Eliana placed her hands flat in the dirt. Its dry, hard texture was no comfort, and yet she longed to lie down in it and never rise again. “Where will we go?”

“There’s a city about thirty miles south of here. Briserra. It’s much larger than Karlaine and has a decent Red Crown presence. My friend Edge runs an inn, of sorts. The prisoners will be safe there.”

“And us?”

Patrik shrugged. “I don’t know where you’ll go. You and Harkan have done what I asked you to do. If you leave this very moment, I won’t cry about it. Well. I’ll cry a little, to lose Harkan. As for me and Jessamyn, Gerren, and the rest, we’ll go where we’re needed. And we’ll keep going until we’re either no longer needed or we die.”

“I suppose that’s it, isn’t it? That’s all that’s left to us.” Eliana considered sitting on the wall, but that required too much effort. Exhaustion pressed down upon her, gray and endless, but she knew that if she returned to Harkan and tried to sleep, she would fail. “We fight until we can’t fight anymore, and then we die, and none of it will matter anyway. Nothing’s changing.”

Patrik was quiet for a long time. “When you and Simon came through Crown’s Hollow,” he said at last, “it wasn’t about getting Navi home to Astavar, was it? Or even, really, about finding your mother?”

Eliana laughed a little. “It was for me. I thought that’s what I was doing, anyway.”

“And what was Simon doing?”

“He thinks I’m the Sun Queen,” she said, because she couldn’t find the will to think of a lie. “He lied to me so I would leave my home and fight a war for him.”

“Are you the Sun Queen?” Patrik gestured at her hands. “Is that what those are for? What did they call them in the Old World? Castings?”

Something inside her gave way. Wherever he was trying to lead her with his questions, she had no desire to follow.

“I can’t talk about this,” she said, and hurried away through the trees, searching. When she at last found Jessamyn, the girl was sitting in the feed shed by the light of a small fire, braiding her hair into a tight plait.

Blessedly, she was alone.

Eliana shut the door behind her. “What did you see when we were in that last cell?”

“I saw you turn rigid,” Jessamyn replied at once. “Your eyes filled with tears, and you kept convulsing as if you were trying to get away from someone, or something, but you couldn’t move. Your eyes paled, though not as completely as the physician’s. You cried out, terrified of something. I worried that whatever was happening would kill you.” Jessamyn tied off her braid and tossed it over her shoulder, her expression keen. “Why? What did you see?”

Eliana hesitated, then sat down in the dirt beside the fire. “I’m not sure how to explain it.”

“Or if you should explain it.”

Eliana looked at her sharply. “Perhaps.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve seen something like that happen,” Jessamyn said, leaning forward to adjust the fire. “An adatrox, or someone working for the Empire, goes fuzzy-eyed and strange. Or in the case of the adatrox, more fuzzy-eyed than usual. And someone nearby collapses, or seizes, or does something out of character to hurt themselves or others.”

Jessamyn sat back on her heels. “Do you know what that means? You don’t have to tell me, especially if it’ll be safer for me not to know. I rather like my shitty life. But do you know what it means?”

“Yes,” Eliana said simply.

“Well, that’s a comfort, to know that at least someone understands what’s happening in this world.”

“No, that’s not quite right,” Eliana said, hugging her middle. “I know what it means, it’s been explained to me, but I don’t understand it. Or rather, I understand some of it but not all, and what I do understand makes me wish—”

She subsided abruptly, choked by the sudden rise of tears. She worked so diligently to suppress them that her throat ached, ready to split in two.

After a moment, Jessamyn moved to crouch between her and the flames. She took Eliana’s hands in her own, callused ones, gingerly inspecting.

“Your bandages need changing,” she observed.

“Yes,” Eliana agreed.

Jessamyn traced the lines of Eliana’s castings with her fingers. “Does whatever you know about this war have something to do with these?”

Eliana nodded. “Yes.”

Jessamyn glanced up at her. “Do they hurt you?”

“Sometimes,” Eliana said. “Hence the bandages.”

“Can’t you take them off, even for a little while?”

“I’m afraid to.”

“They’re dangerous?”

“I’m dangerous,” Eliana whispered. “I’m a monster, in fact.”

“Aren’t we all?” Jessamyn pressed Eliana’s hands gently together, between her own. “Is it awful,” she said with a little smile, “that knowing you’re dangerous makes me want to kiss you?”

Not until that moment did Eliana realize how desperately she needed to be kissed—not by anyone who knew her or wanted things of her, but by someone with a gentle touch who expected nothing in return but to be kissed back.

“If it is awful,” Eliana replied, leaning gratefully into the warmth of Jessamyn’s body, “then I don’t care.”

Their lips met softly, and Eliana at once felt the tension in her shoulders melt down her arms and out her fingers. She smiled a little against Jessamyn’s mouth and gloried in the realization that this was a girl who excelled at kissing.

“You’re crying,” Jessamyn murmured, gently nibbling on Eliana’s lower lip. “Should I stop?”

“Talking, yes,” Eliana said, her eyes fluttering closed. “Kissing, no.”

Jessamyn hummed a little, delighted. She cupped Eliana’s head in her hands, gently bearing down on her to deepen her kisses, slowly, luxuriously, until Eliana’s head spun and her skin tingled. When Jessamyn rose to her feet, extending her hand, Eliana took it at once, feeling hazy, and allowed Jessamyn to lead her to the tiny pallet a few steps away—Jessamyn’s own shabby coat, arranged over neat piles of leaves and old straw.

“Usually, I’m not one for sex,” Jessamyn confessed, once they’d settled on her coat. She studied Eliana’s face, brushed Eliana’s hair out of her eyes. “But I do like kissing and being held, and there’s something about those hands of yours that makes me somewhat interested in the deed, for once.”