Una’s words flooded back to her. Despite the fact it makes no sense, the queen believes Vesria is responsible. It can’t be this simple.

The air thickened like nitrogen, too heavy to breathe. If he was telling the truth, then their nations were indeed careening toward a pointless war. One Danu would not survive. Yet here he was, wasting away and hoarding information that could save them all.

“We had a lead, too,” she snapped. “A boy with magic, watching patrols. If he wasn’t your agent, then whose?”

His only response was blank-faced silence. Wren bristled.

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Why did your government report you missing? Does Lowry know who you are?”

With unmoved serenity, he said, “If you offer me something in return, I’ll answer your questions.”

Wren wanted to scream in frustration, had to clench her fists to keep from shaking him. Do you not want to find them? Does another war really mean nothing to you? Do you not still jolt awake from the nightmares? Have you ever cared about anyone at all?

As satisfying as it would be, an outburst wouldn’t help her. Wren willed herself to be calm. If she got his information, then hope wasn’t lost. With a new lead, she could pursue the investigation again. She could still prevent a war. She could still have justice for Byers—and maybe even find him alive.

She raked her hands through her hair. It had come loose in their scuffle and hung in tangled waves down her back. As she knotted it back, she imagined speaking with all of Una’s authority and condescension. “Alright, Cavendish. You have my attention. What’s your price?”

“I want you to cure this disease.”

Exactly as she predicted. Hoping she sounded suitably affronted, she said, “You realize you’re asking me to commit treason.”

“I know.” He looked exhausted, defeat written into the slump of his shoulders. Blood still stained his lips, a red dark and vivid against his sickly pallor.

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?”

“On my honor—”

“Your honor? What honor?”

Frustration edged into his voice. “I swear it on your Goddess. Please consider it.”

His oath startled her. He’d said it before: please. But this time was different. It was so genuine, so vulnerable, something predatory shook loose within her and coiled tight in her gut like a viper. Wren wet her lips. “You’ll truly answer all of my questions?”

“Yes. Anything.”

Anything. Someone like him might never crack under interrogation, but here he was, offering himself up to her. Treason or not, only a fool would pass up the opportunity. “Don’t get your hopes up. Until I know what the disease is, I can’t promise you anything.”