By the time my hearing returns, the lake’s surface has gone placid once more, as if nothing happened at all, but I know that’s not true. Water is flooding out from the camp, pushing its way through the fractured bits of leftover wall, pulled back to the lake.

Beside me, Artemisia is crumpled, on one bent knee, hands braced on the ground as her shoulders heave with each labored breath.

“Did you do it?” I ask her.

With some effort, she lifts her head, her wild eyes finding mine. “There’s no way to know until it’s over and we can see for ourselves.”

I nod, surveying the rest of our group. Apart from Blaise, Laius, and Griselda, everyone looks winded. Those of us with the Fire Gift could do more, but without Heron to carry our flames across the lake, there isn’t much good in it.

“That’s it, then,” I say. “Let’s gather our things and head for the rendezvous point. Whoever meets us there should have an update for us.”

“I can do more,” Heron says. “We’ll send more fire.”

I shake my head. “Artemisia has drenched most of the camp by now—there’s not much that would catch. And what little more we could do would not be worth having to drag your unconscious body over there. No, we’ve done all we can.”

“Not all we can,” Blaise says, his voice quiet and on edge, like the air before lightning strikes.

“You were our last resort,” I say, my hand slipping into the pocket of my dress. I know his gem bracelet is there, but suddenly I need to reassure myself of its presence. The hard, cold metal of it is a comfort, its edges digging into my palm as I grip it tightly.

“There’s no sign that we need you,” I say. “Maile didn’t give the signal, which means she got her army in without incident. Once they’re in, the camp is ours. Especially with Artemisia destroying their armory.”

“If she destroyed their armory,” Blaise says, taking another step toward me. There’s something unfamiliar in his eyes, something wild and desperate.

“Maile hasn’t signaled for more help, so there is no reason to believe your gifts are needed,” I say, keeping my voice calm.

“Or Maile is dead. Or she’s otherwise occupied trying not to die. Are you willing to pin Astrea’s hopes on one person’s ability to do what she said? On that person’s ability to do what she said?”

I cast my gaze around at the others, finding ten pairs of eyes watching me warily. Though she’s drained of energy, Artemisia still looks ready to force herself between us if she needs to, but I don’t want it to come to that. I grip the bracelet tighter in my hand.

“Don’t talk to me about Astrea’s hopes,” I say. “I’m perfectly aware of what’s at stake and who I trust. Maile knows battles. This is not her first. If she needed help, she or one of her warriors would have sent the signal. I know that you’re eager to sacrifice yourself for your country, but I’m afraid it’s going to have to wait for another day.”

For a moment, Blaise is frozen in place, but there is something in his eyes that unsettles me, a frantic urgency, a glazed distance. It is not so different from the way he looked when he stood on the deck and destroyed the Kalovaxians’ ships—like he wasn’t quite himself. He doesn’t even seem to see me—all of his attention is focused on the gem in my hand, his expression focused and starving.

“It’s my gem and my choice and I’m choosing to fight,” he says, his voice fracturing around each word.

“Blaise, you promised me,” I say, careful to keep my voice level. I’m not sure what has come over him, how he can be verging on an outburst without a gem. It scares me, and I’m not the only one. Artemisia and Heron are watching him warily, neither of them seeming to breathe, while the others look merely bewildered.

Blaise doesn’t say anything to that, and for an instant, I think I’ve won. I think I’ve gotten through to him. But before I can even exhale in relief, his hand snakes out toward me, toward the hand holding his Spiritgem, and latches on. I try to pull away from him, but his hand is clasped around my forearm, the skin of his palm scalding hot.

Berserker hot.

“It’s mine,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like him, not entirely. He sounds feral and not quite human, too desperate and hungry and angry to be the Blaise I know. Yet he is.

“Blaise,” I say, but he doesn’t respond. His grip on my arm is painfully tight, his fingers digging into my skin. I cry out, but he barely seems to hear me.

“I can feel it,” he says, tugging hard at my arm, trying to drag my hand—and the gem—out of my pocket. “I need it, Theo.”

Before I can respond, Blaise is yanked away, his hand wrenched away from my arm. The imprints of his nails remain on my flesh. When I look up, Heron is holding Blaise, arms pinned behind his back while he tries to jerk himself free. Tired as he is, Heron can barely keep a hold on Blaise.

“You have to knock him out,” I say, but the words don’t feel like they belong to me.

Heron’s eyes meet mine, and though he looks anguished at the thought, he nods. He fights to get the palm of his hand flush against Blaise’s head, but as soon as he does, Blaise’s body goes slack, falling to the ground like a marionette whose strings have been cut.

Even that small bit of power takes its toll on Heron and he sways on his feet. Artemisia hurries to his side and helps to keep him upright, though she looks unsteady herself.

For a long moment, no one moves and we all stare at Blaise. The others look frightened—and understandably so. Blaise’s condition wasn’t known to anyone but Art, Heron, and me, but now it will be difficult to keep it quiet. And to them, it must look an awful lot like mine madness.

Truthfully, I’m not so sure it’s not—that the line between whatever he is and a berserker hasn’t been too blurred to keep them separate.

“By the time he wakes up, he should have recovered his wits,” I say loudly, glad my voice doesn’t waver. “I’m sure he will feel quite embarrassed about this outburst.”

Even to my own ears, the words sound insufficient. When I look around at the others, they seem wary and uncertain, except for Griselda and Laius. Neither of them looks at me. Instead their gazes are focused on Blaise’s unconscious form. Their mentor, their teacher, their future.

MAILE MEETS US AT THE rendezvous point herself. She’s already waiting at the place where the lake, mountain range, and forest all meet, standing alone, slumped against a tree with her arms folded over her chest. When she sees us approach, she straightens up, a giddy grin spreading over her face, but it quickly fades when she notices Heron carrying an unconscious Blaise.

“What happened?” she asks. “Were you attacked?”

I glance at the others, expecting someone to jump in, but the ten of them are silent, waiting for me. Though Blaise might have frightened the other Fire Guardians, he’s still the one who’s led them and trained them and supported them over the last few weeks. Though they don’t know what to think of him now, they know that he is still one of us. They know that if anyone else finds out what happened, they might try to hurt him. So they hold their tongues, and for that I’m grateful.

“He overexerted himself,” I say, but that only makes Maile’s frown deepen.

“How?” she asks. “There were no earthquakes. Fire and waves and hurricane winds, yes, but nothing remotely earth-related.”

I force a dismissive shrug. “It didn’t make it past the lake,” I lie. “He tried as hard as he could to get it there, but…well…” I trail off, nodding toward his unconscious form. “But it turns out it was unnecessary. I’m assuming we took the camp?”

Maile nods, her grin returning. “As soon as we made it through the gate, it was easy enough. Especially once their armory was destroyed,” she says, turning her gaze on Artemisia. “Well done.”

Art is thoroughly unaffected by Maile’s praise. “And civilian lives?” she asks.

“There were some injuries,” Maile admits. “But they all look to be easily treatable—nothing fatal. We already have some healers making their way around. We had some casualties on our side, but all in all, we made it through with far more warriors than I was anticipating. In large part thanks to you lot.”

“And how many Astreans were there?” Heron asks.

“I didn’t exactly take the time to count,” Maile says. “But I’d guess about the same as the Fire Mine, more or less. Enough that we’ll be able to take the next mine with ease, so long as word doesn’t reach the capital before we get there. We shouldn’t stay here for more than a day.”

I frown. “We came here to intercept the Sta’Criverans. Is there any sign of them?”

“I have scouts waiting in the cliffs that overlook the sea, but so far no word,” she says. “Are you sure you want to risk staying for this? We don’t even know what they’re trading.”