He nods. “I do now, though,” he says, smiling tentatively. “I’m still me,” he says. “I still have value. I can fight in other ways. But I owe you an apology. Several dozen apologies. If I’d listened to you in Sta’Crivero, things would be different now, between us. You wouldn’t look at me the way you do. With a touch of fear.”

I want to deny it, to tell him that of course I’m not afraid of him. He’s changed, I can see that. What happened at the Water Mine won’t happen again. But that old fear lingers. I wish it wouldn’t, but fear isn’t something that is easily controlled.

“One day, I won’t anymore,” I tell him instead.

“One day,” he agrees. “We’ll get there, both of us.”

I chew on my bottom lip. “Do you remember when we were children and the castle was preparing for my mother’s birthday? I stole two lemon cakes from the kitchen and gave one to you. When the cook found us, I was the one with crumbs all over my face and she was going to tell my mother, but you took the blame for it.”

His brow creases and his eyes get faraway. “I remember.”

“And do you remember when Ampelio brought us both back those wooden dolls from Vestra? Mine broke within an hour and I was so devastated, but you let me have yours.”

He nods. “I remember,” he says again, looking more confused.

“And do you remember,” I continue, “when you risked your life to break into the palace to rescue me? And when I made it more difficult for you, when it meant risking your life time and time again, you stood by me. You fought beside me. You trusted me.”

“Theo—”

“There are a lot of versions of you that live in my memory, Blaise,” I tell him. “Not all of them are pleasant, but most of them are. In most of them, you are my closest and dearest friend, someone who has always been steadfast and true. Someone I would trust with my life. And one day, the version of you from the Water Mine will be so small and distant compared to all of those other versions that it won’t matter anymore. I believe that.”

He looks down at his hands, his eyes beginning to turn red, as they always do just before he cries. He glances away, wiping his eyes hastily with the back of his hand. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. Instead, quiet tears work their way down his cheeks.

There is nothing to say between us, not now. So I take him into my arms and let him cry.

IT’S ONLY A DAY’S JOURNEY to the Air Mine, but we don’t want to attack until sunrise, in order to best take the Kalovaxians by surprise, so at sundown we make camp a good mile away. Unlike the Fire and Water Mines, the Air Mine has no mountains around it, no lakes, no forests. It stands in the middle of flat earth, interrupted only by the occasional thicket of olive trees, which means that our choices for cover are limited and we can’t take our chances with any kind of fire, for risk of being detected.

We split evenly into three groups and spread out through three different olive groves to the east, south, and west of the mine. Tents are pitched. Rations are passed out. There is some grumbling about the lack of fires, and thus the lack of cooked meat, but the complaints are halfhearted at most. In truth, the relatively easy siege of the Ovelgan estate has lifted everyone’s spirits.

For the first time, we don’t feel like a scrappy group of warriors trying their best and getting lucky enough to make up for our weaknesses. For the first time, we feel strong and capable. For the first time, there is a light at the end of this never-ending dark tunnel, and it is looming closer and closer with every passing day.

I go with the southern camp group, along with Artemisia, Heron, Blaise, S?ren, and Erik. We pitch as few tents as we can to save space in the grove, and instead of taking one to myself, the five of us share a single large tent, with six bedrolls lined up side by side, like a group of children at a slumber party.

Even when we turn in for the night, the energy is too much to allow for sleep. It makes us giddy and optimistic and excited for the day to come, the day when we get yet one more step closer to victory. And when Erik produces two bottles of fine Astrean wine from the Ovelgan estate, we get all the giddier.

“How did you manage to steal these?” Blaise asks him, using a knife to uncork one of the bottles.

Erik shrugs. “No one pays much attention to the half-blind fellow fumbling around the wine cabinet amidst chaos,” he says. “And second of all, it technically isn’t stealing because everything on that estate now belongs to Theo. Do you consider it stealing?” he asks me.

“You would have to ask Heron,” I say. “I told him if we took the estate, it would become his.”

Heron’s eyebrows rise. “You were serious?” he asks. “I assumed you were just making grand promises to hide how frightened you were that we wouldn’t succeed.”

“Yes, well, that too,” I say with a sigh. Blaise hands me the bottle and I take a swig. It’s a dark red, warm and spicy. I wipe whatever is left on my lips away with the back of my hand in what I’m sure is a very regal fashion. “But I meant it. Gods know you could use something nice and quiet when this is all done. And it’s what Leonidas wanted.”

“Artemisia was right, though,” Heron says. “If you start giving things out, everyone will want something.”

“I know,” I say, looking around the tent. “But this is just between us. I suppose it’s assumed that Blaise will take on his father’s old title, and his land holdings along with that. Artemisia is always welcome to call herself a princess of Astrea and take whatever jewels and houses that come with that title, but I have a feeling—”

“I would rather not,” Artemisia cuts in, wrinkling her nose and making me laugh.

“Where will you go, then?” Blaise asks. “When this is all over?”

Art shrugs, taking the bottle of wine from me. “I figure I’ll stay in the palace for a while,” she says, drinking some before passing it on to Heron. “Someone’s got to make sure Theo keeps her head long enough to actually wear that crown, after all. After she’s secure and in good hands…who knows? Maybe I’ll take over one of my mother’s ships. Maybe I’ll make sure the Kalovaxians we exile stay out of trouble.”

It shouldn’t surprise me, coming from Art, but it isn’t a life I can imagine anyone wanting after all of this war.

“Won’t you be tired of fighting?” I ask her.

She frowns. “I think I’d sooner grow tired of breathing. It’s who I am.” She turns to Heron. “We can’t keep calling it the Ovelgan estate if it’s yours,” she points out.

“Well, it isn’t as though I have a family name,” he says. “Besides, it was Leonidas’s family’s before. The Talvera estate. I’d like it to stay that way.”

“Then would you like to be the new Lord Talvera?” I ask. “It was what Leonidas wanted, wasn’t it?”

Heron goes quiet for a moment before nodding. “Yes. I think I’d like that. I think he would have too.”

“It’s a fitting tribute,” I say. “Restoring his family’s estate and putting you in charge of it.”

Heron nods, though his eyes are faraway. “Lord Talvera,” he says, mostly to himself.

“Very well,” I say, getting to my feet and gesturing for Heron to rise as well. Uncertainly, he does, letting go of Erik’s hand. The tent is so low that he has to hunch over when he stands.

I hold my hand out to Artemisia. “Can I borrow your sword for a moment?” I ask her.

She gawks at me like I just asked if I could borrow her lungs or her heart, but after a second, she reluctantly unsheathes it, passing it to me hilt first. I take it and hold it before me, the silver of the blade glinting in the low light.

“Kneel,” I tell Heron, and he does, looking perplexed. I realize that he’s never seen a Guardian ceremony. I only remember them dimly, mostly how bored I was during them, watching as Guardian after Guardian came before my mother to receive her blessing and whatever reward she saw fit for their service. I try to recall the details now—what she said, exactly, the words themselves a kind of binding magic. But there might not be a person in the world left who knows what those words were, so I suppose I have to make up my own and give them magic myself.

I clear my throat. “Every Guardian is brave,” I say, glancing around the room. “Every Guardian is strong. But it is less common to find a Guardian as kind as you are, Heron. Especially in this world, in this time, a Guardian with a heart as pure and balanced and forgiving as yours is a rare thing. Not only have you helped to reclaim our country, to save our people, but with your judgment and guidance, we will ensure that when the smoke clears and we stand free on the other side of this war, the world we rebuild will be a better one.”

I look around the room to see the others watching me. Artemisia nods along with me. Blaise wipes away a tear. S?ren leans forward, eyes glowing. Erik smiles.

I tap Heron with the blade once on each shoulder. “Rise now, Heron, Lord Talvera. I will forever turn to you for your fair mind and good judgment.”

Heron rises again on shaking legs and smiles at me. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he says, his voice low and gruff with what might be tears. “I hope I serve you well.”