“I think Robb should see him,” Siege said absently, and motioned to him. Her hair had lost its glow somewhere between the woman slapping her and learning of the dark fever. He realized, quite suddenly, how gray her hair had become over the last few months.

The woman looked surprised. “The Ironblood?”

“Robb,” the captain corrected. “Your son calls him Robb.”

No, Jax called him ma’alor.

And he never would again.

The woman didn’t seem to understand, but she agreed to it all the same. She led Robb, numb and aching, to the very top of the Spire. Cloudy crystalline walls separated one room from another, the doors clear as glass. It was so bright, his eyes watered. The medical ward looked more like the inside of a star. Robb followed the ma c’zar to the end of the hallway, to the last room, where two Solgard stood guard.

He was afraid to go inside—afraid of what death looked like in these brightly lit rooms. He was afraid that the last image of Jax he would ever remember was one where he was dying. He didn’t want to remember Jax like that. He wanted to remember Jax . . .

He wanted . . .

He didn’t want to have to remember him at all. He wanted to be able to wake up every morning and see his face on the pillow next to his, trace the lines of his sharp cheekbones, and know he would be there again tomorrow.

That was what he wanted.

His mechanical arm jumped, twisting, and he quickly grabbed it by the biceps to hold it still.

The hospital room was small and bright, without furniture. Medical apparatus and holo-screens reading off Jax’s vitals hung on the headboard wall. In the middle of the room rested a familiar boy in a bed, the antiquated Dossier’s life support device still suctioned to his chest. It pulsed faintly.

He stepped into the room, one foot at a time, slowly releasing his mechanical arm, and reached for Jax’s hand. It didn’t matter now, whether he could see the stars or not, because there was no light left to see them with.

And it felt like there was no light left inside Robb, either.

He felt like the carcass of those burned Iron Shrines, once filled with grandeur but now nothing but ash. He sank to his knees at Jax’s bedside, and kissed his knuckles, and whispered with the intent of all of the words he had never gotten the chance to say, “Ma’alor.”

Jax

This was not a dream. But he wasn’t awake, either.

Last he remembered, Di, in the XO’s body, had him cornered and there was no way to escape. But then . . . then what happened? It was all a blur. He was scared to die, even though he knew this was where he did—but . . . something had happened. The scene hadn’t gone the way it had in the vision. Something had changed.