“I see.” Una glared over her shoulder at Hal. “Am I interrupting something?”

Wren wedged herself between them. While Lowry had arranged Isabel’s tenuous forgiveness, it was all over if Una saw underneath Hal’s mask. Una’s gaze slid back to Wren, hard and searching. “Surely you can find time to spare me one dance.”

Before she could say anything, Hal bowed his head deferentially. In a clumsy approximation of a Cernosian accent—so he was right; he wasn’t good at everything—he said, “She’s all yours.”

The key to the hidden passage hung heavy in her dress pocket, which meant he must have some vague plan to free her from Una.

Una smiled, mirthless and fit to cut to the bone. “Well, then. Shall we?”

Wren accepted Una’s gloved hand and followed her onto the floor. In the close press of the crowd, the air reeked of cut-onion sweat and cloying gardenia perfume. Despite the tension and hurt between them, it still felt like comfort to have her near. Everything about her was painfully familiar. The judgment in her eyes, the impassive set of her jaw, even the pressure of her gloved hand on her waist. And although Wren’s heart still ached in her presence, something was undeniably different.

One year ago, her love for Una had changed for the worse. Sparked in desperation and kept alive, secret and stifled. It was a hungry, selfish kind of love, never fully satisfied. A love that kept score. Something that flared painfully now and again, like a bone that had never set quite right. Looking at Una now, Wren felt oddly free of it.

She loved Una, she realized, no less fiercely—but with her eyes fully open. She didn’t long for what they could have had: kisses stolen in the dark and whispered promises they’d never be able to keep. She longed for the girl she’d talk with for hours as the rain beat down on their standard-issue tent. The girl who’d throw herself in danger again and again if only it meant her subordinates were safe.

She wanted her friend back.

“So,” Una said, all icy distance. “The queen intends to reinstate you tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“You didn’t know?” Una spun Wren to face the grand staircase and gestured toward a high, secluded balcony. It was lit by twinkling lights and shrouded in shimmery, gossamer-thin fabrics. It was hard to see from this distance, but the woman watching them all from her wingback chair was unmistakable.

Isabel.

Her blond hair tumbled straight to the floor. Her lips were painted plum. Atop her head was the ceremonial crown, twisting into three branchlike points that were sharp enough to impale. It was preposterous. It was impossible. Isabel had never left Danu. Even though Wren could not see her clearly, she felt the exact moment the queen noticed her. All her blood turned to ice in her veins.