He shudders and the tremors subside slightly, though they’re still pronounced. They’re still dangerous.

Without thinking about it, I throw my arms around his neck and hold him as tightly as I can, even as the heat of his body spreads through mine. I comb my fingers through his hair, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m singing him the Astrean lullaby he sang for me when I needed it.

“Walk through the fog with me,

My beautiful child.

We’re off to dreamland, my dear,

Where the world turns wild.

Today is done, the time has come

For little birds to fly.

Tomorrow is near, the time is here

For old crows to die.

Dream a dream of a world unknown,

Where anything can be.

Tomorrow you’ll make your dreams come true,

But tonight, child, dream with me.”

Gradually, the world around us stills, but Blaise doesn’t. He keeps shaking even as his arms come around me and he buries his face in the crook of my neck. It’s only when I feel hot, wet tears against my skin that I realize he’s crying. None of us speaks for what seems like an eternity, but I know their thoughts as well as I know my own.

Blaise is not in control of his gift and it’s getting worse. Another few minutes and he could have killed all of us and thousands of others besides. We have no way to stop it.

Slowly, Blaise extracts himself from my grip and lifts his head.

“I have to leave,” he says, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “I can’t stay here. I can’t—” His voice breaks before he can finish the sentence.

Part of me knows that he’s right. He’s a danger here, to himself and to everyone around him. But I can’t bear the idea of sending him away.

“No,” I say, forcing my voice not to shake around the word. “That…You didn’t mean it.”

Artemisia stares at me incredulously. “It doesn’t matter what he meant,” she says. “He nearly…” She trails off, shaking her head. “I didn’t realize how bad it was.”

“None of us did,” Heron says. “But we knew it would come to this eventually. There’s no cure for mine madness.”

It’s the same thing S?ren said to me on the W?s. I didn’t believe it then, not really. I still don’t want to, even with the evidence right in front of me.

“It can’t be mine madness,” I say, trying to sound sure even when I’m suddenly not sure of anything. “He would already be dead if it was.” I close my eyes, searching for some explanation. “His gift is strong, and because of that it’s unstable. You just need to practice controlling it,” I tell Blaise, but I don’t quite manage to convince anyone, least of all myself.

Blaise swallows. “Theo, I don’t want to leave either, but—”

“Then don’t,” I say. “Stay and fight it. Stay with me.” I don’t mean to say that last part, but the words are out before I can stop them.

Blaise holds my gaze for a quiet moment. I can see the emotions do battle over his expression. “I’ve never felt it that strongly before. My body didn’t feel like mine, I was just watching helplessly.” He swallows and shakes his head. After what feels like an eternity, he turns to Artemisia, eyes level and resolute. “Next time it gets that bad, Art, you’ll put a dagger through my heart.”

Artemisia’s eyes widen, and for a second, I expect her to refuse. “If I think you’re going to hurt people, I’ll do it,” she says carefully.

Blaise nods, though he still looks uncertain. “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he says.

“Maybe it’s happened before,” Heron offers. “Maybe there have been Guardians whose powers aren’t stable.”

“I never heard any of those stories,” I say.

“We wouldn’t have,” Heron says. “Who would have told that sort of thing to children?”

It’s true that all the Guardians I knew as a child were in control of their gifts, but they would have to be, wouldn’t they, to be so close to the Queen? The idea of other Guardians—Guardians like Blaise—never occurred to me, but Heron has a point. Where would I have learned of them?

A thought comes to mind and joins with another—a foolish, desperate idea taking shape. “Erik and I made plans to go back to the refugee camp today to bring more food,” I say. “That’s where I was—visiting S?ren with Erik. If there are any Astreans left who may know something about mine madness, maybe they’re there.”

“Maybe,” Artemisia says, though she doesn’t sound sure.

“How much food have you amassed, Heron?” I ask him. It’s a struggle to speak normally with the debris from Blaise’s outburst all around us, but I force myself to. If I dwell on it and what it means, I’ll go mad myself. It’s a problem I have to solve, that’s all, and I can do that while helping the refugees at the same time. I focus on that—the solution rather than the problem—and it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

“Not enough,” Heron says. “But then, I don’t think it’s possible to smuggle enough out to feed them all without it being missed. If I take another couple of passes through the kitchen, though, I should have all that we can carry with us.”

I nod. “Do it, then,” I say. “Erik and Hoa are coming as well, we’re meeting them in an hour. Art, will you see what you can overhear people saying about the earthquake? I can’t imagine anyone would think it was anything other than natural, but I want to be sure.”

They both nod and hurry out, leaving Blaise and me alone.

I wring my hands. Blaise and I go to such lengths to avoid talking about his worsening instability that I’m not sure how to bring it up now.

“I can’t stay in the palace, Theo,” he says after a moment passes in silence. “I can set up a tent outside the capital walls, far enough away that I won’t hurt anyone. But I’ll be close enough to help if you need me.”

“You would leave me here alone?” I ask.

He winces. “Don’t do that,” he says. “You wouldn’t be alone. You would have Heron and Art.”

“It isn’t the same. They don’t see me the way you do. They never knew me before all of this. I need you, Blaise.” My voice breaks and I shake my head. “We’ll go to the camp first. We’ll find information. If you still want to leave after that, I won’t stop you.”

He shakes his head. “We can’t just ask strangers about this. If anyone else finds out—”

“Heron and Artemisia know and they haven’t done anything,” I point out. “They don’t treat you any differently.”

“Because they’re my friends,” he says. “But even Art will if it happens again. Strangers? They’ll try to kill me on the spot.”

“Well, we won’t tell them it’s you. We’ll just ask some hypothetical questions, gather general knowledge.”

“There’s no way that won’t sound suspicious,” he says.

“Then we’ll hide one inquiry in another,” I say, an idea coming to me. “We’ll see if anyone knows something about what happened to Cress, why she has Houzzah’s gift after drinking the Encatrio. And then we can go from there.”

Blaise gives a labored sigh, but he doesn’t disagree, and that’s something.

“Chances are it won’t lead to anything,” he says after a moment, toying with the Earth Gem bracelet I gave him half a lifetime ago. He keeps it tucked in his pocket usually, but now he’s rolling it between his fingers absentmindedly. “There’s no cure for mine madness.”

It isn’t mine madness, I want to say, but I’m not sure it isn’t anymore. What is mine madness, after all, but a gift given to someone unable to handle it? Maybe it isn’t something completely separate from being blessed. Maybe they are two sides of the same coin. I realize with a jolt how little I know about my own country. Though I’m more adult than child now, I understand little more about the gods and the mines than I did at the age of six.

Blaise is holding the Earth Gem bracelet so tightly his knuckles have gone white.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have that,” I say, nodding toward it. “Maybe it’s making it worse.”

His grip tightens even more. “No, it helps,” he says. “It channels it into something manageable, more often than not.”

I bite my lip and look back up at him. “I can’t lose you, Blaise,” I tell him quietly. “If there’s even the slightest chance that we can help you, we have to take it.”

Blaise doesn’t say anything for a moment, his jaw clenched tight. Finally, he nods. “All right, Theo,” he says. “We’ll try. But if it comes to nothing, I’m leaving.”

A sick feeling spreads through my stomach at the idea, but I nod my head. Tentatively, I step forward and fold him into my arms again. At first, his body is stiff and unyielding, but finally he softens, holding me like I’m as fragile as the vase was before he shattered it.

“I love you,” I tell him, my voice muffled against his shoulder. Maybe it is another manipulation, more words wielded like the only weapon I have at my disposal, but that doesn’t make them untrue. It feels good to say them out loud.