Except that wasn’t exactly true. Caledonia knew that. It was why she fought the way she did. Why she released Bullets after battle instead of killing them outright. Maybe if she’d been more ruthless Lir wouldn’t have been able to infiltrate her city, but she was trying to change the Bullet Seas without decimating them. But what would it matter if merciful tactics got everyone dead?

“How can I ask anyone to keep fighting for me after this? How can I ask them to keep trusting me when I hardly trust myself? What kind of leader does that make me?”

“It makes you exactly what we need.” His answer came quickly, without a breath of hesitation. “We missed this, and our losses are terrible, but you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s—war doesn’t work like that. Winning doesn’t mean you were right and losing doesn’t mean you were wrong. All it means is that Lir hit us harder this time.”

“Every time I think I’m capable of beating him, he crushes me instead, crushes my people, my home, and all I can think about is hurting him. I used to want to hurt him for all the ways he’d hurt me, but I don’t think that’s possible anymore. I—I’m afraid of what it will take to stop him.” She paused, realizing she’d pulled his hands into hers and now squeezed them to her chest, realizing also that this was the first time they’d spoken since Oran had confessed that he loved her. “I’m afraid of what I’ll do to stop him. I’m afraid of who I’ll be afterward.”

This time, Oran’s answer came more slowly. He pursed his lips, and his brow furrowed before he spoke again. “When you’re in command, you have the power to create change in the world around you. That’s what power is: potential for change. But you can’t create change without also changing yourself. And you can’t change this world without making decisions that will haunt you forever.”

Caledonia realized he was talking as much about himself as he was about her. All the decisions he’d made as a Fiveson were still with him. He’d done things she never wanted to imagine, and they would stay with him for the rest of his life. It mattered that he had changed course and now fought against the structure he once upheld. And it also didn’t matter at all. There was too much blood on his hands to ever be rid of it.

There was blood on her hands, too. Not because she’d done the killing but because she’d been in charge. She bore the weight of responsibility.