I can see only upsides to destroying the Glass Tree. It would release the Heartless, for one. Maybe there’ll be some ripple, a tornado or tidal wave of magic like the Wave that gave the celeon sentience all those years ago. But that’s a small price to pay to ensure no Heartless is ever created again. I’m sure of it.

But the Bone Tree is another matter.

Fione taps me on the shoulder, fresh and dewy, and motions to the steaming bathwater. “Your turn.”

I shake my head. “I told Luc I’d take a nap.”

“You can!” She pushes the small of my back into the room. “In the tub.”

The room’s tiny, all wood, and I sink into the tub built into the floor. No porcelain or gold like the tubs in the palace, but I’ve never been more grateful for one. The water’s soap-murky but more than usable, and I peel off my sweat-soaked leathers and slide into the water and my own thoughts.

If we have to destroy the Bone Tree, that would mean the valkerax go free. And in my unheart I know that’s the right thing to do. I’ve seen Evlorasin’s suffering too closeup to think anything different. The valkerax, like the Heartless, have suffered for long enough as magical thralls. We live and breathe the same. Magic shouldn’t be used to make thralls, no matter how much safety it gives the witches. No matter how much safety it gives a country. And that sounds mad even as I think it. I’m talking about destroying the one thing that keeps the valkerax from rampaging across Cavanos—maybe across the whole world. But Evlorasin showed me that we can talk to them; because Heartless are unique in their deathlessness, Ev and I can talk. And that’s never been done before. Heartless and valkerax have never overlapped before Ev and me. Maybe we’re the first of our kind. And maybe we can change the world. Talk to each other. Ambassadors, both ways.

All I know is things need to change. No more fear. Well, always fear. It’s naive to say fear will never be there. But moving ahead, and in new directions, despite the fear. That’s what I want. That’s what I’ve tried to do, every single day since I left Nightsinger’s woods in Y’shennria’s carriage.

Alyserat, indeed.

Fione’s words come softly through the door. “I’m scared, Zera.”

For all her bravado, for all her determination—she’s still scared. We all are.

“I know,” I say. “Me too.”

It’s a moment, and then two. The sunshine warms the wood, my face, the water, and I embrace the light. Whatever light I can find.