She needed to rest. Her fola needed 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.