“She’ll heal.”

Relief floods through her and her shoulders sag. She might have expected everyone to die, but I don’t doubt that she wasn’t ready to face the reality of losing her daughter.

“Then there’s no need to fuss,” she says, back to business. “Let’s get the refugees boarded before we’re seen.”

“Oh, I hope we’re seen,” I say, following Dragonsbane toward the ramp leading up to the largest ship. “Let them tell the Kaiserin we’re fleeing. Let her believe she’s won. She’ll never see our attack coming.”

Dragonsbane glances sideways at me like I’m a stranger to her, but one she might actually like. She nods.

“I won’t be able to get the refugees to Doraz this time. We’ll stay off the coast while you and your troops are in the capital. If you have need of me, you can send word, but…”

“But try not to have need of you?” I supply before shaking my head. “If we find ourselves in that much trouble, I can’t imagine there will be anything you can do with a fleet of ships filled with people so badly hurt they can’t fight. If you get word that we’re in trouble, you’ll leave us behind and find somewhere safe for the people in your charge.”

She raises her eyebrows before nodding. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I didn’t think you would be meeting us yourself,” I tell her. “At least not without a decoy to hide your identity.”

Dragonsbane lets out a sound that is half sigh and half hiss. “Yes, well, it turned out my identity was a lot harder to keep hidden once our ranks were swelled almost tenfold with refugees. People talk, whether they mean to or not, and I’ve decided the best course of action is to embrace it. Let them tell stories of a woman pirate—as long as they make me sound fearsome, they can say whatever they like.”

I smile slightly but I know it bothers her more than she lets on, to be so exposed. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I know you valued your privacy.”

She shrugs. “These are unprecedented times, Theo,” she says. “If one does not adapt and move with them, all one can do is drown.”

That I can’t disagree with, but when S?ren and I move to follow Dragonsbane up the ramp, she stops us.

“Oh, you aren’t coming on my ship,” she says, lifting her hand to point to a boat far behind the others, a small Kalovaxian boat dwarfed by her ships.

“W?s,” S?ren says, unable to hide his surprise.

“I figured you would have an easier time sneaking into a Kalovaxian harbor in a Kalovaxian ship,” she says. “And I understand you are already familiar with how to handle her, Prinkiti.”

S?ren’s too stunned to do more than nod, his gaze focused on his boat like it’s an old friend.

“Thank you,” he says after a minute, his eyes finding their way back to Dragonsbane.

The emotion in his voice seems to make her uncomfortable, and she shrugs off his gratitude. “It’s only a boat,” she says. “And not even a big one.”

Hoofbeats approach and I turn to see Maile riding toward us, Artemisia in the saddle behind her, riding with both legs off to one side, like a Kalovaxian debutante. I know it drives her mad, but it was that or be pulled behind a horse in a cart, and Art refused that. At least this way, her legs are mostly protected, padded heavily with gauze and cotton by Heron.

Beside me, Dragonsbane goes stiff, watching her daughter dismount. When her legs make impact with the ground, Artemisia winces in pain and Dragonsbane winces as well, as if she, too, can feel it. But when Artemisia approaches, her footsteps slow and labored, Dragonsbane holds herself still, her expression calm and level.

“Are you all right?” she asks when Artemisia is close enough. It’s the same way she would ask anyone on her crew: concerned, but not overly invested.

Artemisia nods. “I’m fine, Captain,” she says.

“Good,” Dragonsbane says. “Then you’ll join me on my ship.”

It’s an order, not a question, but Art shakes her head.

“I’m going with Theo,” she says.

At that, Dragonsbane’s composure breaks and she scowls. “You’re injured, Artemisia,” she says, each syllable sharp. “I won’t have you running into the front lines of battle in your condition. Would you send an injured soldier into a battle like this? Your own safety aside, you’re a weakness.”

Artemisia flinches at the last word but holds her ground. “Heron says that my legs will be better in a couple of days. By the time we reach the port, I’ll be fine. I intend to finish this war just as I started it, at the Queen’s side.”

Dragonsbane’s eyes dart to me, brow creased. Despite her insistence that Art’s safety isn’t her main concern, I see the fear lurking in her expression. “Well, Your Majesty?” she snaps at me. “You’ve already maimed my daughter. Are you going to do it again or will you send her with me?”

“Capt—” Art starts before changing gears. “Mother. Theo is the reason I wasn’t hurt worse. As long as she’ll have me, I’ll be fighting at her side.”

It is, without a doubt, the most sentimental thing Artemisia has ever said to me.

“As long as I have a side, you’re welcome on it,” I tell her.

Dragonsbane clenches her jaw, looking between the two of us with seething eyes, but after a moment, she swallows her fury. She steps toward us, reaching a hand out to rest on Artemisia’s cheek.

“You are going to come back from this battle whole and healthy, Artemisia,” she says, another order with no room for negotiation. “And when you do, you and I are going to have a long overdue talk,” she adds, her voice quiet and fearsome.

When she turns and starts back up the ramp to her ship, I let out a breath of relief. From behind us, Maile clears her throat.

“That woman is terrifying,” she says, awestruck and a little enamored.

Artemisia shrugs her shoulders, but a small smile is playing on her lips. “Well?” she asks, looking back at Maile. “She is my mother. Where did you think I got it from?”

W?S WAS ONLY MEANT TO sleep two, at most, in the cabin bed. Pressed, two more can make room on the floor. Six, however, is pushing her limits. There was no argument that Art should sleep in the bed. With her legs still healing, she needs the comfort of a soft mattress. The rest of us picked numbers to determine who would share it with her, and, begrudgingly, Art admitted that Maile had picked the number she’d chosen.

“You had better not kick,” Art grumbled, rolling over to make room.

“Not like you can kick back if I do,” Maile replied, getting under the covers, her eyes closing as soon as her head hit the pillow.

For an instant, Art looked like she wanted to hit her, but then she surprised everyone by laughing.

After that was settled, Heron and Erik made up space on the floor with spare pillows and blankets, and both of them fell asleep quickly as well.

It’s been a busy few days since we left the Air Mine and I’ve spent most of it exhausted, but now that I actually have the chance to get a full night’s rest, there is a steady energy buzzing through me and suddenly I’m not tired at all. Instead of trying to force myself to sleep, I get to my feet and pull the blanket around my shoulders to ward off the chill of the sea air before heading to the deck above.

Stars spill out over the sky like crystals of spilled sugar on black velvet, glittering and plentiful, but there is no moon to be found tonight. I forgot what it is like to be at sea, the steady rock of a ship, the way the air smells of salt and something else unnameable, the way the wind combs through your hair like fingers.

“Is Heron snoring?” S?ren asks me from his spot at the helm.

He looks better at sea, too. Not to say he looked bad on land, but out here he’s more alive, more relaxed. He seems wholly himself.

“Not yet,” I say, making my way across the deck toward him. “But give him time—I’m sure he’ll start any minute.”

He smiles. “It’s a bit like the last time we were here, isn’t it?” he asks.

I laugh. “The last time we were on this boat together, S?ren, I betrayed you and had you imprisoned.”

“Ah, right,” he says, wincing. “I think I blocked that journey from my memory. The time before that, I meant. When it was just you and me.”

That was another night altogether, a whole other kind of excitement in the air, an energy between us that was nothing but possibility.

“We were very different people then,” I tell him. “We didn’t even know each other.”

But as I say it, I remember the press of his lips against mine, the taste of him, the way he held me. I remember feeling like there was no one in the world who knew me better. It was a lie then—he didn’t even know my real name. Still, I can’t help but feel like no matter who we have been, no matter who we will be, there is a part of his soul that understands mine in its entirety.

S?ren lets go of the helm for a second, crouching down to the base of its stand. When he rises again, he’s holding a bottle of wine.