“You could try following orders for a start.” Una paused, her expression softening. “You know there’s nothing you can do. The queen has high expectations, but she’s never intended for you to meet them.”

That was true enough. When Isabel banished Wren to the abbey, she hadn’t expected the military recruiter to come knocking on their gates. With the war’s body count rising, they needed every willing and able healer they could find, young or old. And Wren was more than willing. Since then, the queen had found every way to maintain the distance between them. Wren would never fully grasp why Isabel hated her so much, what unlovable thing lay at the core of her. She was a bastard, yes, a stain on the perfect Southerland line, but they had no other close family but each other. Rather than accept her, Isabel would sooner let some distant cousin swoop in to take the throne when she died heirless.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Wren asked.

“You will wait patiently until I clean up this mess and convince the queen to reinstate you.”

“I can’t be patient doing nothing.”

“Fortunately, you won’t be doing nothing in the meantime. Healing works and prayer and general drudgery, if I recall? I’ve endured your complaints enough to know that much.”

“I’m not joking, Una.”

“Neither am I.” She kicked her feet up onto the armrest. “It’s only a suspension. All things considered, yours is a mild punishment. You should be grateful.”

“Yes, technically it’s mild, but she knew it would hurt me the most. The helplessness is almost worse than the humiliation. I’ll never forgive myself if you get taken, too.”

Una flinched. “I won’t be.”

“How do you know that?”

Una thinned her lips into a grim line.

“Exactly. And in the meantime, what am I to do? Content myself with hours of contemplating the Goddess in her infinite mystery? Or wait for your letters to come like some lovesick housewife?” As Una’s expression grew darker, more distant, Wren homed in on the single infuriating thing within her control. “Get your filthy boots off my chaise.”

“It’s already filthy.”

“Just listen to me,” Wren snapped. “Please.”

Una slowly lowered her feet to the floor and watched Wren through narrowed eyes. “I’m listening.”

“Not three weeks ago, Byers was sitting exactly where you are. We had tea. We chatted. We said goodbye. Everything was so … normal.” She couldn’t scrub the very last image of Jacob Byers from her mind: him, carelessly waving over his shoulder as he walked down the moon-silvered cobblestone street outside her flat. “I can’t go through that again, Una. Especially not if it’s you. I don’t know if I’d survive it.”