Her hands were trembling. Her throat burned from the sting of bile and the strain of holding back a scream. She wanted to push magic into him. To expand his lungs and contract his heart. To light up his nervous system. Anything to give his spent body life, movement. How many times had she seen a corpse on the battlefield and lamented the insufficiency of her magic? How many times had she yearned to undo death?

Fall apart later, she told herself with a new ferocity. This was bigger than her grief—bigger than even Byers. All of them were dead, Vesrians and Danubians alike.

“Did you know him?” Hal asked quietly.

“Yes. I knew him.”

“Byers.”

“Yes.” She bowed her head and sucked in steadying breaths to keep the tears at bay. If it was the last thing she did, Lowry would pay.

“Wren,” he said hoarsely. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t. I need to finish my examination.”

Understanding lit his eyes, and she turned back to Byers. With the sheer force of her will, she summoned enough magic to perform an examination. The pain that radiated up her arms was sharp and immediate, the silver light of her magic sputtering. No, it couldn’t fail her now. Gritting her teeth, Wren pushed until her fola burned with protest. A quick assessment showed her the same damage patterns as Hal: goddessblood poisoning. And a series of stubborn, unhealed wounds.

Wren drew back the sheet to reveal a series of thick puncture wounds on his forearm, some scabbed over, some fresh. As she plumbed them with her magic, she realized they drilled straight into his bone, into the very marrow. Likely biopsies—but why? On the other, a long, unhealed gash stretched from elbow to wrist.

Hal sucked in a sharp breath and turned away.

“You should wait in the other room,” she said gently. “I’ve got this.”

He nodded and withdrew, leaving Wren to her work. She retrieved a syringe from her bag and began to draw samples of blood and tissue from the corpse. As soon as she ran forensic tests, she could confirm that his cause of death was goddessblood poisoning. That, along with the shipping records from the Guiding Light Inn, would present a compelling case to the queen.

And now, with a body, she could finally let Byers go.

Wren wasn’t sure how to do this. How could she grieve something so unspeakable? How could she leave him alone in a place like this? He deserved a hero’s funeral. He deserved to be buried in Danubian soil. He deserved so much more than this, dying alone and afraid. One of her Sisters might have said a prayer over him. Wren, however, had seen too much suffering to believe that the Goddess, if she existed at all, cared for them. She had no prayers left.

“You were strong,” she told him, her voice thick with tears. “I’m so sorry.”