“Your Majesty,” S?ren says, straightening once more.

He’s changed as well, out of his bloodied clothes and into a simple white cotton shirt and black trousers. He doesn’t look like a prinz, but I suppose he isn’t really one anymore, and that seems to suit him fine.

I look among the three of them. I can’t imagine many things that would bring them together to my hallway, but there is one reason that comes to mind immediately.

“I assume you three want to discuss the Kalovaxian prisoners?” I ask.

It was too much to hope for a reprieve, I suppose, but they’re right. The sooner the question is answered, the better.

“It can wait,” Artemisia says. “There’s a banquet in your honor that I’m sure you want to get to.”

I consider it for a second before shaking my head. “Not yet,” I say. “I was planning to stop by the dungeon first. Will you three walk with me, and we can discuss it on the way?”

Dragonsbane’s eyebrows lift a fraction of an inch, and she nods. “Of course.”

I turn to Artemisia. “I’ll meet you at the banquet,” I tell her, glancing down at her own attire. It’s the same thing she was wearing this morning, plus a few bloodstains. “That way you have a chance to change, too.”

Artemisia looks down at her outfit, shrugging. “No point in that,” she says. “Don’t take too long. Apparently it’s impolite to begin drinking before toasts can be made, and given that you are to be the subject of most of the toasts…” She trails off.

“I’ll be there soon,” I promise.

When Artemisia disappears around a corner, I step into S?ren’s arms, wrapping my own around his neck. Dragonsbane lets out an annoyed sigh, and even Sandrin clears his throat awkwardly, but I ignore them both. For a moment, we stay like that, neither of us moving. The only sound is our hearts beating together, in tandem.

“We made it,” I tell him.

He nods against my shoulder. “I’m sorry about Blaise,” he says.

“I am, too,” I say. Talking about him feels like rubbing at a raw wound, but I don’t know how to stop. Some wounds you don’t want to heal all the way. Some wounds, you want to leave a scar.

I pull back and start down the hall to the dungeon, letting the three of them fall in around me.

“I’m sure you want to discuss what will be done with the Kalovaxians,” I say, before any of them can get there first.

Sandrin hesitates a second and then nods. “I’m sure it’s not something you want to think on now. You want to celebrate, and you should, but—”

“But there are thousands of people being held in the capital now, not to mention tens of thousands more who will be arrested when I send troops out in the morning,” I say with a sigh. “And besides, I’ve been thinking on it. Quite a lot, as a matter of fact. Where are the Kalovaxian prisoners now?”

“Any warriors who survived are in the dungeon,” S?ren says. “But the others—nobility, yes, but also children who are innocent of their parents’ wrongdoings—they’re being kept under house arrest until it’s decided what’s to be done. I know that you have to make harsh judgments, but I also know you to be fair.”

“Fair,” Dragonsbane echoes, her voice sharp. “But not stupid. They are our enemies, Theo. And children grow up.”

“The real question is how they will grow up,” Sandrin says softly.

Dragonsbane cuts a sharp look at him. “This is no place for sentimentality,” she says.

“No, it isn’t. But it isn’t the place for decisions made from anger, either,” I say, turning the problem over in my mind. It isn’t a new one to me—when I haven’t been thinking about how to get here these last months, I’ve been wondering what happens if I succeed. They’re right—it’s a complicated decision.

“I don’t want another war in another generation,” I say, looking at the three of them. “I want to end this for good. But justice must be done. And Astrea is going to be a country recovering from war for a long time to come. We’ll barely be able to support ourselves and the refugees from the other countries whom I promised a home to.” I pause, looking at S?ren. “How many countries has Kalovaxia seized over the last century?”

He has to think about it. “Nine,” he says finally.

“Countries you left in ruin, no?” I ask.

“Yes,” he admits. He doesn’t try to push blame off himself, though he easily could. He knows that he has reaped the benefits of those sieges even if he had no hand in them himself.

“The Kalovaxians are criminals—varying degrees of criminals, yes, but criminals all the same.” I look at Sandrin. “What did my foremothers do with criminals?”

He considers this. “Trials,” he says. “The criminals heard the crimes they were accused of and responded to them, either to defend their actions or to plead forgiveness and mercy. Committees were put together to hear their statements, to weigh the crimes and mete out appropriate punishments.”

“Then I propose trials,” I say.

Dragonsbane snorts. “You don’t actually believe any of them innocent?”

“Not innocent, no,” I say, shaking my head. “But as I said, there were varying degrees of bad acts. It doesn’t seem fair to me to treat rapists, murderers, and slavers the same way as the farmers or the shipmasters or the seamstresses—the people who benefited from the bad acts, yes, who went along with them, but didn’t actively commit crimes. I propose that the worst offenders—the warriors, the slavers, the mine guards—they may be put to death, depending on their testimony and the verdict of a committee made up of those from all countries the Kalovaxians have hurt.”

Sandrin considers this and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. I wait, though, because I find I care what he thinks of my plan. He is a noble sort, after all—with a fair mind and a survivor’s spirit.

“I believe that might be the cleanest way forward,” he says after a moment.

“The cleanest way would be to leave no survivors, to raze the Kalovaxians to the ground the same way they’ve done to other countries, other families,” Dragonsbane says.

“Yes, but we aren’t the Kalovaxians, Aunt,” I say, my voice firm. “I will not kill children, and I will not be the catalyst that turns them into revenge-hungry monsters in their own right in a decade’s time. I want peace and I want that peace to last. I want trials and accountability, yes, but also redemption and mercy where it can be given. I want to plant seeds of a future that will outlast my reign.”

S?ren considers this, nodding. “That’s fairer than I might have expected,” he admits. “And I know there will be a good many executions that come of this, but what of the others? The nobility, the farmers, the people you mentioned who didn’t commit any crimes—”

“But were complicit,” I finish, before pausing. “There is no Kalovaxia to send them back to any longer, but there are nine destroyed countries that need rebuilding. What if we were to separate them into nine groups, send them to each country the Kalovaxians have brought to ruin? Their children will go with them, becoming citizens of whatever country it is, treated as fairly as any other. Sent to schools, taught trades, made members of society.”

“And the parents?” S?ren asks. “Slaves?”

I shake my head, pursing my lips. “Indentured servants,” I say. “Tasked with rebuilding the country however is required. Their trial committees can determine the length of their sentences, and then they will be free, citizens of that country as well. They can’t go back to Kalovaxia, so they must go somewhere.”

For a moment, no one says anything, and I worry they will protest, that Sandrin will think the decision too harsh, that Dragonsbane will think it too light, that S?ren will find some logical flaw that I missed. But after what feels like an eternity, Dragonsbane nods.

“I’ll send my ships out to Doraz, and my crew and I will begin preparing to return the refugees to their fallen countries, to take stock of what must be done to reestablish them.”

“And I will begin putting together committees from those assembled here,” Sandrin says. “We can begin the trials as soon as next week, after the dead have been mourned and buried and everything has settled.”

Relief courses through me and I nod. “Please do that. Thank you both.”

Sandrin and Dragonsbane nod before starting back down the hall, leaving S?ren and me alone in front of the entrance of the dungeon.

“And what about me?” he asks after a second.

I watch him for a moment. It’s hard to look at him and see the same boy I met months ago, a boy who felt so inextricably tied to his monstrous father that I couldn’t see him properly. But here he is now, his own man, with nothing of the Kaiser in him.

“I meant what I said before,” I tell him. “Your penance has been served threefold, S?ren. You are free to go or do whatever you like now.”