She follows my gaze to her legs and frowns, shrugging. “You don’t run into a raging fire expecting to make it out unharmed,” she tells me. “I don’t have to tell you that. And besides, you saved my life.”

“After I put it in danger,” I point out. “After I’d decided to push on to the Air Mine against advice. After I ran back into that fire one more time and led us both into a trap.”

“And here I thought you were apologizing to me,” Artemisia says.

“I am,” I say.

“And I already forgave you,” she says. “I’m telling you that if I had been in your position, I’m not sure I would have done anything differently. And besides, if you hadn’t decided we should go to the Air Mine, what would have changed? She still would have sent her wraiths. Only we wouldn’t have been able to save as many people as we did. So it sounds like you don’t need me to forgive you—you need to forgive yourself.”

I open my mouth and close it again. “I could have killed you,” I point out.

She snorts. “The Kaiserin’s wraiths could have killed me,” she corrects. “You saved me. I’d like to think that after the times I’ve saved you, we could just let things be even, but I suppose I have to say it out loud: Thank you, Theo. Thank you for saving me. My legs will heal. I’ll get my strength back. And that is because of you. So kindly be quiet and let me recover in peace, will you?”

I hold my tongue and we walk in silence for a few minutes more, the quiet of the olive trees around us, the air still carrying the smell of smoke.

“It’s a bit of a reversal, isn’t it?” I say after a while. “It’s almost like I’m your guard now instead of you being mine.”

“You are absolutely not my guard,” Artemisia snaps, giving me a shove even though she stumbles in the process. “I don’t need a guard, and if I did, I would ensure they could at least hold a sword without their arm shaking.”

I laugh. “I’m just glad you woke up before we met Dragonsbane,” I say. “Queen or not, I think she might have killed me.”

“Maybe,” she says, but there’s a crease in her brow.

“Are you worried about seeing her again, like this?” I ask her tentatively. Artemisia very rarely wants to talk about anything personal, and even in her current state, I’m a bit afraid of her. But instead of snapping at me, she only sighs.

“I’m worried about seeing her again at all,” she admits, though the words are so heavy, it sounds like they are being dragged from her lips syllable by syllable. “We left things well. Seeing her again is a chance to ruin that. And this…no, it doesn’t help things,” she says, gesturing to her legs. “My mother has never really known how to tolerate weakness.”

“It’s not weakness,” I say. “And I can’t imagine she will disagree with that.”

Artemisia nods, but she doesn’t look entirely convinced. I hope that I’m right, but I think that Dragonsbane’s thoughts will always be a mystery to me and maybe it’s foolish to try to guess at them at all.

* * *

—

When the camp is loaded up and the horses are ready to go, S?ren helps me onto his steed and climbs up in front of me because I can’t ride with Artemisia this time. Instead she’s riding behind Maile, and I don’t know who is more annoyed—Art, at having to be someone’s passenger, or Maile herself—but her expression is etched into a permanent glower.

I focus ahead, my gaze over S?ren’s shoulder and my arms locked around his waist as we gallop across the wide-open expanse of Astrea’s midlands. My heart thunders in time to the horse’s hooves beating against the ground, and I wonder if S?ren can feel it against his back, if his own heart is beating as erratically.

The last choice I made was a bad one. It cost thousands of lives, injured hundreds more. No matter what anyone says, I feel the guilt of that lodged in my heart. But the others were right as well—that choice was made and now it’s behind us. The only thing that matters is what we do next, where we go, how we strike.

“I am coming for you,” I told Cress in my dream. And I hope that this time, my choice is the right one. But I suppose there is no way to know for sure until it is too late, one way or another.

IT TAKES ONLY A DAY and a half to reach the Savria River with half our troops, though river isn’t the right word for it. It’s more of an inlet, leading inland from the Calodean Sea in a long and serpentine path that cuts almost all the way to the Dalzia Mountains. I suppose the Savria Inlet doesn’t have the same ring to it, though, because most maps I’ve seen call it a river. Whatever it might be, it’s the fastest way to convene with Dragonsbane and her ships.

The journey passes in a daze. When our army stops to make camp for the night, I all but fall out of the saddle and onto my bedroll, barely taking the time to swallow down a few pieces of hardtack and dried meat, my whole body singing with exhaustion and sore muscles from the day of riding. With the help of Heron’s dreamless sleep potion, I sleep in peace.

S?ren’s mostly quiet while we ride at the head of the troops as well, but every so often he’ll turn his head to make a wry joke or to mention a detail of our plan I hadn’t thought of, and I know that his mind is far from idle.

“A distraction,” he says to me on the second day, when I can just make out the blue sliver of the river on the horizon.

“Hmmm?” I say, my mind mostly a fog.

“You told Cress we were coming, though I’m sure she suspected as much before then. That means they’ll be expecting us. There will be a great deal of warriors on duty, but they’ll be waiting for an invasion to come through the front gates, right? What if we gave them one? It could buy us more time coming in through the tunnels if we can keep them occupied there.”

I smile against his shoulder. “A distraction,” I murmur. “I think I know some Fire Guardians who could manage that.”

He doesn’t speak, only nods his head. “We haven’t talked about where you’ll be in this battle,” he says, his voice tentative.

“I have to face Cress myself,” I tell him. “After everything she’s done—everything she can do—I’m the only one who can.”

I wait for him to tell me that it’s too dangerous, that I need to stay safe, but he doesn’t. Instead he nods.

“I never thought I’d pity Cress,” he says, and I can practically feel him smile. “I mean I still don’t, after everything, but under different circumstances I might.”

Heron is closest to us, with Erik on his other side, but even they are far enough that they don’t see when I kiss the place on the back of S?ren’s neck, just where his skin meets the collar of his shirt. A shiver runs down his spine and I smile and kiss him there again.

“What’s that for?” he asks, glancing back at me with an amused expression.

I shrug. “For not trying to talk me out of it,” I say.

“Would it have worked if I had?” he asks.

I laugh, but don’t bother replying. He knows the answer anyway.

* * *

—

Dragonsbane is already waiting when we get to the river, standing on the shore with a handful of men, three ships in the water behind her—small enough to fit in the river without trouble but large enough to hold the warriors we’ve brought with us.

S?ren dismounts and helps hand me down, and I’m aware of her gaze on me, measuring me. As always, I can’t help but feel that I’m found wanting, but when she closes the distance between us, a smile graces her lip. She might have my mother’s face, but it’s not my mother’s smile. Still, it brings me comfort.

She settles a hand on my shoulder and squeezes—which I think is Dragonsbane’s equivalent of a warm embrace.

“You’re alive,” she says, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Try not to sound so surprised,” I say.

“It’s war, Theo,” she says, shaking her head. “The key of it is to expect everyone to die. Then you’re only pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong.”

Her eyes dart to S?ren behind me, and she gives him a curt nod.

“And the prinkiti as well, I see,” she says. “I thought for sure he was dead.”

“So did I,” S?ren replies, though he still stumbles a bit over the Astrean words, making her laugh.

“Your Astrean has improved,” she notes, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs. “I’m a quick study,” he says in Astrean, before switching back to Kalovaxian. “And there wasn’t much of a choice—it seemed cruel to force people to speak the language of their oppressors for my benefit.”

She nods, but I can tell she’s distracted. She combs her gaze across the troops gathered behind me, searching out one person in particular.

“Artemisia is alive,” I tell her, drawing her eyes back to me. She frowns.

“Why isn’t she with you?” she asks me. “She’s your guard, isn’t she?”

I hesitate. “She was hurt,” I explain. “She’s all right, and she’s healing well, but there are burns on her legs, and riding is painful, so they’re going slower, bringing up the rear.”

Dragonsbane’s eyes narrow and I prepare myself for her wrath—I deserve it—but after a pause, she gives a single nod.

“She’s alive?”

“She’s alive.”

“She’ll heal?”