I stare at her, the immensity of my situation rushing through me anew as the trees send out their continuous buzz of noxious ire. Before I can think too closely on it, I pop a spider egg into my mouth, surprised by its rich, briny taste. “All right,” I concede, digging in, “it’s good.”

Bleddyn’s mouth slants up as she sets to eating her own food.

“How’s little Fern?” I ask, forcing conversation as we settle into the disorienting but necessary ruse of a companionable Eastern Realm meal. I have wondered, many times over the past few months, how Fernyllia Hawthorne’s granddaughter from the university kitchens is faring. I remember how Fernyllia charged Bleddyn and Iris with getting Fern to the East and keeping her safe.

A twinge of pain breaks through me as I also remember how heroic Fernyllia gave her life so that so many could escape to the East, including my brothers and Diana and Jarod. And how her actions, posing as the university poisoner, sheltered both me and Tierney.

“Fern’s living in the Eastern Sublands,” Bleddyn says, growing somber. “Sagellyn Gaffney and Ra’Ven Za’Nor have adopted her.”

My brow lifts in surprise as Bleddyn sighs and picks up her tea. “She misses Fernyllia,” she says, giving me a level look. “But she’s happy enough. And quite a bit safer.” She narrows her gaze pensively at the restaurant across the street, its countless Noi flags flapping in the stiff breeze. “Fernyllia would be glad to see Fern here,” she muses, voice tight with feeling. “Problems and all.” She turns back to me, tears now sheening her emerald eyes, and I remember how close Bleddyn was to Fernyllia.

“Well, I think we should toast to Fernyllia, then,” I say, raising my teacup a fraction. “I think... I think that she would have liked the idea of this.” I motion between us. “You and me. Sitting here...”

“Getting ready to smash Vogel to bits by any means necessary?” Bleddyn cuts in, blowing out a rough laugh, her irreverent voice shot through with emotion.

I nod and smile a bit as grief tightens my throat. “Yeah. That. Together.”

Bleddyn raises her tea. “To Fernyllia, then. In tribute...” Her words break off and she shakes her head and stops herself, even though it seems as if she could say a lot more.

We clink teacups, and Bleddyn roughly wipes away a tear, then takes a swig of tea. She gives me a narrow-eyed smile and raises her mug once more. “And to you, Ny’laea.” She sets down her tea, picks up her Black Witch figurine and untwines the small hammer tied to it. Then she lays the figuring on its side, and I flinch as she brings the hammer roughly down on its head. My heartbeat quickens to see my own face, in miniature, rendered to wooden shards, revealing the prize hidden inside its hollow depths.