One word catches in my mind, and despite everything, a smile spreads over my face.

“War,” I say. “Was that the messenger’s word?”

Heron looks bewildered but nods. “A direct quote, yes.”

I laugh again, but this time it doesn’t sound mad.

“Perhaps you have cracked,” Erik says to me.

I shake my head. “The Kalovaxians don’t have wars,” I say. “They have sieges. They have skirmishes. They have battles. If they’re calling this a war, it means they believe we’re a true threat. It means they see us as something worth fearing.”

“Pretty words,” Sandrin says again, shaking his head. “But can you promise we will win if we stay with you?”

I want to, but the words lodge in my throat. As much as I wish I could make that promise, I can’t. I hope we will win. I believe we can, if we fight wisely. But I don’t know what the future holds, and I understand Sandrin’s uncertainty. He has tens of thousands depending on him—he needs to do right by them. And so do I.

“The Kalovaxians are not offering freedom,” I say. “They are offering to trade your chains for a leash, to fashion you into their attack dogs. And if you believe that they will keep their word and allow you even that much, you haven’t learned anything from their past actions.”

Sandrin glances away, but Maile holds my gaze and her eyes narrow. “You think you know them better because you saw them up close. We all know what they are capable of,” she says. “But perhaps it would be better—safer, at least—to be by their side for once.”

I consider it for a moment. “There was a man at court—Ion. Before the Kalovaxians seized Astrea, he was a Guardian, one of the people sworn to use their magic to protect Astrea and my mother. The Kalovaxians offered him a similar deal—die, or use his magic to aid the Kaiser. I’m sure it’s a deal that was offered to all of the Guardians, though he was the only one to accept it. I’m sure he thought the same as you do now—that the Kalovaxians would treat him as an equal, that he would be safe. And it’s true that as far as I know, Ion is still alive and kept at court, but he is not a free man, and he is certainly not a happy one.”

That renders Maile speechless.

“So we don’t take this deal,” Dragonsbane says, her voice firm. “Are we in agreement?”

“Aye,” Maile says, followed a beat later by Sandrin.

Erik, however, says nothing, his expression unreadable for a moment. With resignation, he turns to Heron, and it’s only then that he hesitates, and I can see him soften for just an instant. I can see him waver. But it isn’t enough. His mind is made up.

“Take me to the messenger,” he says, each word heavy. “I would like to accept the Kaiserin’s offer.”

“Erik,” I say, the name wrenching itself from my throat painfully. “You can’t.”

“I have to,” he says, impassive, avoiding my imploring gaze. “I’ve lived with the Kalovaxians just as you said, been seen as less than human but not quite a slave. I survived it. It wasn’t so bad—certainly preferable to death.”

“You don’t mean that,” I say. “I know you’re upset, but—”

“But nothing,” he says, the words suddenly as harsh and abrasive as a windstorm. “Do you know what’s happened since I started trusting you, Theo? I’ve lost my mother, I’ve lost my brother, and I’ve been saddled with responsibility for hundreds of people.”

“You would betray everyone because you’re angry with me?” I ask.

One corner of his mouth curls up in a sardonic smile. “Your ego is showing, Theo. It isn’t about you. Besides, I’m taking a scant few hundred men. Not enough to hobble you.”

“Do you expect me to thank you for that?” I demand, my voice breaking.

“Perhaps you should,” Erik says before hesitating. “I’ll give S?ren your regards when I see him.”

He steps toward the exit, and I try to follow, to yell at him, to convince him to stay, but before I can make it more than a couple of steps, Maile claps a hand on my shoulder and stops me.

“Let him go,” she says, her voice gruff. “He’s got traitor blood—it would have won out in the end anyways. Better to have him gone now, before he can truly betray us.”

“And he’s right,” Dragonsbane says. “We can still stand without him. The Gorakians are the smallest number among us.”

Heron looks queasy as Erik brushes past him and exits the room. His eyes find mine, desperate and wounded, making my stomach twist. He’s lost so many people already, and he was only just starting to let Erik in. This might ruin him.

“Heron,” I start, but he shakes his head. All of his emotions seal themselves away behind his hazel eyes.

“I’ll bring him to the messenger to negotiate terms. The rest of you should come calm your factions down to prevent an uprising. Theo, stay here so the messenger doesn’t see you.”

* * *

—

It isn’t until the others leave to calm and reassure their people that I let myself break. I collapse into the desk chair that Dragonsbane abandoned, frustration flooding me until the only way it can come out is in tears coursing hot down my cheeks.

I should have expected Erik to leave—gods know I pushed him to it.

If I had taken his side against Maile…If I had come up with a plan to save S?ren, even at the expense of everything else…If I hadn’t let Hoa die…But I couldn’t do any of that. I failed him at every turn, and now I’ve lost him.

Just as Cress knew I would lose someone in this ploy of hers, just as she told me in my dream. Was it only a dream?

I don’t understand it. I can’t begin to guess what has caused it—whether it was the poison or the mine or something older and more deeply seeded that has come awake—but the Cress in my dreams was truly Cress, not a figment of my imagination, but her consciousness.

The thought of it makes me nauseous. I don’t want her in my mind, and I certainly don’t want to be in hers. I don’t want to share anything with her.

But if you can use it…, a voice in my mind whispers, sounding vaguely like the Kaiser.

And I can use it, I realize with a jolt. Cress thinks I’m dead. She thinks the Theo in her dreams is only her imagination, a ghost of a girl and nothing more. But I know otherwise and that gives me an advantage, if I can figure out how to use it.

It’s a grisly advantage, one that I still can’t wrap my mind around, but in this war I will take every edge I can.

HERON, ARTEMISIA, AND BLAISE COME to fetch me after the messenger leaves with Erik and the Gorakians. Though Blaise still brings an air of awkwardness with him, I can’t deny that it’s nice to have the four of us together again, even when the Gorakians’ abandonment hangs over us all like a wool blanket in the dead of summer.

“I’m sorry,” I say, mostly to Heron, who won’t look at me. Instead he takes one of the chairs in front of the commandant’s desk, his gaze downcast.

Heron shrugs. “He was right—we can withstand the loss of the Gorakians more easily than that of any other faction. It’s a small blow to our numbers. A surmountable one.”

“I know,” I say. “But our people will feel the weight of the betrayal. And I’m sorry we lost Erik.”

The weight of just how much I’ll miss Erik hits me squarely in the chest. It’s easy to think of it in practical terms. Of the Gorakians’ abandonment as a math equation and nothing more. But it isn’t so simple. Yes, we can survive without their numbers, but leading this fight without Erik beside me with his witty remarks and startling bouts of wisdom…that I will miss far more than the number of warriors who followed him.

Heron shakes his head, looking at me with raised eyebrows. “You don’t get it, do you?” he asks before reaching into his pocket and producing a large lump of gold—the one Erik gave him when we parted ways in Sta’Crivero. The molo varu.

Pieces click into place in my mind. Not the whole picture, not yet, but enough.

“It was a trick,” I say. “Erik didn’t really betray us.”

Heron’s smile is grim. “That truth can’t leave the four of us,” he says, glancing at Artemisia and Blaise and back at me.

Blaise shakes his head. “Does Erik think we have spies?”

“Of course we have spies,” Artemisia says with a snort. “The only real questions are how many and who they work for. I have a few suspects—some for the Kaiserin, even some for King Etristo.”

Blaise’s eyes go wide. “Why haven’t we stopped them?” he asks.

It’s news to me, too, but I understand immediately. “Because it’s better to feed them information than it is to cut off the flow of it entirely. Intercept messages, replace them if we need to. Let them believe we’re sloppy. Let them underestimate us. It’s better to keep an eye on them than execute them.”

Art nods. “For now,” she adds.