Reubinon Palace, Pellarmus.
Eight days after the attack.

I was already back in my room and Isla was gone at sea by the time the package arrived. The maid carrying it said nothing about its contents or who had sent it as she laid the little parcel on the bed before me and excused herself. For a moment, I just sat there, cross-legged, looking down at the brown paper package—so simple next to the ornate bedding beneath it.

The note tucked into the folded wrapping was made of flimsy, cheap paper. And yet, I was so used to receiving letters from royals that I still expected a crest or some sort of emblem to be pressed into the envelope. But it only held my name, just Monroe, written in hasty, unrefined handwriting. Intrigued, I opened the envelope and flipped the little card open. Inside, in the same messy writing, were four words:

Isla liked the cigarettes.

I smiled to myself and tore open the package, already knowing what I would find inside. The red and gold sketchbook greeted me, the soft leather of it kissing my palms as I flipped it open and smiled down at the blank pages before me. I'd never really drawn anything and didn't think I had even a shred of creativity in my body, but for the first time in my life, I wanted to try.

I'd watched Kai work through his own demons by drawing. He'd filled sketchbook after sketchbook with small things—pieces of his life, things I now knew he was learning to reconcile with his past, and what he believed would be his future. He used to draw vines and flowers and running rabbits and cats and mice and all manner of other seemingly mundane things. But it had all meant something to him.

Sometimes he would draw in the places where art was meant to be, other times he was so compelled to create that he would doodle on the edges of maps, on documents he was supposed to be reading. In the creases of books and the furled corners of napkins. It was how he processed things. Like running, it gave him space to think.

And while I was terrified of my own dark thoughts and that beast that seemed to lurk in the shadows of my hopelessness, I too felt compelled to create something. So I curled up in front of the vanity and began to draw—simple things. Badly sketched, but it didn't matter, not really. These things were for me. For my eyes and my heart.

I drew the homestead, with its four walls and endless memories. The far tree line—which I'd never been allowed to cross until it was too late, until I believed I'd never get the chance to come home again. The vines that crept up Kinsley's face. A training dummy wreathed in flame. The tunnel and gates to the arena. A key. A knife. Fire. A tent full of bunkbeds and trunks and the shadowed form of a large, looming dog. Three borrowed jackets, all various stages of singed. The slumped shell of a burned schoolhouse. The river of tattoos on Kai's skin—a map of rivers that I now realized was from my home country and not his.

It was from our home country.

I drew, forcing myself to look past how terrible each sketch was. I didn't let myself bemoan my lack of talent. I knew what I was drawing and had no intention of ever showing anyone else—so if the images weren't recognizable, all the better.

With each sketch, I felt both closer to Kai and further away. It was like bleeding onto the page. And there was no one there to tend to those open wounds. They were too deep for even Nadia to heal. In truth, I didn't mind them. I knew that I had to make peace with them if we were to ever survive this.

And so, I wept. I sat and I wept—mourning my past self and my family. I mourned the girl who had fallen in love with the first boy who had given her even the smallest shard of affection. I mourned the girl that had turned spy and betrayed him. I mourned the girl that he'd locked in a prison.

And then, when those tears were gone, I cried for the girl I'd been when I'd first laid eyes on Kai. I cried for the girl who wanted nothing more than to be accepted. I cried for the girl who had spent most of her life wanting to take up as little space as possible. I cried for the girl who had finally felt seen—felt wanted. I cried for the girl who kissed Kai that first night and every night after. I cried for the girl who wanted to kiss him now.

I mourned for the girl who had stood on that dais and been broken in front of the world. I'd mourned for the girl who suffered and refused to break at the hands of someone who only wanted to see her destruction.

I mourned for the girl who hadn't known to say goodbye.

Not to Kai. Not to her mother. Not to Ambrose or Kace. Not to the girl who had stood on the platform of Demarti Station with such raw, frightened hope in her heart.

Then, when I'd drawn until my fingers ached and that fire in my gut lashed out in fury, I lit the fireplace and tore those sketches from the book. I burned them one by one—an effigy, a pyre to my old self. That girl, whoever she'd been, was dead. Really and truly dead. Gone with my brothers. There would be time to think of it and lose myself to the dark depths of that sort of despair—but it wasn't now.

Not yet.

***

I fell asleep at the vanity, my face pressed to the next clean page. When I woke, the sun was gone and the day with it. I had no idea what time it was, but the moon was high enough in the sky that I felt confident that it was past dinner time. I'd barely eaten the lunch that had been delivered to my room. I was too sick to stomach it—not after I'd received Darragh's note.

It had been short and to the point.

He wouldn't be sending troops to Vayelle, not to rescue people who, according to him, had known they were going on a possible suicide mission. It was too risky. Besides, it was probably too late at this point.

He sent his condolences and asked that I alert him if I needed anything else.

Bastard.

I was still sitting next to the fire, my hand enveloped in flame—in the ash that remained of his note—when someone knocked on my door. I jumped at the sound, scattering ash and bits of leftover paper onto the carpet. I cursed and doused the flames, making a mental note to try to clean that up later. Before I could say anything else, the door creaked open and I turned to find Heidi standing there.

"I—uh—I heard you and..." She pursed her lips and glanced behind her to where a shadow lingered in the hall. I pushed up from the ground.

"Everything alright?" She nodded and opened the door further to reveal Tavin. He offered me an awkward little wave as I walked into the bathing room and washed the soot from my hands. Footsteps sounded and then Heidi was standing in the doorway, watching me. I met her eyes in the mirror. "It's late for a visit, isn't it?"

She nodded.

I pursed my lips. "You aren't usually one to beat around the bush. What's going on?"

She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "Well, nothing is going on—at least nothing official. Nadia didn't want to excite anyone, but Cohen's shown some improvement."

I turned the water off and grabbed a towel from the hook behind the door. "That's great."

"Yeah, I thought so. He's opened his eyes a few times, but he hasn't said anything and the healers aren't sure it means very much but..." She shrugged again, her voice turning quiet as she said, "I hope it means he's coming out of it. That he'll be alright."

I nodded, my attention drifting to her once more—to the darkness in her eyes. There was still a scar running down the length of her face, it had faded a bit, but I could still see the shadow of it. Oddly, it suited her.

I sighed and turned to face her fully. "Tell me what's wrong. What's really going on?"

"Britta says it will only upset you."

"You're here, aren't you? It's a little late for that." I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned a hip against the edge of the counter. "And since when did you start giving a shit what Britta says?"

"Since she was right. Since—Monroe, I—"

Tavin appeared in the doorway behind her. His voice was quiet, but steady as he said, "Britta received word from her spies. Another radio broadcast, this one coded."

My heart sank at the emptiness in his eyes, at the sorrow shining there. And I knew. I knew without him saying anything—but I still asked, "They're dead, aren't they?" My voice was hollow, that ache in my chest already so oppressive, I didn't think I could bear it getting any worse.

Tavin didn't say anything, he only nodded—once.

I pressed the back of my hand to my lips and forced myself to breathe, deep steady breaths. "When?"

Again, it was Tavin who spoke. "Yesterday morning sometime. It couldn't have been long after Kace's call for help."

I was going to die. I was going to shred into a million tiny pieces. I would burn to ash, right then and there and I wouldn't care. It would be a relief, because this pain in my chest...I couldn't bear it.

Heidi took a step towards me. "Monroe—"

I cut her off. "How?"

Tavin answered me, "We don't know. The message only said that Caine was moving all of his troops from Third Corps and all hostages seemed to have been executed. There were reports of bodies. A lot of them. It's still developing, so hopefully we'll learn more as time goes on. But, as it stands, we have no reason to believe there were any survivors. The report is that the camp was burned to the ground."

Goddess.

I didn't know if it was a plea or a curse. I didn't know what to think. I was numb, entirely out of my body and yet locked within myself—caged in this hell.

I nodded, just the smallest of an acknowledgment.

Heidi swallowed. "I—Is there anything we can do?"

My heart was this dull, broken thing in my chest. "Thank you—" I spoke through the tightness in my throat. "Thank you for telling me."

Tavin nodded and retreated a step. That burning in my chest was growing steadily as I looked to Heidi. Her lips quivered, her face tense with uncertainty, and then she moving towards me. I inhaled a sharp breath as she wrapped her arms around me and held me tight against her.

"I'm—I'm so sorry, Monroe."

And my eyes watered then—almost more from the surprise, the sweetness of this sudden affection, than from the loss of my brothers. Ambrose and Kace being gone—I couldn't even begin to process it. There were too many small things, too many broken bits of myself that I needed to have time to unravel. And I couldn't seem to fathom it.

This wasn't real.

My heart was still clinging to that shred of hope—that hope I hadn't even wanted to admit I'd believed in. Now it was gone. And my brothers were gone.

I waited to weep, but the tears didn't come.

Heidi's arms tightened around me and I hated that I wasn't really crying. I knew that this, her getting this close to me and offering herself so fully to me—to anyone—was a rarity. And I should cry. I should sob into her shoulder, leaning into her, but this...it wasn't real. I couldn't seem to grasp hold of it.

My hand fisted in Heidi's shirt as I took a stumbling step back from her. I blinked away the wetness in my eyes. "I just—I'm sorry."

She shook her head, looking so much wiser than her fifteen years as she told me, "There's no right way to feel, Monroe. No one—No one is expecting anything from you. If...If you need time, you have it."

And I wondered how she knew—if maybe, hidden behind my fear of the dark and suffocation, she'd known that losing my family was the real nightmare. I turned away from her, my hands catching in my hair as I tried to fill my lungs with cool, crisp air. I couldn't seem to catch my breath, couldn't seem to move past the simple understanding that they were gone.

What happened next? What should I do next?

"Is—Did—Are there bodies or...?" I hated the way my voice shook as I glanced between Heidi and Tavin.

She looked to him too, as if she didn't know the answer. He pursed his lips and shook his head. "We—Britta requested more intel and I think she's sending in some rebels to search the abandoned camp. All we know for sure is that Caine called for the execution of the hostages and then ordered his troops to go to Gazda. There's been talk of bodies and the camp burning, but nothing definitive. The spies watching the forces coming in from Vayelle have reported no hostages."

There's no hope. Tavin didn't want to say it, but I heard it anyway.

"He's preparing for something then," I said. "What—Does Caine expect Darragh to strike?'

Heidi took a small step towards me. "Monroe, you shouldn't worry about that now. You—You're shaking. Why don't you sit. I'll call for some tea or get you a glass of water or—"

"I don't want that. I want...I need..." I stepped out of her grasp. "I—I need to go on a run."

I'm not sure why I said it, but I knew it was true. I could feel the rising tension, the need to move, to siphon away some of the heat pressing against the inside of my skin.

"But, Monroe—"

I didn't wait for her to finish her argument as I walked from the bathing room and into my closet. I stripped down with the door wide open, not even caring if Tavin saw. I couldn't think past the image of my brothers dead, their bodies left out in the sun.

The birds—the birds would—

Kinsley had once threatened me with that. She'd once told me that she would leave my body to the birds. And I'd promised to burn hers. Wicked words—wicked words that I'd hardly meant. And now...

I laced my shoes and tied up my hair.

Heidi and Tavin exchanged a look as I grabbed my jacket from where I'd left it by the door and pulled it on. The footsteps that followed me from the room were light and steady—Heidi and not Tavin. She kept a pace or two behind me as I walked down the stairs and through the dimly lit wings of the palace.

We'd just reached the grand entryway when she said, "Monroe, it's the middle of the night."

I tugged on my hood and cast a glance her way. "I'm fine."

"You look ready to burn down the whole city."

I felt that way too, but I only said, "I'll be back in an hour."

The guards at the front door stiffened as I approached.

I forced a smile and said, "I'm going on a run. I'll be back shortly."

The men all exchanged glances with one another until the one who knew Erydi best spoke up. "And you have permission to go?"

My throat tightened. "I—I'm not a prisoner here."

The man looked over my shoulder to where Heidi stood. She must have given him some sort of signal because he just nodded and unlatched the front door. He pressed a button a the wall nearby and spoke into an intercom system, presumably to the towering guard tower and gate at the end of the lane.

They spoke back and forth in Pellarsh for a moment and then the man said to me, "You will have an escort—"

"I don't want escort."

Again, the guard glanced behind me to where Heidi stood.

"She isn't in charge!" I spun and shoved a finger at my friend. "She's fifteen—" I paused as I caught sight of Britta standing on the stairs. She was gripping the railing like a vice, her expression so full of remorse, it took everything in me not to spit at her.

This, I wanted to say, is your fault.

But that wasn't true. It was a great many people's fault, but it wasn't Britta's. Even if she'd been able to move troops into Vayelle, they wouldn't have made it. Not if they'd execute the hostages right after Kace's cry for help. It would have been too late. Any sort of help would have come far too late.

The queen's voice was firm and yet endlessly gentle as she said, "It's late and you don't know your way. Let someone go with you. They—They can hang back and give you space. You won't even know they're there unless you need them."

Heidi still stood nearby, the worry on her face making her seem older and younger all at once. Me—She was afraid for me. My bones hurt, that roiling power shoved hot against my palms and paced the length of my skin—restless. I was going to burn to ash myself if I didn't get out of this place, away from their damn pity.

Britta spoke again, "You cannot go alone. It is for your safety as much as anyone else's. Reubinon is not your home and not everyone will be happy to have you here. Please," she nodded to the now opened doorway to outside. "Allow one of our guards to escort you."

There was the crunch of boots on the gravel courtyard beyond and I turned to see a young man, perhaps in his early twenties, standing there. In the moonlight, I could only make out the muscular build of him and the tight row of braids on his head. He smiled, his teeth flashing bright against his dark skin as he said to me, "What, you afraid I'll outrun you?"

I blinked at him, surprised. He was Erydian—Erydian and, if his smile was any indication, he had no idea why we were going on a run. No one had told him. Clueless.

Blessedly clueless.

I glanced back to Britta, unable to muster the words to thank her or curse her, before I followed the boy outside and down the pathway to the gate. I felt Heidi still standing in the entryway as we passed the guard towers and slipped out onto the wide city street beyond. The cling of metal as the gate shut behind us was like a death toll.

The guard didn't seem to notice anything was amiss as we stood frozen on the cobblestone path. One end of the street sloped down towards the sea and the market I'd strolled through that morning. The other end curved around a bend and headed up, towards houses and narrow streets laid out against the side of a steep hillside.

For a moment, I just stood looking up at it.

The guard cleared his throat from behind me. "I'm Jaxon, by the way."

I didn't say anything in return.

It had been months since I'd gone on a run. It used to be how I ended most days—with Kai running in step next to me. He always made it look so damn effortless. Even when it was killing me, even when each inhale was sharp in my throat, Kai had loved it. And, if I were being honest, I'd come to enjoy it too.

Not the action of running, but the way it had made me feel.

Strong. Powerful. Like I could do anything. Be anyone.

But as I took off down the street, heading for those high cliffs and twisting pathways, I knew that no amount of running would fix this. It was something I would never be able to outrun.

But, goddess, I tried.

***

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