“You miss him,” I say, breaking the silence.

Heron gives a snort of laughter, not looking up from the candle. “Don’t ever tell him that,” he says. “His ego doesn’t need the boost.”

I hesitate. “Erik’s all false bravado,” I tell him. “Don’t take his swagger too seriously. I’m sure he misses you as well.”

The tip of the needle begins to glow orange, and he pulls it from the flame, then presses it to the surface of the molo varu and begins to write.

When he speaks again, his brow is creased in concentration, his eyes glued to the molo varu. “I didn’t want to have to miss anyone again, after Leonidas, but some people have a way of forcing their way into your life. When they go, it becomes a void you can’t fill,” he says before glancing up at me. “But I don’t have to tell you about missing people. Don’t you miss the prinkiti?”

I hesitate. Heron’s feelings about S?ren are complicated, to say the least. I doubt they will ever call each other friend, but at least they seem to have reached a truce of sorts.

“Yes,” I tell him. “Do you think badly of me for that?”

He’s surprised at that, the needle freezing on the stone’s surface. He looks up at me, holds my gaze. “Why would I think badly of you?” he asks.

“Because missing him makes me look weak,” I say. “Because of who he is and what he’s done. I know his sins. I know how much blood covers his hands—I know you do as well. But he saw me. He understood parts of me that no one wanted to acknowledge existed. Like you said—he left a void behind.”

“It doesn’t make you look weak, Theo,” he tells me, going back to writing on the stone. “It makes you look human.”

I laugh softly. “Maybe. But I’m not meant to be human. I’m meant to be a queen.”

“No one’s saying you can’t be both,” he says. He must have finished his message, because he sets the needle down on the tray. “You miss him and you’re allowed to miss him, but every time you’ve had to choose between him and your country, you’ve chosen Astrea. You always choose Astrea, no matter what it costs you. If that doesn’t make you a queen, I don’t know what does.”

Blaise said the same thing to me—that I always choose Astrea over him. I don’t think he meant it as a condemnation, but he’s right: what I have left over isn’t enough for him. Maybe it will never be enough for any person. Maybe that’s the reason why my mother and all of our foremothers never married. That sort of commitment requires more of us than we have to freely give. Maybe being a queen means being alone. The thought leaves me cold and hollow.

I FIND BLAISE ON THE OUTSKIRTS of the camp, a tin cup of coffee in hand. The sun is just barely peeking over the horizon, and most of the camp is only just waking up. We’ll have maybe half an hour while everyone gets ready and packs up before we’ll set off. But as Blaise said, it will be a start.

“What did Heron and Art teach you?” he asks when he sees me, wasting no time with preamble.

“Fireballs,” I tell him.

“Show me.”

I take a steadying breath, focusing on a large rock about ten feet away. I summon the fire to my fingertips, and when I throw it, I throw my power with it, just as Artemisia told me. The fire hits the stone before falling to the grass in a clump of ash. It is the same as it ever is, and I think it was impressive, but Blaise frowns at the stone before looking at me with pursed lips.

“That’s it?” he asks.

“It’s only been a couple of days, a few scattered lessons when we had some time to spare,” I say defensively.

“You’re aiming too small for the size of your power,” he says.

I shrug. “How else would you start out? Heron says that you start small, then grow.”

“Normally that’s the case, yes,” he says. “But when a person’s power is as strong as yours—as strong as mine, even—it is more difficult to restrain it to something so small than to use it for something larger.” He pauses, searching around the small clearing. “There,” he says, motioning to a large tree on the far side, at least fifty feet from where we stand. “Hit that.”

“I don’t want to kill it,” I tell him.

“Rot has already done that,” he assures me. “It’s all but dead. Go on, hit that. And don’t think of it as a ball of fire. Think of it as…as a wave.”

“A wave,” I say slowly, frowning.

“Just try it,” he says.

I sigh, turning toward the tree. Then I take a deep breath and let the fire build inside me, gathering in my hands until it isn’t only a ball, small and manageable. I let it build until it becomes so great, it feels like it might consume me.

And then I let it go, throwing it like Artemisia taught me, not just with my hands but with my chest, a deadly blast of fire and power. A wave, as Blaise said.

The blast of fire hits the tree, and it erupts into flames, a towering inferno.

For a moment, all I can do is stare at it. I did that. Me. As proud as I am, it also frightens me. This power is inside me, after all.

Blaise brings a swirl of dirt up from around the tree, surrounding the flames and suffocating them before letting the earth settle once more. The tree is blackened and bare now, a skeleton of what it was.

“Better,” he says, offering me a rare smile. “How do you feel?”

I’m not sure how to answer him at first. But he’s Blaise, and if there is anyone I can be honest with, isn’t it him?

“Powerful,” I say. “Fearful and fearsome all at once.”

He nods. “Good,” he says. “Try again.”

* * *

—

The sun is fully in the sky when Blaise and I make our way back. Everyone is awake and fed now, and bustling around the camp to get it packed so that we can leave as soon as possible. Dragonsbane sent a pigeon with a message that reached Art early this morning, letting us know that Sta’Criveran ships were spotted heading our way. If we hurry, we’ll arrive at the Water Mine a day before they do, and hopefully that will be enough.

After training so hard with Blaise, I can barely keep my eyes open as I help Artemisia pack up the tent. Though I could have done with more blankets and pillows last night, I’m grateful for the sparsity now. There’s less to pack, and though drowsiness makes my whole body feel heavy, I’m already anxious to get moving again.

The rest of our camp seems to feel the same way, everyone moving through their assigned tasks in a kind of tense silence, barely looking at one another.

They’re afraid, I realize, doubt tying my stomach in knots. They should be afraid—we all should be—but this is the right move to make.

Maybe if I tell myself that enough, I’ll start to believe it.

I don’t think I can feel worse, until I spot Maile approaching, three tin cups clumsily held in her hands.

“You look like you could use some coffee,” she says to Artemisia and me, with a smile that I suppose she thinks is charming, though it mostly just annoys me.

Art seems to feel the same way. She tightens the tie holding our bedrolls to our horse, before looking Maile up and down with a scornful gaze.

“Are you saying we look tired?” Art asks her, each word dripping with derision.

Maile blinks. “Well, we’re all tired—”

“Some of us didn’t go to bed early to get our beauty sleep. Some of us were up most of the night strategizing. We’re fighting a battle in a few days, in case you’ve forgotten,” Art continues, her voice acidic.

It takes Maile only a second to regain her wits. “I offered to help yesterday, if I remember correctly,” she says. “You said there was nothing to do.”

Artemisia and I exchange glances. Maile has not proven to be anyone’s favorite person in the camp. Truth be told, I’m not sure why Chief Kapil sent her to us. She lacks her father’s knack for diplomacy, and she hasn’t offered up any strategic suggestions apart from insulting Erik and laughing at any ideas the rest of us offer up. As far as I can tell, she’s little more than blistering bravado and a hot temper.

I search for an excuse to provide for leaving her out, but Artemisia beats me to it with the blunt truth.

“You haven’t been particularly helpful in any other meetings,” she says with a shrug. “And since the Emperor is no longer here for you to levy insults at, we didn’t think you would get much out of it, either.”

That seems to render Maile silent for the first time since I met her, though she recovers quickly enough.

“Well, it’s not as if I was wrong about him, is it? He showed his true colors in the end,” she says with a smug smile.

I have to bite back a retort. It’s important for everyone to believe that Erik truly abandoned us.

“I’m sure your behavior toward him made that an easy decision,” I say instead.

Maile stares at me in disbelief. “You can’t hold any sympathetic feelings toward him, Your Majesty,” she says. “First the Prinz and now the cowardly Emperor? It seems you have a type.”