“You can’t protect me.” Una’s hand ran along the sheathed blade of her saber. The filigree of the scabbard gleamed cold in the light. “It won’t make a difference if you’re there or not.”

“That’s the least reassuring thing you’ve ever said to me, and that’s saying something.” Una was completely missing the point. But how could Wren ever make her understand something so irrational? That if she stayed behind, the world might crash down. Inside the abbey’s walls, she would be alone, unable to sweep up the pieces.

“The only reassurance I can offer is my word. I will come back for you. I will set this to right.”

“Your word. What good is that?”

“You tell me.”

It meant everything. But it still wasn’t good enough.

Before Wren could respond, Una let out a long sigh, a rueful smile curling on her lips. “I told you I didn’t come here to make it worse. So much for that.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t keep you around to make me feel better.” Wren nudged Una’s knee with her own. “That’s what tea’s for anyhow.”

“Is that a request?”

“Oh, never! You’re my guest. But if you’re offering…”

“Fine,” she said gruffly. “I’ll make you a cup. Black? Why are you staring at me like— Ah, too late for caffeine. Right. Chamomile, then.”

Una moved through her kitchen as if she’d never been away. After almost a year, she still knew exactly where Wren kept the teas—alphabetized, by scientific name, in glass apothecary jars above her sink—and her favorite earthenware mug. The simple tenderness Una showed her in boiling water and measuring out tea leaves nearly destroyed her. It didn’t help that she still wore her full regalia; every time she reached into the cabinets, the medals on her lapels merrily jangled.

Wren really was too soft. And try as she might to stifle it, she was still a little in love with her commanding officer. The worst, most foolish of her feelings. A romantic relationship between a soldier and her superior would get them both court-martialed.

Last year, when the ink was still drying on the armistice, Knockaine became a strange and hazy place at night. Everyone wandered the streets like sleepwalkers. One of those nights, Una appeared on Wren’s doorstep, more fierce and hard-eyed than she’d ever been in the military academy. Sometimes, Wren convinced herself it was a dream: her back hitting the door, Una’s mouth on hers. But she still remembered the exact iron-and-woodsmoke taste of her, the way the jagged scar on her shoulder felt beneath her lips.