Rest up, Lowry had told her. You’ll need it.

They had to get the key before the ball ended. What was he planning?

She twisted the lock shut as Hal rose to meet her. Veiled in the blue light, he looked painfully soft. As she lifted her chin to him, she saw concern and relief plain on his face. He raised an uncertain hand between them, as if he would brush the side of her face or tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Please, she wanted to say. You can.

Just once, she wanted someone to hold her.

He let his hand drop to his side, slid it into his pocket. “Are you alright?”

Despite herself, Wren let out a soft laugh. “Mostly.”

“What happened?”

“Sick games. Threats. What else?” She wrapped her arms around herself. “But I didn’t get the key while I had the chance. We won’t get him alone again.”

“We don’t need him alone. This event will provide far more cover and distraction than we could orchestrate on our own.”

He had a point. At the ball, it would be nearly impossible to keep track of them in a crowd. No one would miss them if they disappeared. “That’s all well and good, but how’re we going to get it off him?”

He gave her a pointed look. “Do you have any of what you gave me left?”

Wren snorted out a laugh, half to conceal her panic. “You want me to drug him?”

“It’ll be easy for his guests to brush off. He likes to drink.”

“He does,” she said miserably. “But he’s going to be swarmed with people. I’ll have to administer it in plain sight, with the eyes of every Cernosian courtier on me.”

“Yes. You will.”

A heavy silence filled the room. Wren could hear the wind rattling the windows and the distant, warm sound of conversation from the floors below. “I guess we don’t have any other options. Unless you’ve got a trick up your sleeve.”

“No tricks.” He hesitated. “Just my magic.”

His magic. Wren shook her head. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s the practical decision,” he said with a steely resolve.

She laid a hand on his arm. “Forget practicality. Is it what you want? I know you don’t want to kill anyone.”

“It’s far too late for me to have compunctions about that.” He gazed down at her hand, small and white against the solid black wool of his coat. When he spoke again, it was distant and wistful, almost as if it’d slipped out against his will. “It’s as you said. It would be different this time. It would be worth it.”