“I appreciate your not leaving me behind,” Harlie tells me.

“I wouldn’t have left you behind,” I insist, pride stung.

Harlie cocks a brow.

“Well, the old Delta might have. But not the new one.”

“And who, exactly, is this new Delta? A gods touched? An actual goddess? I’ve heard what they’re saying in the streets.”

“They’re saying what gives them hope.”

“Maybe you’re the great-great-great-something grand-daughter of General Amory,” she says with a snort. “Sure sound like him with all that ‘hope is most important’ talk.”

I brush sweat from my eyes, the rigging I’d been working on forgotten. “Isn’t it?” This way of thinking is all that’s kept me from blurting the truth out to the construction line. The Prime insists that her people don’t need to know the truth, that they came to her to be shielded from the darker parts of the wastes, and she will let them believe in whatever gods they choose—even me—if it helps them get by. If anyone among us is related to Amory, it’s her.

“Nah, the truth is important,” Harlie argues. “People should know who they’re fighting for, why they’re fighting, and how likely they are to succeed.”

“Well, I’m not in charge here. If the Prime doesn’t like what she’s hearing in the streets, she’ll put an end to it.”

Harlie rolls her eyes, which means we’re done talking about this but she in no way agrees with what I’ve said.

That afternoon, as she has every afternoon since we began building, the Prime stops by to check in with the Tender. After receiving updates, she lingers, helping a group of women tie knots and eventually climbing the rigging to assist another with the sail. Her willingness to work alongside her people—to be a part of their trials and triumphs—makes something stir in my chest. Pride? Hope? I only know that I am happy to be here, laboring with her, working toward something bigger than the two of us.

A horn is blown on the defense wall, and chatter spreads through the clearing. “The Reaper is back!” someone shouts. A moment later, the door raises to let the returning group pass through. The Reaper appears first, followed by three of her women, then Reed. His ram-skull mask is pushed back on his forehead, and a second dangles from his right hand. Horses trail behind, corpses slung over the saddles.

The Prime hurries down the mast and vaults over the sideboard, running to the Reaper and kissing her firmly on the mouth. The women embrace, clapping each other on the back. I hear Luce say, “He did the deed himself. No hesitation. Killed the Second and the three Loyalists who accompanied him.”