All along the wharf of lower Cloudbreak, a celebration continued well into the night. Fires tripped down the rocky shore where groups clustered with skins of tart cherry wine and twisting loops of sweetbread. There were fiddles and pipes, dancing and laughter, kisses and so much more as those who had fought against Aric’s forces today and won reveled in this unprecedented moment of victory.

High above the wharf, tucked into the dark bowl of the observatory, Caledonia listened to the strains of their joy. She’d tried to smile with them, to raise her hopes and release her fears for just a moment, but she couldn’t. She was a part of them and also apart from them. And she was beginning to understand that was how it had to be.

Wrapped in a blanket of thick fleeced wool, she sat curled on a bench, eyes turned east where Lir’s fleet—Lir’s fleet—had disappeared hours before. She had won the battle, but so had he, and believing differently would be a mistake.

She’d lost, too. And she didn’t know how to open her heart to thoughts of Donnally just yet, so she pushed him away. He was alive. That was enough.

Of course, she’d lost more than Donnally. Aric’s gun had taken down two of their deepships, and one of the rogue ships had been overwhelmed. Altogether, they’d lost sixteen people. Pisces had been the one to bring her the report, thinking it would land more softly if it came from her. But in Caledonia’s mind it remained a number, a representative figure instead of individuals. She’d offered Pisces a gentle nod of understanding and then asked to be left alone. Perhaps a deeper sorrow would follow this moment of shock, but Caledonia worried that this was the new shape of her heart.

Every time a quiet moment settled among her thoughts, she pictured the deck of that ship after the star blossom ripped it apart. She saw the moments of agony frozen in place on the faces of children younger than she, she saw the ring of soldiers twisted around Aric’s feet, and she saw the bomb in her own hands. She felt the click of the button beneath her fingers, and she wanted to claw her throat open.

This battle had changed her. She had used Aric’s terrible weapons against him, and she knew she would make the same choice again if the situation called for it.

From the doorway, someone cleared their throat. She looked up to find Oran standing there, glazed in the luminescent glow of the golden dome above. The soft light made his eyes shine. It settled on his shoulders like a mantle sculpted to fit his lithe figure. She drank him in, and then she pulled her eyes away.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.