Kiyo spoke at last. “You have my word, Eugenie. I won’t do anything to hurt you on this journey. I just want to put a stop to this blight.”

I glanced between each man in disbelief. “Your word means nothing,” I said.

Rurik walked over to my side, sword in hand. “My lord Oak King is undoubtedly confused by the politics of diplomacy, Your Majesty,” he told me. “Allow me to rectify things by dispatching this miserable creature from the world so that he no longer troubles you and we can be on our way. Decapitation would probably be the most efficient method.”

It was the politest tone I’d ever heard Rurik use. It was also the only time in memory that Rurik had sided with me against Dorian. Although Rurik had become my servant a long time ago, he’d always behaved as though he was indulging me while reserving his true loyalties for his former king.

“And I’ll do it if he won’t,” called Jasmine.

If Kiyo was cowed by these threats, he didn’t show it. He remained where he was, face earnest. The rest of us, having stopped moving, were all feeling the cold, but Kiyo had a staunch look that said he could stand here all day.

“You’re being foolish, all of you,” chided Dorian. “Not to mention melodramatic.” The irony of Dorian accusing others of being melodramatic wasn’t lost on me. “Varia—her subjugated lands aside—only represents one kingdom. We are many. Don’t make me start quoting well-worn adages about uniting against an enemy and how turning against each other will only lead to our downfall. Clichés bore me, and standing around is making me cold.”

Kiyo looked at me unblinkingly. “I have every reason in the world to help you lift this blight and none to betray you. I’ll go scout ahead now.” I wasn’t so sure about the betraying part, but before I could make any further protest, Kiyo shape-shifted into a small red fox. In the blink of an eye, he turned around and scampered down the road, easily covering the snowy distance.

“This is a bad idea,” I warned Dorian.

“Some would argue our entire plan is a bad idea,” he retorted.

Our party moved out again, but the earlier energy and good mood were gone. With the exception of Dorian, everyone was either dumbfounded by the turn of events with Kiyo or completely outraged. I saw Rurik trot over to the soldiers from my kingdoms, Keeli and Danil, and murmur something to them that was received with grim nods. I had a feeling they’d either been ordered to never let me out of their sight or to lure Kiyo off alone and decapitate him as soon as the opportunity came. With Rurik, it was hard to say which strategy would appeal to him.

“Volusian,” I called. The spirit was still lurking about from when I’d summoned him earlier. “You go ahead too— but watch Kiyo. Make sure he really is alone and not meeting up with Willow soldiers.” Volusian vanished.

Seeing Kiyo stirred up all sorts of troubling feelings. I was angry, absolutely, that I’d somehow just acquired him as an ally, despite my protests. It was also hard not to resent him after everything he’d put me through. He’d tried to kill me and my children. Because of him and Maiwenn, I’d spent the last six months hiding and on the run. Those were things I wasn’t going to forgive. I wasn’t even sure I could temporarily put them aside “for the greater good.”

At the same time, I remembered that Kiyo and I had once been close. We’d shared a connection. I’d loved him. Nonetheless, I’d had a long time to overcome those sentimental feelings, and they certainly wouldn’t give me a moment’s hesitation if he attacked me again. The other part I kept thinking about was that at the root of all of this, Kiyo was the father of my children. I thought they were wonderful, the most amazing things in either world. Yet, they were half him. What did that mean? Was there good in him? Bad in them?

None of the above, Eugenie, I immediately realized. We were not our parents. Each individual was his or her own person, no matter the heritage. Jasmine and I were proof of that. Kiyo was in no way a reflection of who Isaac and Ivy were or who they’d become.

“You needn’t glare like that,” remarked Dorian, leading his horse up beside me. “What’s done is done.”

I fixed the aforementioned glare on him. “Yeah, well, it would’ve been nice if you’d maybe given me a heads-up on this. But no. Like always, you withheld information and decided to pull the strings without consulting anyone else.”

“It was presumptuous, true.” From Dorian, that was a big concession. “But I knew you wouldn’t like it either way. If you’d had notice, you simply would’ve had more time to build up arguments. As it is, he’s joined us and is now off helpfully scouting in a furry, smelly form. By which I mean his fox form. I know it’s hard to tell the difference.”

I shook my head, amazed at his nonchalant attitude. “And you think that’s it? All is forgiven and he’ll just be cool with me having Storm King’s grandchildren because we’re all united in some super team? That’s naïve.”

Dorian’s face suddenly hardened. “Equally naïve is the thought that I would carelessly allow him to do anything to you or your children. How many times do I have to convince you of my protection? Do you really think that if he comes back here and attempts to harm one hair on your head, I’ll allow it? Eugenie, if he so much as looks at you in a way I don’t like, Rurik and his conspirators over there won’t have a chance to act because I’ll have long since run that bastard kitsune through myself.” Dorian’s tone astonishingly became light and easy again. “Now then. I wonder where we’ll be making camp tonight.”

He rode off to chat with the soldiers, leaving me in stunned silence.

We rode for most of the rest of the day, giving me a lot of time to think about Dorian and Kiyo, both of whom were troubling for entirely different reasons. Although bundled up, I was starting to feel the cold more and more, especially as the sun began getting lower. The horses marched on steadfastly, but we all knew they couldn’t go as long as they normally would in warmer, easier conditions.

Volusian returned and told me Kiyo had done nothing but scout the road as promised. Volusian also made it clear that watching him had been the most boring thing ever and a waste of the spirit’s formidable talents. Kiyo himself came trotting back shortly thereafter, shape-shifting back to his human form as our group drew to a halt. He gestured over his shoulder.

“Two more land shifts ahead,” he said. “I think they’re the Elm Land and Palm Land, but it’s hard to tell out here.”

Elm and Palm. Neither were lands in my “neighborhood.” In fact, we hadn’t been in any of the familiar kingdoms in a couple of hours. I’d at least heard of these lands—and knew they weren’t Varia’s allies—but it was a stark reminder that our journey was taking us far out of our normal path.

“There’s a village just over the second border,” Kiyo added. He hesitated before continuing. “We could possibly camp there... .”

“No possibly about it,” said Rurik, urging his horse to a light walk. “Much better for us to be in some kind of civilization for the night than out here in the open.”

Kiyo frowned. “Yeah, but this place ... well, it’s not in great shape.”

Dorian caught on where I didn’t. “Do you think they’re desperate enough to attack and take our supplies?”

“No,” said Kiyo. He nodded to the armed soldiers. “These people aren’t in good enough shape to face them either, and I think they know it. I just wanted you to understand what we’re walking into.”

“Fair enough,” said Dorian. “But there are few other options.”

We set out, and all the calm I’d managed to achieve in Kiyo’s absence vanished now that he was with us again. I think the only thing that made his presence bearable was that he accompanied us in fox form, since that was a quicker mode of travel.

The village really wasn’t that far over the second border, which Dorian confirmed was the Palm Land. The settlement sat a little ways off the road and looked like something from the set of South Pacific, with lightly thatched huts that seemed completely absurd against the wintry backdrop. The palm trees that had given this land its name were unnaturally big, but that hadn’t saved them from the cold. They were all dead, unable to cling to life as the trees in the Rowan Land had. Some of the Palm residents came out to watch our approach; some peered out at us from the safety of their snowy huts. I had a weird flashback to the time I’d first inherited the Thorn Land, when my own villages had suffered from drought.

Some of them had been in pretty bad shape, but they were nothing compared to this. My people back in the Thorn and Rowan lands were on rations right now, but beside these gaunt, starving people, my own kingdoms were practically feasting every day. Likewise, the cobbled-together winter attire I’d seen on my people was downright luxurious next to the pathetic scraps of the Palm Land’s residents. The clothing barely covered their bodies. An uneasy feeling spread over me.

“Are my villages like this?” I asked to anyone who would answer. Since my return, I’d only talked to those who worked in my castles, not those who lived elsewhere. Those in the castles always had a little more than those in the villages and towns.

“No, Your Majesty,” said Danil, the guard, coming up beside me. “I’ve been to this kingdom in the past—before the blight. It was prosperous and lush. The weather was so mild that fruit and plants grew in abundance. You could walk outside your home and pick dinner. They had no need to save for winter or trade.”

“And so they had nothing when the blight came,” I guessed. Things had been far from easy in my kingdoms, but a few things had helped us through this disaster. The Thorn Land had to import a lot of food normally, meaning there were always extra supplies in storage. When the blight had destroyed most of the food found in the wild, there had been some of that backup to go around and share between both of my kingdoms. Likewise, the Rowan Land’s more temperate climate meant there’d been warmer clothing and supplies already in production to share back to the Thorn Land, whose residents (like the Palm Land’s) would normally never need anything more than the lightest of attire.