When she had told this to the healer she’d been seeing, the woman had laughed.

“That,” she’d said, “sounds like a recipe for heartache.”

She was an odd creature—a healer for the mind, she claimed, not the body. Ranka had gone there expecting spells and tinctures, but all they ever really did was talk. The woman helped Ranka probe through everything—Belren, her history with the Skra, Vivna, the events of the last six months, unwinding old wounds and working through them. It felt pointless, but it was a commitment all four of them had agreed to. And though Ranka hated to admit it, it had been helping, even if she did leave some sessions completely numb and others with snot dripping from her nose from crying so hard.

Her nightmares had eased, and thanks to Aramis’s vaccine injections, her blood-magic seemed to wither more by the day. It took more and more effort to wake, like a candle slowly guttering out. Every day Ranka awoke to a world of color, and most mornings it brought surprised tears to her eyes to see how blue the sky burned when death no longer held the reins of her life.

Some nights Ranka dreamed she awoke to no magic at all. That her power had vanished over time piece by piece, withering away until one day it was gone entirely, leaving behind just a regular witch. Just Ranka.

Aramis drew nearer, and Ranka’s mind blanked.

Percy rolled his eyes to the heavens. “Hey, remember the advice I gave you about choosing yourself? That’s an ongoing thing. Not just a moment-of-severe-trauma thing.”

“I am choosing myself.”

“Uh-huh.” He shook his head. “Ah, well. Plenty of time for me to talk sense into you. Just picture it, Ranka. Just you and your old pal Percy, trapped together in close quarters for weeks on end, with absolutely no escape.” He hooked his arm through hers. “We’re going to have fun.”

Maybe she would be better off staying in Seaswept after all.

“What’s the matter, Ranka?” Galen asked, finally within earshot. “Second-guessing your decision to be trapped on a boat with Percy for a month?”

“Yes,” she and Percy chorused.

Aramis came to stand beside him. The queen was unusually silent, her hands clasped behind her back, her dress rippling around her legs.

On the ship, the last of the crates were loaded. One sailor raised an arm and shouted they’d be leaving soon. Ranka’s stomach did a nervous flip.

“Well, then. I suppose this is goodbye.” Aramis hugged Percy tightly before stepping back to grip his arms. She squinted at him and sighed. “Try to stay out of trouble.”

Percy pressed a kiss to her forehead. “No.”