As they passed a window, she caught a glimpse of the crescent moon and felt all her blood run cold. It matched the sinister curve of Lowry’s smile, the memory of it burned behind her eyelids like a scar. But he wasn’t here, and soon enough, she would be safe.

Her thoughts, however, took on the playful lilt of his accent.

Can you be so sure?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

It was remarkably easy to disappear in Knockaine.

Winter had raked its claws across the River Muri, dredging up thick curtains of coal-laced fog. Along the riverbanks, it coagulated so thick that drivers dismounted from their carriages and led their horses by torchlight. Traffic slowed to a crawl because of collisions, and eerie, disembodied voices echoed in the alleyways. Wren kept her eyes fixed on the grime-caked streets.

“There is so much mud,” Hal said.

“It’s not mud,” Wren and Una muttered in unison.

He coughed and pulled his jacket collar up around his nose.

The cold here was nothing like the sharp, thin air of Cernos. This was a wet cold that filled Wren’s lungs like phlegm. Every moment in the open wore her ragged. She ached for home, her wide selection of teas, the floral smell of her apothecary, the familiar sound of the creaky old floorboards. But the moment the Guard discovered them missing, her flat—or Una’s—would be the first place they’d check.

So Wren let her feet carry her to the only sanctuary they had left. A few miles down the road, where the buildings grew short and petered out into empty fields, Wren stopped at the abbey gates. Its enormous rose window was illuminated like a harvest moon.

Wren rang the bell and took a cautious step backward. After a few minutes, the gates rattled open and Mother Heloise stepped out of the shadows. Time slowed to a crawl as she took them in one by one.

For Una, guarded surprise.

For Wren, concern and fear braided together.

And when she recognized Hal, her face twisted into something unrecognizable.

“You.” The Healing Touch glowed on her hands, as razor-sharp as a scalpel.

Wren threw herself in front of him, her arms outstretched. “Don’t! I can explain everything.”

“How dare you bring him to my door? Do you have a death wish?”

“It’s only until tomorrow night,” Una said, her hand on the hilt of her sword.

“I don’t care if it’s one hour or one day—”

“You have every right to hate me,” Hal interjected. “I understand I have done things even your Goddess cannot forgive, but I ask for your mercy.”

The silver light continued to flicker like a pale flame.

“Please, Mother,” Wren pressed. “Let me explain.”

“Go on, then.”