“We’re close,” Hector said. “I can feel it.”

Jude slid down onto the ground, his face in his hands. “I … I killed them.”

“No,” Hector said, crouching beside him. “No, come on, that wasn’t—”

“They’re dead because of me.” He felt like someone had seized hold of his heart and squeezed. He couldn’t breathe.

“They would have killed us. They would have come for the others. For Anton,” Hector said firmly. “You did what you had to do.”

“Yarik—”

“Made his choices,” Hector said. “And you aren’t responsible for them. You never were.”

Jude looked up, meeting Hector’s somber gaze, and knew he didn’t just mean Yarik. There was a time when Jude had insisted he was responsible for Hector’s choices, too. It hadn’t been true then. And it wasn’t now.

“Come on,” Hector said, hauling Jude to his feet. “Let’s go find your Prophet.”

As if invoked by Hector, Anton’s Grace gave a small tug on Jude’s. He was safe, then. And close. Jude felt something lighten in his chest, even as the rest of him remained impossibly heavy.

“This way,” he said, setting off into the darkness, trusting his true north to guide them.

Dawn had just broken when they reached the mouth of the caverns. Mist blanketed the mountainside, drifting between the trees and shrouding the rising sun, turning the whole sky a rosy pink.

Anton’s esha led them up a rocky slope, toward the sound of waterfalls. And then, layered over the sound of the falls, they heard voices and the snap of a crackling fire. Jude almost didn’t realize he’d broken into a run until he reached a clearing between the trees and had to skid to a stop to avoid being sliced in half by Khepri’s blade.

“Whoa!” Hector cried, yanking Jude back.

Khepri looked rattled, and she sheathed her sword at once. “You could have called out a warning. I thought you were Witnesses!”

“Glad to see you’re on alert, I guess,” Hector replied.

“Jude and Hector are back!” Hassan called out as he jogged toward them. He patted Hector’s shoulder approvingly. “Glad you’re all right.” He turned to Jude. “Both of you.”

Jude nodded, accepting what felt like a peace offering from Hassan. His gaze moved past the prince and found Anton staring at him from across the clearing, one hand clenched around a waterskin. He looked shaken, paralyzed, his dark eyes wide.

Jude was moving toward him before he’d consciously made the decision. All he knew was that he was desperate to touch him, to take him into his arms, to feel grounded and solid.

But steps away from Anton, Jude faltered. There was something remote about Anton’s expression, like Anton was a block of solid stone that Jude was hurtling toward at top speed. Without a word, Anton took his wrist and turned sharply on his heel.