I look at her, surprised. I don’t have to ask who she’s talking about.

“That’s not part of the plan,” I say. “Today we just need to survive and keep their army from growing. Killing Crescentia would accomplish nothing. If we do, someone else would take her place quickly enough. I’d guess the nobles have had contingency plans ready since the Kaiser died. Longer, even—if my dreams are to be believed, she already thinks they’re planning some kind of coup. We just need to survive this so that we can win another day. Sometimes surviving is enough.”

I don’t realize I quoted the late Kaiserin until the words are out of my mouth.

“If you had to, though,” she asks again, and I realize what she’s actually asking. Not whether I physically could do it—I’m not sure either of us really knows the answer to that—but whether I could stand before the girl I once called my heart’s sister and end her life.

I open my mouth to say that yes, of course I could, but no words come out. It’s easy to remember that Cress is my enemy when I think of her as she was the last time I saw her in person, but the Cress in my dreams—or whatever they may be—has her claws in me as well. Could I kill Cress?

I don’t reply, but Artemisia must hear my answer anyway because she doesn’t press it.

The sun is high in the sky by the time we make it to the shore, where we linger in a copse of cypress trees, out of sight from the Sta’Criveran ships lying in wait about three miles offshore. It’s hard to tell their size from this distance, but I have to assume they’re large enough to carry not just Prince Avaric and his guards, but also the army he promised Cress.

“They won’t come closer until it’s time to meet,” I say. “But if they see Kalovaxians on the shore with prisoners, they’ll assume the Kaiserin arrived early, and we can lure them in.”

Artemisia nods. “Into positions,” she says, loud enough to be heard by the Fire Guardians.

The eight of us cluster into two groups, six of us to be Kalovaxians and the other two to be the Sta’Criveran guards who escorted Brigitta and Jian. Facing us, Artemisia closes her eyes and lifts her hands, weaving them through the air in a set of intricate patterns. As she does, it feels as if a net of air falls over us, covering us head to toe. Finished, Art opens her eyes and nods once.

“You’ll do from a distance,” she says.

I look at the others in my group, their tawny skin now pale white, various shades of dark hair turned blond. She took my own appearance a step further, altering my plain shift into a flowing gown of slate-gray silk, though when I touch the material, it still feels like cotton.

The others stare at me, their eyes lingering on my neck. The skin there feels like my own skin, but I assume Artemisia changed that too. She made me into Cress, or a close enough approximation. The Sta’Criverans have never met Cress, but they must have heard enough stories about her.

“You’re wearing a crown as well,” Artemisia tells me. “You have to hold your head like it.”

“How close are we letting them get that they can see that?” one of the Fire Guardians asks—a woman named Selma.

“Not too close,” Artemisia says. “But they’ll have telescopes. More advanced versions than the ones you’re used to. I don’t want to take any chances. That’s why I wanted to see the bodies of the guards, since they’re the only ones who might be recognized.”

I glance at the two Fire Guardians designated for those roles and have to restrain a gasp. While the others retained their own faces with different coloring, these two have been changed completely. I didn’t go with Artemisia when she went to inspect the bodies, but I can still tell she did a thorough job of it.

“You have to do yourself as well,” I say. “With your hair, you’ll be recognized instantly by anyone on board who met you at the palace.”

Artemisia’s eyes narrow, but she nods. She closes her eyes again, and this time I watch as her own appearance ripples like the surface of a lake, shifting and changing. When she’s done, she looks like any Kalovaxian shieldmaiden with ivory skin and golden hair cut bluntly at her jaw.

“Good,” I tell her. “Now it’s time.”

We file out in a procession. When we reach the shore, Artemisia waves her arms in the air so wildly, she looks ridiculous.

“What are you doing?” I ask her.

“To them, it looks like I’m holding a Kalovaxian flag,” she explains.

At first, nothing happens, but then the ships begin a slow trudge forward. We could fire on them now, but without Heron to use his Air Gift to drive the fire farther, there’s a significant chance we would miss and then the ships would flee. No, we have to ensure that all six of them sink. Otherwise, they’ll come back, and we have enough to worry about at the moment.

We have only the one chance, so we can’t fire too early, but if we wait too long, we run the risk of Artemisia’s magic fading. That can’t happen, either.

Again I wish S?ren were here. He would be able to tell us exactly how close the ships would come to shore before dropping anchor. He would be able to anticipate exactly how the crew would react to the attack. But instead he’s locked in a dungeon.

An eternity stretches out around us as the ships inch closer, painfully slow. I know that I need to wait, but fire itches at my fingertips, begging to be used, and it’s all I can do to hold back. The others are growing restless as well, fidgeting and talking among themselves. The sun overhead beats down on my shoulders, hot and heavy.

“All right,” Artemisia says. “They’re too close now to turn away. The tides are on our side.”

The ships are closer than the camp was from the other side of the lake, but not by much. I would feel better if Heron were here again to guide our fire, but he’s too weak now. That kind of effort would fully drain him. I swallow my doubts and brace myself, drawing my hands up. The others do as well, following my lead.

Artemesia drops our disguise, and I let the first ball of fire fly, throwing it as hard as I can at the closest ship, but it misses by fifty feet at least, landing in the ocean with a splash and a sizzle. My heart sinks like lead.

The others around me try, but though some get closer than I did, no one manages to hit a ship. Seeing the attack, the ships begin to panic. From this distance, I can make out crew members running, can hear the dim shouts of captains giving orders. To turn around, I imagine. To flee. The tides are on our side, Artemesia said, but if we can’t reach the ships, tides won’t help us much.

“Art!” I shout, a new idea taking shape. “Bring those ships closer. Wreck them on the shore if you have to.”

Artemisia acts before the words are fully out of my mouth, slashing her hands violently through the air. She throws her arms wide before bringing them in front of her and pulling them into her chest. As she does, a wave rises behind the fleet, then rushes forward and pushes the ships with it as if they were no more than child’s toys floating in a bath.

“Again!” I shout to the other Fire Guardians.

This time, when I throw a ball of fire, it strikes true, hitting the front ship’s hull with a thwack that echoes across the expanse of sea. Fire catches the hull and begins to spread quickly.

Many of the other Fire Guardians’ blows find their targets as well, though a few fall harmlessly into the sea instead. Enough hit to cause damage. The lead ship is already sinking.

I glance at Artemisia, winded and doubled over, hands on her knees.

“Can you do it again?” I ask her. “We can’t have any survivors.”

She looks up at me, still out of breath, but her eyes are hard and determined. She nods, straightening and squaring her shoulders.

“If you weaken them more, I’ll finish it,” she says, her voice tired but sure.

I nod and ready myself for another strike, aware of Ampelio’s Spiritgem glowing and hot around my neck. I focus my energy on the front ship and throw another ball of fire toward it. The sails catch fire this time, quick as tinder.

Fireballs fly through the air one after another, thrown by the other Guardians. After that, not a single ship remains unlit. They burn bright against the afternoon sky, and crew members begin to jump off, abandoning ship before they, too, end up burnt.

People. Sta’Criveran sailors who are only following orders, only doing what their king told them to do. People with lives and families.

People, I remind myself, who are standing between Astrea and her freedom.

“Now,” I tell Artemisia, my voice coming out more level than I feel.