“This isn’t my first time facing death.” Ranka closed her eyes. “And I am tired of fighting.”

If the princess wanted a fight, Ranka was too exhausted to give one to her. Somewhere in the front room, the floorboards creaked as Percy adjusted his position. An owl hooted outside. Ranka thought maybe Aramis had fallen back asleep, and then, so soft Ranka could barely hear her:

“Foldrey.” Aramis’s voice trembled. She locked her arms around her knees. “He’s… leading… the…”

“Princess,” Ranka said gently. “Breathe.”

But Aramis’s gasps only increased in violence. She rocked back and forth, her breath hitching higher, higher, higher. Ranka knew what was coming next.

Aramis bit her fist—and screamed.

For the first time since Ranka had met her, after months of hunting winalin witches, creeping through tunnels, and facing down death, the princess of Isodal finally, entirely unraveled.

The tears came quickly. Aramis’s entire body shook with great, terrible sobs as everything finally hit her in full force. Ranka watched her, dimly reminded of a different day, five years ago, when she’d woken in Belren and realized Vivna had left her behind. She recalled the terror that had sunk into her bones, sharper than a knife, colder than the deepest trenches of the Kithraki rivers. She recalled anger.

And above all, she remembered betrayal.

The way it had burned her throat, stolen her breath, carved out her chest, and collapsed her ribs. The way it had made her want to plunge into denial and break everything around her. The way it had shaken her to her core—this new, unrelenting belief she was not worth loving.

That she was not worth anything at all.

There would be no tempering this pain for Aramis. So instead of whispering her hollow reassurances, Ranka did the only thing she could.

She stood in witness of Aramis’s fury and grief, and she stayed.

After several minutes, Aramis’s sobs slowed. She picked her head up, her eyes red and raw. Snot dripped from her nose and crusted her chin. Deep, angry half-moons winked from her palms where she’d dug her fingernails so hard into her skin, she’d drawn blood.

“My parents loved us, but they had a kingdom to run. But Foldrey… Foldrey always had time for us. It was Foldrey who taught us how to read.” She laughed, low and sad. “Can you imagine? A guard teaching his charges to read, instead of the tutors. Mother used to joke that they couldn’t pry him away from us. From the time Galen and I were born, he was there, and he never left. He was supposed to protect us.”

“I know, Princess,” Ranka said softly. Ongrum’s face flashed through her mind’s eye. “I know.”