Una did not drop her guard. Her eyes burned with barely contained hurt. Wren had to leave, but how could she part with Una like this? She should have known she could never walk out of Knockaine unscathed. She’d built her life around Una, had loved her, had sworn to serve her. It bound them together at a cellular level. What would it take to sever a bond like that?

“I’ll go back to the abbey.” Wren’s voice wavered. “I’ll even go to the Tower if that’s what you want.”

A cold wind whipped across the field, lifting Una’s hair. Snow swirled around them, glittering like crushed starlight. The distance between them was unnavigable.

Una let her arm drop to her side. “No. Just let me take you to the abbey.”

“Thank you.” Wren staggered forward a step, dropped her suitcase, and drew her into a tight hug. “I love you.”

“Wren,” Una said hoarsely. In the end, that was what did Wren in. The sound of her voice, so tender and strained. The tension in her muscles, somewhere between flinching back and pulling her close.

Wren cradled the back of Una’s head in both shaking hands. The spinal cord was a tender thing, an ovoid hotbed of nerves and magical channels. The smallest energetic disruption could overwhelm the entire nervous system. It was forbidden to use the Healing Touch to harm another person. But to protect her friends—to stop this war—she needed to break a few rules.

Wren eased her magic into Una’s cervical spine. Una jerked back, and Wren caught a glimpse of the terrifying spark in her eye. She’d seen it many times. In meetings with her superiors, ones who assumed their rank translated to competence. In basic training, when another healer once made Wren cry. In the war, when her comrades fell beside her in pools of their own blood.

Rage.

It was then Wren knew that Una would never forgive her for this. Someday, the Threefold Law would demand its recompense. As Una collapsed unconscious into Wren’s arms, it felt like something vital ripped itself out of her. It hurt, but there was no wound. Nothing she could fix.

Wren secured Una’s arm around her shoulders. She took one staggering step and almost crumpled to the ground. Goddess above, Una was heavier than she remembered, dense with muscle and weighted down by her all her regalia. Had they started manufacturing those medals out of lead?

Wren turned over her shoulder, shivering with nerves and cold. She’d only made it about a quarter mile from the abbey before Una intercepted her. Even from here, she saw the Maiden’s disapproving stare from the rose window.