The wet ink on the page gleamed. It was a beautiful thing, dark and treasonous. She was not only disregarding the queen’s orders but lying to her as well. When she failed to report for duty at the mines, Isabel would figure out soon enough where she was. But by the time she realized it, it would be too late.

This wasn’t just about securing an alliance. It wasn’t just about Una or Byers. This was about her. Running away might make her a coward, but at least she would be free.

CHAPTER SIX

On the third night, another red letter arrived by personal delivery. Wren slid a knife into the envelope’s lip with trembling, overeager fingers. The note within was brief.

You’re truly Goddess-sent. Be ready to leave tonight at 8. A carriage will be waiting for you a mile down the westbound road from the abbey.

—A

Excitement and terror struck her at once. Tonight was both far too late and far too soon to leave. She hadn’t prepared. She hadn’t packed. She hadn’t figured out what to tell Una.

Una. She’d written to tell Wren she was coming to visiting hours tonight. How could Wren have forgotten?

All young healers were sent to the abbey for training before taking vows or enlisting in the military. The prospect of sitting in that stuffy reception room, surrounded by weepy apprentices begging their families to take them home, was enough to make her break out in hives. Besides, how was she supposed to face Una now? Striking a bargain with a foreign nobleman against the queen’s orders was perhaps the very worst of Wren’s bad, impulsive ideas. Una would take one look at her face and read the guilt there like a brand.

The shame of disappointing Una again might crush her. Wren couldn’t say goodbye if she couldn’t tell the truth. And she definitely couldn’t tell the truth. Una had stood by her through a host of misdemeanors over the years—backtalking and disobeying her orders—but Wren had no doubt she’d draw the line at desertion.

As much as it hurt, her only option was to slip away unseen.

Before the bell tolled the start of visiting hours, Wren dressed in her civvies—a pleated gown, fur-lined traveling cape, and boots and gloves of bronze leather—and packed her bags full of medical supplies and warm clothes. When she’d finished, she crept through the darkened hallways and made her way to the courtyard, watched only by the waning moon and the gaunt silhouettes of trees bent-backed like crones. Walking out the front gate would draw too much attention, so she’d forge her own exit. She tossed her bags one by one over the courtyard wall, wincing at the wet thuds of her bags in the snow.

After a breathless count to ten, no one came running.