Today, Isabel’s pale hair was ornately fashioned. It was braided around her head like a crown, woven with tiny white flowers and shiny silver ribbon. She looked divine and impossibly sleek, not a single strand out of place. Not a single imperfection, no matter how hard Wren looked.

She couldn’t help noticing the details, for she’d been standing at attention for almost ten minutes while the queen read an interminably long document. Through it all, Isabel wore a faint, self-satisfied smile. The Paper Queen had consented to a rare meeting, but far more than punctuality, she appreciated torture. Every rustle of the pages sliced into Wren’s patience, her pride. Every tick of the Tower’s clocks rattled her bones.

Nose still buried in her report, Isabel said, “Sister Wren.”

Wren startled, but recovered by dropping into her most obsequious curtsy. “Your Majesty.”

“Your calling on me was timely. I have good news for you.”

Wren tried to quell her stubborn glimmer of hope. There was no way Isabel would actually restore her position so soon after her suspension. Wren clenched and unclenched her fists to work the blood back into her fingers and braced herself for the worst. “Good news?”

“I’ve been thinking about what to do with you. You have been surprisingly patient.”

Surprisingly. Wren’s lips twitched in annoyance. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“You show too much promise as a healer to be wasted.” Isabel finally laid down her stack of papers and folded her hands. “As you well know, the miners’ strike has vexed me for months. In recent negotiations, they’ve requested safer working conditions, and as a part of that, a medic to prevent avoidable casualties. I believe it will be a good placement for you.”

Wren’s knees almost buckled beneath her. This was a sentence far worse than dismissal. It wasn’t hard labor, but it was no less deadly. Wren had heard horrific stories of workers crushed under rubble or suffering under a lifetime of lung disease. It was a future as long and dark and brutal as a mining shaft. Blood rushed in her ears, and everything sounded muted and garbled. Like she was underground. Already buried alive.

A sudden, horrible truth struck her. Isabel had never intended to reinstate her.

How could she be so naïve? Since her suspension, she’d struggled to do the right thing, the responsible thing. To do nothing reckless. And for what? No matter what Wren did, it would make no difference. With Isabel, there were no second chances. There was no mercy. Every path ended here: with Isabel disposing of her once and for all.

“That is very generous of you.” Wren tried to speak calmly, but it came out surly and strange. As always, her emotions betrayed her.

“I understand it’s not what you envisioned for yourself, but you will do well there.”