She only laughs. “Oh, my darling, no. Etristo is far too old to make a good match for you, not to mention the fact that he already has a wife. No, he’s been kind enough to host an…event of sorts. The heads of countries from all over the world will come to meet you and offer their troops in exchange for your hand.”

“I am not some jewel to be auctioned off to the highest bidder,” I say, unable to keep my voice from rising. My body begins to feel too warm, the same way it did when I woke up from my nightmare. Sweat beads on my forehead but I wipe it away. I don’t know why Dragonsbane keeps her cabin so hot. I don’t know why I seem to be the only one to notice it. “I am a queen and I will make my own decisions.”

Dragonsbane purses her lips, eyeing me for a moment in thoughtful silence.

“Of course, the decision is yours,” she says finally, with a strained smile and calculating gaze. “But I urge you to consider it seriously. In the meantime, we will continue on to Sta’Crivero. At the very least, we can take refuge in the chaos of their port while we formulate another plan.”

I agree to consider it, though even that much makes me nauseous.

WHEN I EMERGE BACK ONTO the deck after my meeting with Dragonsbane, the fresh air hits me and my skin begins to cool. I wipe more of the sweat from my brow and upper lip, glancing at Heron and Blaise on either side of me. They both look perfectly fine, not at all affected by the temperature in Dragonsbane’s cabin. Maybe I’m getting ill—it wouldn’t be surprising, after everything. Or maybe it was only my imagination, a reaction to the stress and anger.

“There has to be a better plan than marriage,” Blaise says, jerking me out of my thoughts.

I swallow. “There has to be,” I agree without looking at him, or at Heron on my left. Instead, I stare out at the busy ship, full of people rushing to and fro, keeping the Smoke moving at full power toward a future that has once more been taken out of my hands. Dragonsbane might have given me the illusion of a choice, but I’m not foolish enough to believe it will be as easy as that.

“I can’t believe she tried to corner you alone for that meeting,” Heron says.

I snort. “I can. Gods, I’m tired of games,” I tell them, shaking my head. “I played the Kaiser’s games for ten years and I didn’t escape just to be forced to play hers.”

I turn to face them.

“I told Dragonsbane that the two of you are my council. I didn’t think it best to have Art there today, given the effect her mother seems to have on her, but I include her in that as well. You’re the people I trust here.”

Blaise nods, but Heron looks uncertain, his eyes lingering on me a moment too long. Whatever he wants to say won’t leave his mouth.

“Blaise, I know you need to get back to work, but will you accompany me for lunch, Heron?”

Blaise inclines his head toward me before walking back to the bow of the ship, where he had been swabbing decks.

Heron nods, but he seems reluctant, so I loop my arm through his and steer him toward the dining hall.

“Is everything all right?” I ask.

“Of course,” he says in a way that makes me more certain than ever that it’s not.

It’s late for lunch and the dining hall is mostly empty. The handful of people gathered watch me as I take my ration of hardtack and dried meat. I’m used to people watching me—the Kalovaxians stared as well—but now there is no malice behind it. Only expectation, which somehow feels worse. A knot hardens in my stomach as I wait for Heron to fill his plate.

We have no trouble finding an empty table in the corner, away from listening ears. I give him a moment to eat in silence, staring at his food to avoid looking at me. The Heron I know would never ignore me; he would find it disrespectful. There’s nothing disrespectful about it now, I realize. He’s afraid of me. Could he think I blame him for Elpis’s death?

I clear my throat. Maybe telling him my secret will make him feel better about his own. “I had a chance to kill S?ren,” I say. He pauses, a strip of dried meat halfway to his open mouth. “I had the knife to his back before he knew what was happening. There was no way out for him. I knew it, he knew it. He even told me to do it. Urged me to do it. I think he wanted me to kill him. I think he thought it would somehow make us even. But I couldn’t.”

He finally meets my gaze, expression inscrutable.

I continue. “I haven’t told anyone else, not even Blaise. I’m sure he and Art assume I didn’t get the chance, but I did. I just wasn’t strong enough to take it. And it feels good to tell someone else. It feels good to tell you.”

Heron chews the meat slowly, looking down at his plate. He breaks off a corner of a piece of hardtack, then breaks that piece in half.

“I told you about Leonidas,” he says quietly. “We met in the Air Mine when we were first brought there, became friends right away. He was one of the only things that made surviving there bearable. He was there when they killed my mother in front of me; he was there when my sister missed too many quotas and they took her down to the submine. He was there when they brought her body back. And I was there when they took his brother, then his oldest friend. We held each other and sobbed and somehow, in that ugly nightmare of an existence, we found love. It wasn’t a story like the ones parents tell their children about romance and happily-ever-afters, but it was love. It was all that kept me getting up in the mornings.”

He crushes one corner of the hardtack into crumbs beneath his thumb, eyes unfocused and narrow.

“The symptoms started slowly, but we both knew what they meant. His skin was hot to the touch, like he was always running a fever, and he slept less and less until he finally stopped altogether. We never talked about it, not in so many words, but we hid it as best we could from the guards. We managed for a while, but there’s no hiding mine madness forever.”

So the weight on his shoulders isn’t about Elpis, then. I lean toward him.

“Did they kill him on the spot?” I ask, hoping they did. At least then it would have been a quick death, a less painful one. A mercy killing, though I know the Kalovaxians aren’t capable of mercy.

But Heron shakes his head, swallowing. “They took him away. For his execution, they said. But now we know that might not have been true.”

My stomach sours. It’s possible they sent him into battle as a berserker, but there are even worse fates than that. There were experiments—I’d seen them myself, performed on the last three of my mother’s Guardians, kept in the palace dungeons for a decade. Blood had been drawn, fingers amputated, skin sliced open. It’s possible that happened to Leonidas, but I will never tell Heron that.

He continues. “I fought the guards when they took him away. I knocked one unconscious, even. So they threw me in the submine,” he says, shuddering. “I hope you never see such a place, but it haunts my nightmares. There was crusted blood on the walls, and I knew some of it must have belonged to my sister, Imogen. And the smell—sulfur and rot so pungent you never get used to it. When they brought others down there, their screams would pierce the walls of the cave, but I never screamed. I curled up and waited to die.

“I had nothing left,” he tells me, leaning across the table to take my hands in his much larger ones. His expression is strange, not horrified or sad, the way I’d expect him to look. Instead, he is alight with hope for the first time since I met him. “That was when the gods blessed me, when Ozam gave me his gift. I’d thought it was a gift so that I could get revenge, but what if it’s so I can save him?”

“You think Leonidas might be alive,” I realize.

“It’s possible.” His grip on my hands tightens. “I never felt like he was really dead. It never felt real. I know I would have felt it if he were dead.”

Part of me wants to tell him that isn’t necessarily true. Part of me wants to tell him that sometimes I still don’t feel like my mother’s really dead, even though I saw her die with my own eyes. A feeling isn’t proof. But I can’t bear to kill the scrap of hope he’s found, though I don’t want that scrap of hope to destroy him when it leads to nothing either.

“Most people with mine madness don’t live longer than a few weeks,” I point out carefully.

“I know,” he says quickly before giving me a heavy look. “But we both know it’s possible to survive much longer.”

I shake my head. It isn’t that I’m surprised Heron has seen Blaise’s symptoms—he’s suspected mine madness, I’d assume—but it still has the weight of a secret, and one I’m not keen on talking about with anyone. Not even Heron.

“It’s possible, that’s all I’m saying,” Heron says. His grip on my hands has gotten so tight I can’t feel my fingers anymore.

“It’s possible,” I agree gently. “But I’m not sure what we can do about it, Heron.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and I can tell he’s trying to figure out the right words. “S?ren might know something. About mine madness and bersekers. About what might have happened.”

I shake my head. “He used berserkers, but I don’t think he knew much about them. He was following orders.”