Cyrus’s tension eased away. There they were, his friends and allies in this war. Arn and Thorda sat at the table, their quiet conversation interrupted by Cyrus’s arrival. Stasia lay on the long couch, cuddling with Clarissa with their arms and legs entangled, and she barely moved to greet him other than to laugh and toss him a thumbs-up. His heart skipped a beat at seeing Keles with her uncle beside the fire, and it skipped again when she flashed him a warm smile. All here, all safe. His relief shocked him with its strength. He returned Mari’s embrace, arms wrapped around her waist, and allowed a few stubborn tears to vanish amid her hair.

“Never worry,” he whispered. “I’ll always come back.”

To his surprise, it was Arn whose excitement almost mirrored Mari’s.

“Bloody good show, Vagrant,” he said, smacking Cyrus across the back once Mari had pulled away. “Did you give that Magus bastard everything he deserved?”

“That I did,” Cyrus said, and he couldn’t help but smile. “The Imperator is dead. I daresay my parents would be proud.”

That earned him a round of cheers and applause.

“We fought as best we could before fleeing,” Rayan said as he rose from the table. “I hope to Lycaena that the chaos helped you escape.”

“That it did,” Cyrus said. “Nothing like a good citywide fire to distract to empire’s soldiers.”

He accepted Rayan’s embrace next. When separated, he removed his skull mask and then pulled from his pocket the other broken half of it. Cyrus quietly offered both pieces to Thorda, who had not risen from his seat.

“We didn’t save them,” Cyrus said softly. “All those people who trusted us are gone.”

“It is a rare victory in war that comes without a cost,” his master said, accepting the pieces. “I know it hurts, Cyrus, but believe me when I say this was a victory. You faced the greatest paragon of Thanet while all her people watched, and you brought him low. The island will believe now. In rebellion. In a future free of the empire. You gave them that.” He turned his attention to the others. “You all gave them that. Thank you, my friends. You are far better than I have ever deserved.”

Thorda pushed the chair back and stood. He clutched the two halves of the mask to his chest, cherishing them as he would a child.

“The damage is fixable,” he said. “I shall be in my study.”

Cyrus’s master retreated from the crowded living room and kitchen, leaving the rest of them in an awkward silence. Cyrus removed his hood and ran a hand through his hair.

“You know what?” he said. “I feel confident saying I deserve a damn drink.”