“What about me?” Hal traced the line of her jaw with his thumb, his eyes warm and impossibly fond. “You’ve taught me how to begin again. For that, I will always love you.”

“You love me? But I’m…” There were too many buts. She was too much. Too reactive and reckless and stubborn and peevish. “I think I’m hallucinating,” she mumbled. “What did you say again?”

“I love you, Wren Southerland. All of you.”

The words she’d waited so long to hear. Her eyes filled with tears, and the sheer effort it took to hold them in made her chest burn. She opened her mouth. No sound came out.

I love you, too.

She needed to say it. She needed to ask him where to find him to give her decision.

But the Tower was so dark, and staying awake was so hard. The world closed in around her like an embrace, and he last thing to vanish were his eyes. Two points of darkness on which everything bright and beautiful converged.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Wren blinked into consciousness again.

A garden bloomed around her: pink roses and daisies and chrysanthemums in bright, riotous colors. But the first thing she thought was Hal. She remembered speaking to him, but she couldn’t remember how long ago that was. Had it been hours or days? Her memories all blurred into a smattering of silver light and injections, strange faces and snatches of droning conversation.

Her body still ached, but within her … She could feel her magic. With a rush of hope, Wren channeled her energy and watched silver spiderweb faintly beneath her skin. She closed her fist, drawing a shaky breath of relief.

“You’re awake.”

Startled, Wren turned toward the door. Una clutched a bunch of drooping lilies, starbursts of orange and pink with spots of bright yellow. She placed the bouquet in one of the empty vases on the nightstand. The arrangement was artless—and all the more endearing for its imperfection. Wren turned her bleary eyes to Una’s face as she sat. She had tied her hair into a loose queue at the nape of her neck. It revealed the jagged scar that crossed her throat like a collar—or maybe a necklace, with how proudly she wore it.

“How do you feel?” Una asked.

Wren flexed her fingers, letting the glow of her magic go faint and shimmery in the sunlight. “Miraculously fine, all things considered.”

“The queen had healers in here day and night.”

“Oh.” Wren dropped her eyes to the floor. It was a kindness she didn’t anticipate. Healers didn’t usually treat nonfatal wounds as part of emergency care. “I see.”

Neither of them seemed to know what to say next.

Una helplessly looked at the flowers. “They looked nicer when I bought them.”

It was enough to break Wren. Without preamble, she burst into tears. “How did you know they’re my favorite?”