“This isn’t the time for jokes!” She pulled back enough to glare at him. “They hurt you. I should have made it to you sooner. I should have done something at that trial, or—”

“Please don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

“Don’t worry? Do you want me to quit drawing breath? Quit thinking? That’s what you’re asking of me. This never would have happened if not for me.”

“This was not your fault. It was my choice. One I would gladly make again if it meant protecting you.” He cupped the side of her face, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. “Besides, I’ve endured worse.”

Wren shook her head, her throat stinging with a sudden rush of emotion. She swallowed it down. Not yet. “You have an unmatched talent for minimizing things, Cavendish. It’s impressive.”

When she dared to look up again, his expression was wide open. How could she ever have thought him unreadable? Right now, his eyes were clear, shining blue, and she saw her own heart reflected back at her.

“Come on,” she murmured, twining her fingers with his. “I’ll show you where you can wash up.”

The air tasted bittersweet. Like salt and smog and home.

After she’d unbuttoned herself from her uniform and changed into a nightdress, Wren pressed her face against the cracked-open window beside the bed. She sucked in gulps of cold, polluted air. If she died for her country, she wanted to remember it well. Through the thick black fog, she saw only the faint glimmer of the city lights and smelled little but ash and sheep. But she felt the precious heartbeat of lives all around her.

This, she told herself. This is what I’m doing it for.

The door creaked open, drawing her out of her reverie. Silent and steady as the night, Hal entered the room and slid into bed beside her, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Wren leaned back into him, breathing in the clean smell of soap: honey and herbs.

“Have you ever been to Knockaine before?” she asked.

“I haven’t.”

With a wry smile, she tipped her chin up toward him. “And how do you like it?”

She swore she could hear his brain churning as he grasped for something polite to say. “It’s lively.”

“You can say it. It smells here. We all know it.” From here, she could see a storm rolling in off the sea, black as fog. It reminded her of the Vesrian raids she’d seen as a girl. Another one could come at any moment. Desperate to shove that thought aside, she said, “What’s it like in Greine?”

Hal hummed pensively. “It is still rebuilding, but there’s less ironwork, less poverty. If Knockaine is gray, Greine is white. There are arcades filled with stores and cafes and universities. In the afternoons, people walk in the parks.”