Hae raced over the water of the Saphir as though it were solid ground, the screams of angry wyverns and the shouting of Shrike soldiers at our backs. We plunged into the trees of Bel Arben’s Duskwood, a forest so deep and thick that the sky disappeared. I ducked low as branches and vines whipped at my eyes, burying my face in Hae’s golden mane.

As we wove through the woods, the trees became farther and farther apart, their trucks widening. The canopy felt leagues above, the brush beneath our feet so thin and soft that it looked like we walked through a great pillared hall. I’d heard talk of the greatwood trees, but nothing had prepared me for their size. It would take thirty people hand to hand to circle their bases, their red bark so deep they seemed to flow right out from the soil.

When the canopy had thickened so much that the day seemed to be dusk, Hae finally slowed. He let out a terrible, heartbroken cry, collapsing to the forest floor.

We slid from his back, and Andiya cradled Hae’s great head to her stomach, repeating some soothing phrase in the daemon tongue. He kept wailing, the pain low in his chest like he was breaking in two.

“You need to tell him to be quiet,” I said. “Seylas is looking for us. Tell him the man that killed Jiyi wants us, too.”

Andiya spoke in rapid Go-ah. Hae wailed one more time and fell silent, burying his snout into Andiya. She stroked his fur and murmured into his ear.

“Shit,” I breathed. “Shit. Andiya, did you see?”

“No. I have no fucking idea what just happened.”

I sent her a flash of the Shrike soldier’s daemon. “That’s the daemon the princess stabbed,” I said, trembling with anger. “Not a Crow’s daemon—a Shrike’s. The Shrikes are the ones who attacked us at the camp.”

She frowned as though deep in thought. “And Seylas …”

“Seylas led them to us. The Shrikes must have been following us the entire time. Seylas knew which of us were Eons—where the princess slept. He told them which of us to attack first.”

“And that’s why they were there,” Andiya murmured. “Remember what your friend said? When the Crows attacked Shokarov’s squad, the Shrikes were there to save them. Not because they’d travelled there in response to the Crow threat, but because they were the Crows. All they had to do was change their uniforms.”

“Creators. And I didn’t even question it. None of us did.”

“But if the Shrikes were trying to kill the princess, then why bother with the theatrics? Why feed her, clothe her, keep her safe in Ryalgrad?” Andiya stroked Hae’s mane, her brow furrowed in thought. “That means those Crows were sent to capture her, not kill her. And when she escaped their grasp, they took her party in hopes they would be of use. Perhaps as bait.”

I paced, snapping the pieces together. “Back at the Korongorod. It took Irina weeks to plan our mission. When did the Ilyins say the Crow attacks began?”

“A few weeks before we arrived in Zhyla.”

“So, Seylas—a man Irina trusted to help plan the mission—informs the Shrikes that Irina is about to leave the Korongorod. The Shrikes see an opportunity. They can capture the future Archon and separate her from her new High Order Eon. So they disguise their soldiers as Crows and begin attacking villages, towns, travellers. So that if something went awry, the blame would fall on some hill tribe, and not on a noble house.”

“Which meant they couldn’t send their tiraar or their wyverns. They only sent soldiers with Bestials with no tie to Ryalgrad.” Andiya’s eyes burned with roiling flames. “I must admit. They had me fooled.”

“But to what end?” I asked. “What use do the Shrikes have with a princess, now that Maxsim is the archon?”

“I’m not sure. She doesn’t have any power they can use, without her throne.”

I inhaled sharply. It all fit. “But Maxsim does.”

Andiya met my eyes and understood. “Maxsim was working with the Shrikes.”

“Maxsim wanted the throne, but there was no way he’d be able to get away with killing his own sister. Too much security, too much doubt. With Seylas at the Korongorod, he’d have open communication to Ryalgrad. So he forms a plan with Seylas and the Shrikes to have the princess killed during her secret mission.”

“But then why the Crows at all? Didn’t Maxsim simply tell everyone that the princess fell?”

“Exactly. Because the Shrikes betrayed him. Think about it. The Shrikes inform Maxsim that the princess is alive—they lie and say they have her, likely to make some sort of demand of Maxsim. He’s backed into a corner. If he reveals what really happened to Irina and tells the Eons that she was captured by the Shrikes, he risks exposing his own part in the plot. He’d be tried for regicide. The only way he could protect himself from that is if he became the archon. No one can put the archon on trial. So he tells everyone that Irina fell, and he saw it with his own eyes. So the world considers Irina dead, and he can take the crown before anyone can stop him.”

“And the Shrikes kept the princess,” said Andiya. “Maxsim may not be able to be put on trial, but revealing his plot will shake his throne. It could start a civil war. He’d never want that to come to light.”

“Yes. Yes, think about it. The Shrikes, technically, rescued the princess in the mire. They are heroes, in Irina’s eyes. All they’d need to do is blame Maxsim for the Crow plot, and they’d be able to feign innocence. They have Maxsim right where they want him.”

“So the Shrikes control Maxsim. They control your—our—archon.”

I gripped my hair and leaned against a tree. “And we’re the only ones who know.” My knees felt weak, but I held myself steady. All the turmoil of the past weeks seemed to snap into place, lighting the path ahead. It was all just moves on a chessboard. Nothing had even been clearer. “The Shrikes won’t harm Irina,” I said, and met Andiya’s eyes with my chin high. “No one knows we’ve figured out their plot, and so nothing has changed. We’re going to Kaelta, and we’re going to get the queens’ support. No Shrike or archon will be able to stop us then.”

“Unless Seylas gets in the way.”

I caught the question in her tone. If Seylas stopped us, then the Shrikes won. They’d have free reign to enact whatever plan they wanted with the Canavar. We couldn’t risk so much on my morality.

“If Seylas shows his face, kill him. I’m not going to stop you.”

“And you’ll be fine?”

“No. But we don’t have another option. Seylas is too dangerous to leave alive.”

Andiya spoke to Hae, and a savage snarl ripped through his teeth.

“I told him that the man who killed Jiyi wants us. And when we see him again, we’re going to tear his heart from his chest.” She stroked Hae’s mane. “Hae will stay with us, help us. And when the time comes, we’ll end Seylas together.”

*

We made our way as carefully as we could through the Duskwood. We stayed off any roads, avoided any travellers. If Seylas were still searching for us, the canopy blocked his view from the sky, and his wyvern would be useless in the forest. With any luck, we could stay under the cover of the trees until Seylas lost our trail.

I had too much to think about. I was silent for the ride, trying to keep my mind on the immediate danger, and not on what Andiya had let slip in Médine.

“Seylas knows where we’re going,” said Andiya. “He knew the mission.”

“I know,” I said quietly, and Andiya fell silent once more. Her mind was locked shut, and had been since the Grand Temple. The question burned on my tongue, but I was too afraid to ask it.

Eventually, any light in the Duskwood faded to black, signalling the night. Hae stopped, spent. He lay down and stared off into the woods, his eyes as glassy as a bonded’s. He’d lost his entire world. And I didn’t know how to help him.

Andiya floated a tight ball of fire between us in place of a true campfire. We couldn’t risk the smoke rising above the canopy.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“I’m exhausted. Maybe this can wait until morning—”

“You watched my memories.”

She didn’t deny it. Andiya only glared into the fire with the guilt plain on her face. But I didn’t care if she felt guilty or not. I felt stripped bare, violated. I’d thought my memories were the last thing of myself I still had, the last thing that belonged only to me, and not to her. And she’d taken them.

“When,” I growled.

“Just … in bits and pieces, over time.” Her voice went low. “Your mind opens when you dream.”

And we both knew what filled my dreams every night, stuck on endless loop. Kamala. Barje Vos. What I’d done. Who I’d been, before Sage Jawahir. That month with Seylas, where I’d known nothing but agony. How long it had taken those hundreds of tiny scars to heal.

“Do you remember when we played chess in the Korongorod?” asked Andiya. “That was … after I’d seen Barje Vos. I knew why you had bonded me. And I felt myself wanting for us to speak. I wanted us to be something more than bitter enemies for the rest of our lives.”

“You asked me about Kamala,” I spat. “You knew it would hurt me, and you knew why.”

“I did. I wanted to hurt you. I was trying for some peace between us, but I hadn’t forgiven you. If I was going to hurt, you were too. I’m sorry for using your memories that way, but I’m not sorry for watching them. I would never have tried to know you otherwise. And I am glad to know you, Rozin.”

I heard her words, understood them, but I didn’t care. Nothing was my own anymore. Andiya had stolen a part of me that I never would have let her see. I stood.

“Get some sleep.” And I simply turned to walk away, chest tight.

“Rozin.”

“No. No, don’t. This isn’t something you can just apologise for. What you did … I can’t just forget that. I won’t just let it go because you feel bad about it.”

“You would have done the same thing—”

“Except I didn’t!” I roared. “And I damned well could have.”

“There’s no way you could have forced in. You didn’t have to make a hard decision because you couldn’t anyways.”

“Tell me if I’m lying, then. I could have gotten in, and I chose not to.”

Surprise rose Andiya’s brow. “How? When?”

“With Sage Jawahir. You hadn’t learned how to close your mind properly yet. You were relaxed, and you’d forgotten about me, and it was wide open. I thought about going in and taking the answers from you when you couldn’t stop me. But I didn’t. Because I knew it was wrong. You were my enemy, and I hated you so, so much, and I didn’t do it. I decided I never would.”

“Because you felt bad about taking me prisoner.”

“I didn’t. Not yet. I didn’t give a shit about you or your happiness. And I still knew it was wrong.” I stepped to the edge of the firelight. “Don’t follow me. We leave at dawn.”

I stalked off into the woods, furious tears burning down my cheeks.

But Andiya didn’t stay behind. She raced after and grabbed my wrist.

“Let me go,” I hissed.

“Not until you listen to me and understand what a self-righteous bitch you’re being right now.”

“I’m the bitch?”

“That’s right. Do you really think our situations were the same? Oh, congratulations, Rozin. You didn’t violate the daemon you’d enslaved. Do you want a medal for your shining morality? I think you’re forgetting what I went through. You knew you didn’t want to hurt me. How was I supposed to know what you wanted with me? I could have been bound by a sadist, a tyrant. I needed to know who you were. I did not have the luxury of a real choice. You took that away.”

I only glared at her, trembling in fury. She tossed my wrist away.

“Don’t you dare preach to me again,” she spat. “I did what I did to survive, and so did you. Don’t you dare tell me you stayed out of my head for my benefit. I know you, Rozin. You took the high ground to assuage your own guilt, to re-affirm your own morals. Because you did kill Barje Vos, whether you wanted to or not. And you think that if you make the right decisions now, be some paragon of honour and servitude, you will somehow be forgiven. That you will be free of the weight, the nightmares.”

“Shut up.”

“I saw your mind. And I saw what you won’t admit. That your guilt isn’t going anywhere. No matter what you do, who you save, how much of yourself you give, it won’t change what you did. You don’t admit it—because what if you did? You’d have to confront the fact that you’re not a good person. That you let that daemon go not out of compassion—but to impress a girl you wanted. Loved. A girl who did not love you.”

“I said shut up!”

“You would need to admit that all those people died, suffered, because you were selfish. Because it wasn’t some act of kindness that doomed your friends, your family. You were reckless, cocky. You knew Kamala was only marrying you to save herself, and you deluded yourself into thinking that if you were bold, dashing, confident, then she would learn to love you in the way you wanted her to.”

I could hardly breathe.

“But you listen to me. I saw everything, and I decided to like you. I chose that, Rozin, because you were someone who’d made just as many stupid mistakes and I had, who felt the same guilt and self-loathing that forced her to be better. I saw a heart that was battered and confused and yet still willing to love. And if you were capable of love, then I was capable of forgiveness.”

I was rooted to the spot, as immobile as the trees. There were no words I could offer in defence, no excuses I could make. Because Andiya was right.

“I never …” I croaked. “I never told anyone. I never wanted anyone to know.”

“And now?”

“Now, I … I don’t know what to say.”

Andiya’s hand took my shoulder, pulling so gently I could have stopped her. But I didn’t. She drew me in, bringing me to her.

I wrapped my arms around her and held her close. Andiya was so warm, so soft against me, her cheek pressed against my chest. My fingers wound in her hair. The world dulled around me. Suddenly I was grounded—this was where I was meant to be. Here, wherever she was.

I took in a shaking breath. “I did love her. And I’d hoped—I’d hoped that one day she would love me back.”

“I know,” she murmured.

“How do you live with that? How are you supposed to let yourself be happy when the world would be better off without you in it?”

“Who says it would be?”

“I do. Everyone in Barje Vos did. I grew up with those people and they knew it. My parents survived Barje Vos. They’d run into the hills and they’d managed to make it out alive. Do you know what my parents said to me, when I saw them again in Ardila Vos?”

Her silence told me she did.

“They said nothing at all,” I gasped. “Nothing. They followed the redwyr like everyone else. They decided it wasn’t worth it. That I wasn’t worth it. Their daughter.” I squeezed tighter. “They decided their lives would be better off without the cruel, selfish girl that killed Barje Vos.”

“They were wrong.”

“Says you. You, who I bound. I took your freedom, your life. Are you going to tell me that your life wouldn’t be better off without me?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not. I am glad to have met you, and I am glad to count you among my friends. No, I would not say our situation is ideal. But would my life have been better, forever running from who I was?”

“You’d have been free.”

“I still can be. We could go anywhere, do anything. Travel the continent. Sail the edge of the world. When this conflict is over, I welcome the thought of being free by your side.”

I shook my head. “No. That’s not good enough. That’s not right. But I can make it right.” I let her go, my heart aching the second she left my arms. I picked up a small rock and dragged it across my palm.

“Ow! What are you—”

I squeezed blood from my palm and let it drip to the forest floor.

“I vow, on the blood of my life,” I began, “that from this until my dying day, I will search for a way to free you. I will release you, and I will not stop you if you choose to go.” In a whisper, I added, “But I would be so happy if you stayed.”

Andiya closed her hand around my bleeding fist. A sad smile pulled her mouth. “Idiot,” she murmured. She pulled me gently with her, hand-in-hand. “Let’s go fix you up. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”