“But being the best healer in the Guard will.” It was something she told herself every day, but right now, Wren wasn’t sure if she believed it.

Isabel—or, as her illegitimate niece, should Wren say Her Majesty?—had made it painfully clear that one more mistake would land Wren back in the Order of the Maiden. She had been raised in the abbey, but it wasn’t home. There, Wren had been nothing but a castaway: forgotten, unwanted, purposeless.

She never wanted to feel that way again.

Medicine and magic had provided her an escape, but to return would be to admit she truly was as worthless as the queen thought she was. Which meant she couldn’t afford to slip up today. Even if treating their prisoner this way was cruel. Even if it was wrong.

“Lieutenant Southerland,” Una said. Such a cheap trick, to invoke rank at a time like this. “As your commanding officer, I’m responsible for you. Your mistakes are on my head.”

“Oh, spare me the speech.”

“Enough.” Righteousness rang like the clash of metal in Una’s voice, every syllable as sharp as a blade. “Until the others get here, I won’t give him a single opportunity to escape. I know you think I’m being cruel, but he’s the only lead we have on Byers.”

She knew, but her stomach still twisted in guilty knots.

“I’m going to sweep the area one more time, so don’t do anything reckless while I’m gone,” Una said. The word reckless struck Wren like a pebble between the eyes. She’d heard it enough over the years to know the real meaning of that word.

Emotional. Weak.

“Yes, Major,” Wren muttered sourly.

With one last dissatisfied scowl at the boy, Una walked toward the dark, silent wood. Her black hair swung like an executioner’s rope, and brittle twigs snapped like fingers beneath her boots. As Wren watched her leave, she sighed with exasperated longing.

Although military life offered her freedom from the cloister, Wren’s oath to the Queen’s Guard meant little in itself. Una, however, filled her with purpose. Despite her sharp edges, Una cared deeply about her country and her subordinates—about protecting them at any and all costs. Following her was a creed Wren chose, not one foisted on her.

I need you by my side.

And there Wren would stay, even if it she couldn’t always stomach what at any and all costs entailed. She cursed the empathy that flowed in her blood as surely as her healing magic did. If only she could filter it out, boil it down to something curable like a disease. Then everyone would know for certain she belonged in the Guard.