic, Wren would live out her days in devotion to the Goddess, performing healing acts for the common people. To refuse was to surrender her magic.

Wren said nothing. She had forgotten how to speak.

Anger roiled in her stomach like a ship tossed on the sea. With the blood thrumming in her ears, she could think of nothing to do but turn on her heel and run for the door. Her vision swam, and she dragged the heels of her palms underneath her eyes to catch any tears that dared fall. She hated that she cried when she was angry. It was another weakness, another reason why she wasn’t cut out to be a combat medic, another reason she was suspended. Her emotions, too uncontrollable to manage, would doom her every time.

CHAPTER THREE

It was several hours after their meeting with Isabel that a knock sounded on her door.

“Are you home?” Una pressed her face to the window, squinting into the darkness.

Wren’s heart leapt into her throat. Una hadn’t come to her flat since … No, she wouldn’t think about it. They had agreed never to discuss it ever again.

Drawing in her breath, Wren rose and let her inside. As Una drank in the room, Wren collapsed onto her chaise and drew the blanket over her head. Almost immediately, she felt a tug—then cringed as the light flooded back in. Una had peeled back the edge of her makeshift cocoon and curled her lip, as if she had found something half-formed inside.

“Please don’t cry,” Una said. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

“I’m not going to cry.”

Una unstrapped the saber from her hip and gingerly perched beside Wren on the chaise. Comforting others was never exactly her strong suit, but Wren would credit her for trying. “Then would you turn a light on or something? This is depressing.”