“And I want Wren Southerland to remove them for me. I do, after all, owe her a debt for saving my life.”

Every head on the balcony turned toward her, but Wren kept her attention trained on the dais. Isabel was staring at Lowry, and although she couldn’t see her clearly through the layers of lace and pomp, Wren knew she was hesitating. She’d never agree to his demand; it was complete madness—and far too much to ask for after the soldiers he’d already taken.

“Very well. You shall have them.”

No. Wren wanted to throw herself at Isabel’s feet and beg. Please, no. You can’t do this. You can’t make me do this.

Whether or not Isabel’s decree satisfied the crowd, Wren didn’t know. She heard only the frantic sound of her breathing, and as her vision constricted like the tightening of a noose, she saw only Lowry as he smiled. It was a slow, terrible smile that split open his face like a knife drawn across flesh.

If she did this, Lowry would possess the very magic that had turned the tide of war in Vesria’s favor. Now that he had the queen’s trust, it would take only a glance to plunge the government into utter chaos. The havoc he could wreak on Danu … Wren didn’t want to imagine it. And I won’t have to, she thought. Getting Hal safely to Vesria would delay the outbreak of a war that would doom them all. From there, they’d figure out how to dislodge Lowry’s hold on Isabel. They’d save their people together.

But first she’d have to free him.

She had no allies. No combat skills. No plan. She needed at least one of those things—and quickly. No matter what happened or what Lowry took from her, he’d never stop. Until he had what he wanted, he’d never let her go. She’d escaped Colwick Hall, but now there was nowhere left to run.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

In a secluded turn on the palace’s marble staircase, Wren curled into herself and listened to the dull roar of the crowd. It wasn’t far enough away to feel safe, but at least it was dark. In the throne room, it had been too bright, too overwhelming.

Here in the stairwell, a single point of light streamed through the sliver of a window at her side. It reminded her of a confessional, cramped and airless, like the ones she’d spent so many hours of her childhood huddled within. She’d once found it difficult to dredge up failures and sins to lay bare. Now, it was too easy. She had far too many to name.

The cold stone beneath her and the glass at her cheek grounded her. But her thoughts still came in a panicked rush, all of them spiraling into the same inevitable images.