She doesn’t hesitate. This time, the wave she builds is bigger than any I’ve seen from her, taller than the highest tower in the palace, taller even than some of the spires in the Sta’Criveran capital. When she brings it crashing down, screams pierce the air, loud enough to deafen, loud enough to shake the very earth.
But when the waves turn calm once more and floating planks of wood are the only remnants of the Sta’Criveran fleet, there are no more screams, no more shouted orders, no sound at all apart from our own labored breathing and the erratic pounding of my heart.
* * *
—
Guilt is not the right word for what I feel as we trudge back to the camp under a heavy blanket of silence. I’m not a stranger to guilt—how it gnaws at your insides until you feel sick with it, how it plagues your nightmares until you think you’ll go mad. This is not that. Thousands of people are dead by my hand, on orders I gave, yes, but I have no regrets about it. If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t hesitate to do exactly the same.
“I’m tired of death,” S?ren said to me when we first escaped Astrea, and though I didn’t fully understand him at the time, I do now. Because that’s how I feel. Tired. So tired that I feel the exhaustion deep in my bones. I could sleep for a thousand years and still feel it, I think.
I’m tired of death, yes, but tired of fighting as well. Tired of leading. Tired of making difficult decisions. Tired of bearing the responsibility for those decisions.
One day, maybe I won’t feel it anymore. I’ll be able to wake up in a world not smeared with blood. I’ll go a whole day—maybe a whole week—without worrying that my people won’t live to see another sunrise. I’ll be able to make choices without life-and-death consequences attached. What to have for breakfast. What color dress to wear. Who to dance with.
In all of my questing for victory, I never yearned for the simpler life that would come along with it, but now the idea makes my whole body ache with want.
BY THE TIME WE RETURN to the camp, the bodies have been cleared away but most of the buildings are still waterlogged and burnt, the ground still blood-soaked. I’ve never seen what kind of illusions a group of Water Guardians can accomplish, but I hope it’s enough to make this place appear whole again to the Kalovaxians when they arrive.
In all of the chaos of people running about, preparing, Blaise is the only person standing still. He leans against the wall of one of the barracks, arms crossed over his chest, in fresh clothes. His eyes are heavily shadowed—more so than usual—and his skin is sallow even in the afternoon sun. When his eyes meet mine, I hold his gaze, but neither of us makes a move toward the other.
Eventually we’ll have to talk about what happened to him, about the feral, desperate energy that came over him, like a drunk fighting for just one more sip of ale. How he grabbed my arm so tightly that I can still feel the ghost of it. How he disobeyed a direct order and could have killed not just himself but all of us in the process.
I have tried so hard to keep him close, to protect him however I can, to try to save him. But I can’t control Blaise; I can’t control what he does. I can’t help him if he won’t let me. His wanting to destroy himself is not something I can fix, but I can ensure he doesn’t drag the rest of us with him.
I tear my gaze away from Blaise and look at Artemisia instead.
“I’m going to find Heron,” I tell her. “You check in with the Water Guardians and see how they’re doing. We need them as strong as possible by the time the Kalovaxians arrive. And find Laius,” I say. “Just don’t ask him to do anything too strenuous.”
Artemisia nods, but her eyes are distant. I wonder if all of that death has taken its toll even on her. She looks like she wants to say something, but holds back. Instead she turns away from me and looks at the group of Fire Guardians.
“Get some rest,” she tells them. “We may need you again if this plan doesn’t work.”
* * *
—
I find Heron in the commandant’s office, guarding Brigitta and Jian, whose hands have been bound once more. When I first see them, I want to protest, before realizing it’s the right call. They have no loyalty in this war, no reason not to sneak away while we’re busy. And if we don’t have at least one of them, there’s no telling how Cress will react.
“You’re going to turn us over to her?” Brigitta asks me.
I meet her eyes for an instant—the same cold gray as Cress’s—before looking away and nodding. It’s better for her not to know we’ll be separating them. I don’t think Brigitta has any reason to be working against me, but I don’t trust her, either. It isn’t personal—I don’t trust many people anymore.
“We have no choice,” I say. “She wants you both for a reason, and she wants it enough to come here personally.”
Brigitta looks to Jian, who murmurs something to her. “She’ll torture us,” she says.
I hesitate before nodding. “Yes,” I say.
Brigitta considers this and exchanges a few more words with Jian.
“He says he’s stronger than he looks,” she translates. “We won’t tell them anything.”
Easy words, but I doubt they know what Cress is capable of.
“We will retake the capital,” I tell her, infusing my voice with a surety I’m not sure I feel. “When we do, we’ll free you. I’m not sure how long it will be—weeks, months—but we will free you.”
Brigitta frowns. “Why are you telling me this?” she asks.
“Because,” I say. “When I was held by the Kaiser, tortured and tormented, the only way I persisted was by believing that one day, someone would come for me. No one made me any promises, but I’m making you one. We will take the capital back. I will free you. But I will be able to do so more quickly if your daughter continues to believe I am dead.”
Understanding flashes in her eyes, and she nods once.
“I will keep the secret as long as I am able,” she tells me.
It’s as much as I can hope for. And besides, if Brigitta does tell her under pain of torture, I’m not sure Cress would believe her. It would seem too outlandish, something Brigitta was making up to save herself.
The thought makes me sick. I can’t look at her anymore or I will go mad with guilt. Instead of dwelling on her and Jian, I move away, toward Heron, who is still holding the molo varu in his hands, focused on its smooth gold surface.
“No news from Erik?” I ask him quietly.
He looks up at me only long enough to shake his head before focusing on the stone once more. “Nothing in four days, Theo,” he says, his voice rough. “Something’s wrong. I know it.”
“You don’t know it,” I say. “He’s likely just waiting until he has news to share. With Cress gone, there must be precious little information worth sharing.”
Heron meets my gaze again. “If Cress is gone, and her best soldiers with her, why hasn’t he taken the opportunity to free S?ren?” he asks. “If everything is truly fine, there would be no better chance.”
To that I have no reply. My stomach ties itself into knots at the thought of Erik caught, of him joining S?ren in that cell or worse—dead, his head on a pike just like the Kaiser used to do to traitors. The way he did to Ampelio.
“He’s fine,” I manage finally, but it doesn’t sound convincing even to my own ears.
Before Heron can respond, the door to the office opens and Maile steps in, then closes the door firmly behind her.
“We sent scouts north, to see how far away the Kalovaxians are,” she says, wasting no time. “We heard back moments ago—they’ll be here before sundown.”
“They’ll be planning on spending the night,” I tell her. “We should draft a letter in Kalovaxian urging the Kaiserin to return to the palace, to convince her to leave as soon as possible. Tell her the nobles are planning a coup. She’ll believe it easily enough, and she’s already paranoid. She would ride day and night in order to get back there to stop it, and she wouldn’t give her men any choice but to accompany her.”
Maile nods. “Consider it done.”
A question lingers on my lips. It’s not something I want to ask Maile. I can imagine what she’ll say, and I doubt it will be what I want to hear. But that’s all the more reason why I need her answer.
“Will this work?”
Maile considers it for a moment that seems to last an eternity.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “But it’s the best plan we have.”
Hardly reassuring, but at least it’s honest. I’ll take that over blind optimism any day.
“It’s a rigid plan, though,” I say carefully. “There is no room for unpredictability.”
“No,” Maile says, brow furrowed as she tries to suss out my meaning.
I look between her and Heron, biting my lip. “Blaise has become an unpredictability,” I say.
Heron lets out a long exhale, though he doesn’t look surprised that I’m bringing it up. “What would you have us do?” he asks.
“When we evacuate those who are too weak to face a fight if it comes to it, he should go with them.”
“He won’t go easily,” Heron points out.
“I know. I trust that you will do what you have to do to keep him safe and out of the way.”
It isn’t a command, not exactly, but Heron gives one sharp nod.
* * *