Out of all of us, I realize now that Fione got the happiest ending, and my unheart can’t help but glow for her.

“There you are! I was beginning to worry,” the crown princess simpers at me and pats the blanket next to her. She pauses when she sees my tunic. “I thought I told you not to startle my people with any blood.” She sighs. “No matter—sit down with us, will you?”

I dart my eyes to Fione’s face, but she refuses to look at me, her blush long gone. She shifts in her seat, stroking one thumb over the other. It’s a tiny movement, something I’d never catch before Y’shennria’s training—nerves. Her refusal to look at me hurts, but not as much as the fact that my very presence is clearly making her unbearably uncomfortable in a way that can’t be hidden by her usually perfect noble mask.

“I really shouldn’t.” I gesture down at my tunic.

Varia quirks a brow. “Sit.”

Fione suddenly gets to her feet, leaning on her cane to do so quickly. “I should go. Thank you for the food, Your Highness—”

“Oh, please, Fione. We can all share a meal together, can’t we?” She blinks between us. I steal a glance at Fione’s terse face.

“I’d—” I swallow. “I’d like to, yes.”

“See? She doesn’t want to bite you, Fione.” Varia laughs. “Please sit back down.”

Fione starts, this time pivoting. “I can’t—”

Varia lets out an explosive sigh. “Fione, Fione. So brave, so smart, and yet so scared when it comes to Heartless. Did you ever tell her?”

My stomach plummets. Tell me what? Fione won’t face us, or more precisely me, but I can faintly see her thin shoulders beneath her muslin dress shaking. Varia looks to me pointedly, taking a long sip of wine.

“Heartless are her greatest fear. Not that I blame her. The storybooks and bards’ songs love to make them seem pants-wettingly terrifying, don’t they?”

Things click into place in my head like a polymath contraption starting up. That’s why she wouldn’t look at me at the banquet. That’s why she can’t look at me now. I thought it was a fear of what I’d done, but no. It’s a fear of what I am.

And that hurts far deeper down.

“Fione,” I start, my mouth moving rustily. “I would never hurt you—”

“I’ve seen the Sunless War veterans,” Fione says softly. “The men with their legs and arms chewed off. Most of them were not as lucky—some have pieces of their torso missing. Vital organs, eaten. I have seen them die early, because they have barely any liver left at all.”

I swallow acid, but Fione continues, her voice trembling.

“Lady Y’shennria’s scar. Do you know how she got it?”