She relented long enough for Duja to let out a tired chuckle. “This once, Imeria, I wish I could indulge you. But I’m afraid I have no fight left within me.”

“That’s it, then?” Imeria gritted out. Once again, the queen had disappointed her. “You’ve decided to forsake your family. Your people. The same way you have forsaken me.”

Duja allowed her eyes to close for a brief, arduous moment. She barely felt the passing wind as shame heated her cheeks. Atop Mount Matabuaya, there was nothing to shield her from the honesty in Imeria’s words. For the first time in two decades, they were truly alone. Isolated from their families, their armies, and the court that had kept them apart. What brought them there⁠—a child’s yearning? A god’s wrath?

Their love was once a secret whispered in a young girl’s ear. Perhaps, in another life, they could have remained princess and companion, rather than queen and enemy. But their bloodlines had sealed their fate long before. A Gatdula and a Kulaw, drawn together for no longer than a heartbeat in history. Reunited miles above the capital, they left nothing but destruction in their wake. No declaration of love, no promise of mercy, could have altered the outcome. They should have known their path would lead there, in the end.

Duja’s heart filled with hollow acceptance. “Haven’t we been punished enough for our youthful errors? Or is more violence to follow? More senseless death?” she wondered aloud.

Bitter recognition flickered in Imeria’s expression. At last, she released her. Duja fell to the ground, trembling, her chest slicked with sweat. She looked up. Something had broken in Imeria’s gaze.

“I don’t wish to hurt you, Duja,” she said in a ragged voice. “I didn’t wish for any of this.”

Duja saw her own torment reflected in the other woman’s eyes. The thick fog blurred the harsh lines of her face. In the dusky light, Imeria almost looked like the girl she’d been when she’d arrived at the palace. She hadn’t harbored such hatred inside her then. Duja looked at the vessel of destruction and pain she had become, and her heart filled with grief.

I created this.

“You must forgive me,” Duja whispered. “If I had been kinder to you back then⁠—”

“Duja, don’t.” Imeria turned away. Her shoulders shuddered. She was crying. “I was loyal to you. I defended you when your miserable brother threatened to burn you to a crisp,” she said as the sobs wracked her body. “I loved you, Duja, even though I knew you would never love me back. I told myself it didn’t matter. I thought it an honor just to serve you. I never would have harmed you. By the gods, Duja, I was your heart. How could you not see that?”