“If I had untied Mattin, it would have been a calculated risk,” he says finally, his eyes not leaving the parchment. “I would have chosen the worst swordsman out of the Pride’s crew, but one with a history of doing foolish things in the name of bravery. I would know that in untying him, I would be telling him I was on his side, and in shielding you, I ensured that protection would apply to you as well. I would have known he would take Pavlos’s weapon and attack him first, but poor a swordsman as Mattin is, I would have hoped it wouldn’t have been a fatal injury. I would have been certain that I could get your dagger and stop him before he killed Dragonsbane.”

Even though he clings to his hypotheticals, he knows I know that’s the truth of it.

“You killed one of Dragonsbane’s crew in order to prove that she could trust you,” I say slowly. “Do you realize how convoluted that is? Why am I supposed to care about what you hoped would happen? You were wrong and a man died because of a risk he never consented to take.”

He says nothing, only staring at the ground, shame turning his cheeks red.

“Sacrificing someone else to improve your own lot—it sounds like something your father would do,” I say.

“I know,” he admits, though each word costs him. “When I was standing on that deck, going over all of it in my mind, it was his voice I heard.”

The confession hangs in the air between us, neither of us knowing what to say.

“I hear it sometimes, too,” I say after what feels like an eternity. “Any time I confront Dragonsbane or use the word queen as a weapon to get what I want. I heard it when I convinced Spiros to let you out of the brig.”

S?ren lets out a mirthless chuckle. “The difference is, my father would have let me die in that brig without a second thought.”

I shake my head. “Not if getting you out gave him a tactical advantage, even as it hurt the people who were depending on him to help them,” I say. “Getting you out was the right thing to do, I know that, but it isn’t why I did it. That’s what scares me.”

S?ren hesitates. “A lot of awful things can be said about my father—we’ve said most of them. The idea of sharing anything with him is enough to make me want to tear my skin from my bones. But it can’t be denied that he wins his battles. He’s a monster, but maybe understanding him is the only way we can hope to beat him.”

His words reassure me more than they probably should. I still hate the idea of being like the Kaiser in any way, and I’m not sure that will ever change, no matter how S?ren tries to justify it. Still, there is something to be said for someone seeing your darkest parts and accepting you anyway.

THE SMOKE GETS AS CLOSE to the Sta’Criveran shore as it can without the risk of running aground. Most of the crew will remain on the ship for the duration of our visit, but Dragonsbane and I are supposed to stay in the palace as King Etristo’s guests. I can’t deny that I’m looking forward to sleeping on solid ground again—no violent rocking, no moldy sea smell, no worry that a storm might come along.

As my council, S?ren, Blaise, Artemisia, and Heron are allowed to join me in the palace, just as Dragonsbane’s council are joining her. Though she won’t be Dragonsbane here. She will be Princess Kallistrade, my beloved aunt, who came out of hiding when I escaped and has been aiding me ever since. That is the story Dragonsbane spun for King Etristo in their correspondence to keep her pirate identity secret. We all must remember to only call her Aunt or Princess but never Captain.

Though this was a directive, I didn’t miss the fact that it gives me an amount of power over her. With one word, I could reveal her identity as a wanted pirate and change her fate forever.

I cram into a small rowboat with my council, glancing after Dragonsbane, Anders, and Eriel in a second boat ahead.

“Any sign of trouble and we’ll get you out immediately,” Blaise says while Heron and S?ren row us toward the shore. Blaise offered to row, but Heron and S?ren are visibly stronger and Blaise begrudgingly agreed to let them do it.

“We’re at war,” I tell him. “Trouble is inevitable, and I’m ready to handle my share.”

“Running is the last option,” Artemisia adds. “It’s all well and good to act like Theo’s made of glass—by all means, keep that illusion up once we get to Etristo’s court—but she isn’t. And as much as we might not want to admit it, we need Etristo. We need his help far more than he needs anything from us, and you ought to believe he’s keenly aware of that fact.” She turns to me. “You are sweet and docile and dumb.”

I recoil. “Excuse me?”

She smirks. “Another role to play. You’re very good at playing roles.”

I’m tempted to look at S?ren, who’s too busy rowing to talk but can certainly hear every word.

“Let them believe you are dim,” Artemisia continues. “The King, his court, your suitors. If they believe you to be an idiot, they will underestimate you. Let them.”

I swallow before nodding. The idea of going back to pretending to be someone I’m not rankles, but I know she’s right.

* * *

—

Sta’Crivero is a country of sand. As we approach the shore, I scan the horizon but there is little to see. Rolling dunes crest like waves all the way to the horizon, unbroken by trees or any kind of foliage. It doesn’t look like the sort of place where anything could survive.

As the boat beaches, I see a hint of movement on the horizon. A line of white carriages approaches, though the sun’s rays make the shape of them hazy and unclear.

The first thing I notice once Blaise helps me out of the boat and onto the Sta’Criveran shore is the heat. It was hot enough on the boat, but the water surrounding us cooled the air somewhat. On the shore, there is no solace. The sun is so bright I have to squint and shield my eyes to see anything.

The carriages stop a good distance away, fanning out into a semicircle. Now that they’re closer, I can see the open tops, covered only by white cloth awnings. Each carriage is filled with a handful of men and women dressed head to toe in loose white clothing.

“The King and his entourage,” S?ren says, coming to stand at my side.

“Is the white of cultural significance?” I ask, dragging the back of my hand across my forehead to wipe away beads of sweat.

“No,” Artemisia says, appearing at my other side. “It deflects the sun’s rays to keep them cool while they’re out of the palace. Once they’re inside, they’ll wear more color.”

I can see the appeal of the lighter garments. My dark purple gown is sleeveless and made of airy silk, but I am already sweating under the heat of the high sun. Even though Heron mended its tears and Artemisia used her Water Gift to clean it, it still reminds me of the last time I wore it, back in the dungeon. Art and Heron did a good job of fixing it—it looks the same as the day Cress gave it to me, which seems unfair somehow, given how much I’ve changed since then.

“They aren’t moving,” I point out, watching the Sta’Criverans watching me.

“They expect us to go to them,” Dragonsbane says, approaching from her boat with Anders and Eriel. She looks uncomfortable in her own gown, black silk and so high-necked that it looks like it’s choking her. “Etristo wants us to remember who is in control here.”

She doesn’t sound happy about that, but she’s resigned. Artemisia moves back as her mother approaches, giving Dragonsbane room to loop her arm through mine and pull me into step with her.

“You’ll let me do the talking,” she says, not bothering to soften the command into a request. “Smile and nod and keep your answers short and charming. You can do that, can’t you?”

I resist the urge to pull my arm from hers, but I’m acutely aware of everyone watching. What she’s saying isn’t so different from what Artemisia said just moments ago, but it feels a world apart. Artemisia told me to act stupid; Dragonsbane is treating me like I am stupid.

“Of course, Aunt,” I say with a saccharine smile. After all, there’s no reason playing stupid shouldn’t extend to Dragonsbane as well. I can’t imagine that her underestimating me won’t end up coming in handy.

As we draw closer, I get a better look at the Sta’Criverans. Though their clothing is similar, the people are all strikingly different from each other. Unlike Kalovaxians, who are uniformly fair-haired and pale-skinned, or Astreans, who are tawny-skinned with dark brown and black shades of hair, Sta’Criverans have a variety of different skin tones, from a near jet-black to the color of the sand around us. And the hair! Though hats cover most of it to block out the sun’s rays, what bits stick out are every color imaginable. Deep bluish black, white blond, fire red, and everything in between.

As we get closer, I realize that the horses hitched to the carriages have jewels woven into their manes and tails that glitter in the sunlight. My first thought is that they are Spiritgems to help them go faster, but no. There are too many different colors, none of them the telltale clear of Air Gems. They are just for show.

I remember what Artemisia said about the Sta’Criverans—they have no need for useful things, so they value pretty things instead.

When we’re halfway between the shore and the carriages, Dragonsbane stops short and I follow suit. The others fall in behind us.