T he weeks passed slowly and yet still too damned fast, a haze of effort and exhaustion and confusion and… fragile, young dreams.

I had never minded throwing myself into work. It distracted me from the aches and pains that still plagued me, and distracted me from the worst of the emotions that lingered under the surface, complicated feelings that I knew I’d have to grapple with sooner or later. I wasn’t alone in that, at least. I knew all of Ara was waiting for their moment to weep, but at least we would do it in the secure embrace of a better world. I was determined to make that true.

I was totally certain that disbanding the Orders was the right thing to do. But it introduced a mind-boggling number of logistical challenges, the most pressing of which was: if there’s no Orders, then there’s no Arch Commandant, and if there’s no Arch Commandant, who the hell is going to rule this country?

This was a difficult question to answer. The simplest solution would be to revert back to Sesri’s bloodline, but after Zeryth’s war most of her heirs had been killed, leaving us in the dangerous territory of having multiple second-cousins-twice-removed with some distant claim to the throne. Tisaanah was working with the Alliance to structure various potential forms of representative government, though they were still early in planning stages. Such a system seemed perfect for the Alliance—all the benefits of one unified nation, coupled with the independence of their original homelands—but I couldn’t see that kind of thing working well for Ara.

In between cleanup efforts, I spent days locked up in rooms with the council and crown advisors hashing this out over and over again, to no

avail.

Finally, I was approached by a visitor—someone I never thought I would see again. Tare, Sesri’s Valtain advisor, had seemingly disappeared after Zeryth’s death. That is, until now, when he showed up at the Palace steps and requested to meet with me. I was so curious that I had to accept.

He was late to our meeting, and when he finally arrived, he entered the room so quietly that I didn’t realize he was there until he was practically breathing down my throat.

“Ascended fucking above, Tare.” I barely managed to catch the book I almost dropped, then set it down on the table. “Announce yourself next time.”

“People often say that to me.” “I’m not at all surprised by that.”

He gave me a weak smile, and just stood there, silent.

“I always liked you,” he said. “Back in those days, in the Orders. I never told you that.”

“I… thank you.”

Personally, I always thought Tare was a bit odd. I was reminded of that now, as he spent too long awkwardly wandering about the room, saying nothing.

At last, he sat down—right on the edge of the seat, as if he was ready to fly away if he had to.

“I want to tell you something important.” He cleared his throat, and I realized that he was actually nervous. “Sesri was nothing like what they said she was. They were manipulating her—Zeryth and Nura.” A wince shuddered over his face. “Through me. Because I allowed them to. But she… she was a child. A frightened child.”

I nodded, slowly, swallowing a pang of guilt. Yes, many people had failed Ara’s young queen. Zeryth and Nura had been manipulating her to bring themselves closer to the throne, and we’d all fallen into their trap.

I remembered the day that Sesri had ordered a man killed in the Capital square—the first day Tisaanah had seen the city. Afterwards, Tisaanah had said that she felt overwhelming fear from Sesri. Not malice. Not anger. Fear.

I had been all too willing to dismiss Sesri as a power-hungry brat then. All the while she was being used as a puppet, her worst fears exploited by the Orders to orchestrate her downfall.

“She was so young,” Tare murmured. “Just a little girl. All she wanted was someone to trust. And she trusted me.” A small, sad smile, as he touched his chest. “Only me. The world had hurt her, you see. She needed someone.”

He was silent for an uncomfortably long moment, watching me.

“She deserved better,” I said, at last, because I wasn’t sure what else to say.

I wasn’t expecting it at all when his response was, “I didn’t kill her.” I questioned whether I’d heard him correctly. “You— what?”

“Zeryth told me to do it, but I couldn’t. She was like… a sister. I had betrayed her. But I— I love her. And she is a good person, no matter what the Orders made her do. She had started resisting Zeryth’s guidance. She wanted peace, while he was pushing her for war. That was why he wanted me to do it.” His eyes were distant, as if he was lost in the memory. “I faked her death. Sent her out of the country instead.”

I was dumbstruck. I never thought Tare was especially— well, especially anything. Apparently I had underestimated him.

“How?” I asked. “Zeryth wanted to see a body, didn’t he?”

“Little blonde girls die all the time. Accidents damage bodies.” He said this strangely matter-of-factly.

“I thought for a long time about whether I wanted to tell you this,” he continued. “I thought, maybe it’s better for her, to live a simpler life than this. But… she always wanted to rule. She believed she could make this country better.” A small, proud smile ghosted his face. “Even so young, she wanted that.”

I had to sit down.

This was a lot to digest. But already, the gears were turning. I would have to see what Tisaanah thought. Sesri was, of course, too young to rule now—she never should have been handed the throne in the first place, though of course we knew now that that was very much intentional. But if we were to bring her home… if we were to reintroduce her slowly… if we were to raise a senate to support her, and balance her…

I blinked away the slew of thoughts, looking back at Tare.

“Did it occur to you,” I said, “that if I was in any way inclined to steal a throne, I would be the single absolute worst person you could bring this information to?”

Tare smiled at me. “Yes,” he said, and left it at that.

THE ROSETEETH COMPANY remained in the city long enough to help us clean up the wreckage. Several weeks later, they eventually departed. I asked every Roseteeth soldier I encountered about Brayan, but none of them knew where he was, only that he had sent them here.

A part of me was grateful. A part of me never wanted to see him again. And another part of me did.

They departed early on a cold morning, their gold sails disappearing into pre-dawn mist on the horizon. Before the final ship left, a soldier I’d never seen before slipped a letter into my hands and walked away before I could say a word.

I couldn’t bring myself to open it until later that night, Tisaanah beside me, the two of us reading it together.

Max –

I hear you won. Good.

I know there are some things I will never understand. But I will also never stop trying. How can I?

I am sorry for all the ways I failed you, and I am sorry for the way I will fail you now, when I write that I cannot see you again.

The house is yours. The title is yours. The paperwork is in order.

Do something great.

I

Here there was a scribbled sentence, violently slashed with ink so many times that I couldn’t even begin to make out what it had once said. Then:

You are still my brother.

One day, maybe.

Not now. I just can’t. Until then, live well.

Brayan.

I read this several times, my chest tight, unsure of exactly how to feel. “It is the best he can offer you,” Tisaanah murmured, after long minutes

of silence. “It’s him. Not you.”

I knew this was true. Brayan was just not equipped to work through the complexities of what he had learned. And hell… could I blame him for that? Would it be any different, if I were in his place?

“When those soldiers showed up, a small part of me hoped— I thought

—”

I tripped over my words—I didn’t even know how to finish the

sentence.

But Tisaanah took my hand, nodded as if it made perfect sense. “I know.” She kissed my shoulder, then laid her head against it. “But we have a family here, too.”

We have a family.

Such a simple statement, but it knocked me a little off kilter. It echoed in my head the next morning, when Sammerin, Moth, Tisaanah and I ate breakfast together before another long day of work. We were exhausted, injured, still recovering, but I looked around at these people who had learned to exist in such easy harmony with each other and I realized that she was right.

We have a family.

And I felt like such an idiot for not realizing it before.

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to just throw away the letter. Later, as I went to put it away, I flipped it over and for the first time noticed the postmark stamped on the back:

Sarilla.

I looked down at that word for a long moment. Despite myself, I couldn’t hold back a brief, bittersweet smile. Then I tucked the letter away, and closed the drawer.

THE FEY HAD GONE. The Roseteeth had gone. Only some troops from the Threllian Alliance remained. Slowly, the Capital began to creak back to life. People found ways to resume their lives.

Eventually, Sammerin told us in the morning that he was going to return to his practice. He had healed the wartime injuries. He’d treated the illnesses, the wounds, the broken bones. He’d paid his dues many times over, and he was ready to go home.

Moth would go with him and resume his apprenticeship, a long-overdue fulfillment of the promise Sammerin made him before we left for Threll.

Tisaanah gave him a warm smile and her hearty approval. But the congratulations I choked out were more stilted than I’d intended, and I found myself poking around my food. When it was time to say goodbye, I wished him luck getting his practice back up and running, clapped him on the shoulder, and left little more said.

Tisaanah gave me a strange look after that.

“What?” I said. “He’s going two miles away. What should I do, give him a weepy goodbye?”

Tisaanah narrowed her eyes at me in an I-see-you look and left it at that. She, annoyingly, was right.

I almost surprised myself when I found myself showing up at Sammerin’s practice the next day. I was too busy to go anywhere, but I told myself I had five minutes to spare.

The building, thankfully, was far enough into the city that it had not been affected by the fighting, though the whole place had fallen into a bit of disrepair. The sign was peeling, the flower boxes overgrown. When I showed up, the door was open, puffs of dust flying into the street as Sammerin beat the living hell out of a cot mattress.

“It’s too early to have that much energy,” I said.

Sammerin’s eyebrows lurched when he saw me. “You miss me already?”

“You left the Palace for this shit hole?”

“Be careful. I’ve seen how you’ve lived for the last ten years.” He threw the mattress over the railing, then squinted up at the sky. “It is going to be a gorgeous day.”

It was almost funny to see him looking so blatantly optimistic. Like at any moment, chirping birds would start following him around.

Sammerin truly loved his home. He loved Ara. He loved his practice. All he wanted was a disgustingly pleasant, uneventful life, fixing broken people and bedding beautiful women.

He seemed to remember I existed after a few seconds of enjoying the sun. “So? Did I forget something?”

I shrugged and slid my hands into my pockets. “I just wanted to escape for a minute.”

“Hm,” he said, in that tone that said he didn’t believe me. I shifted awkwardly.

“If you’re going to confess your unrequited love for me, Max, just hurry up and do it.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re a married man. That would not be appropriate.” I barked a laugh.

Finally, at Sammerin’s pointed silence, I let out a long breath. “I would not have survived without you, Sammerin,” I said, at last. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually told you that. Poor social graces, and everything.”

He sighed and shook his head. “We don’t have to do this.”

“I’m not doing anything. I’m just…” I shrugged. “I’m just saying thank you. For everything.”

A momentary softness passed over his face, before he waved me away. “Stop using me as an excuse to avoid your considerable

responsibilities,” he said. “I have work to do.” “Fine, fine. Enjoy your… cot dust.”

As I began to leave, he sat down on a garden chair, crossing his ankles over the seat of another.

I scoffed over my shoulder. “I thought you said you had work to do?”

“I do. In ten minutes. Or until however long it takes Moth to accidentally destroy something.” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “We have to take what we can get.”

I rolled my eyes, gave him a wave, and turned away. But halfway down the street I paused and glanced back, just for a moment. I watched my friend, lounging in the sun in front of the practice that he had dreamed about for so long, in utter contentment.

I smiled and continued walking.

Sometimes it’s nice to see good people live a good life. And Sammerin, I knew—better than anyone else—deserved the very best of good things.

WILLA SEEMED annoyed to see me. She was aflutter in that way she often was, like she had too many things to do and didn’t have the faintest idea where to start. The disbandment of the Orders had left her in an administrative nightmare.

“Is there something I can, ah, help you with, dear?” she asked me, giving me a slightly frazzled smile. Her hair was coming half-undone, her glasses crooked.

“Nothing in particular. I was just thinking…” I slumped into the chair across her desk, resting my heel on the corner of the mahogany wood. “You ran the education program of the Orders.”

She blinked at me, mildly irritated. “You know that I did, Max.”

“Right. And you had been doing that for… a long time?” I gave her a weak smile. “I was a bit out of touch for awhile there, as you know.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know. It must have been… well, nearly ten years. I took it up shortly after the Ryvenai War ended.”

“So would you say you know a lot about the topic?”

Willa was now openly irritated. “I wouldn’t go so far, but— well, yes. I know a lot about it. Is there a reason you’re asking me this, Maxantarius? I really do have a lot to do.”

I didn’t know why I was nervous.

I hadn’t been able to get the idea out of my head since Brayan’s letter.

I now was technically Lord Farlione, a title I couldn’t give less of a shit about. And the house—the house that had haunted my nightmares for so long—was now in my possession, taken out of the care of my miserable aunt.

Tisaanah and I, certainly, had no interest in living there. But it was a gorgeous house. A large estate. More space than anyone knew what to do with. Even as a child, my mother—who was no pauper herself—had thought the size of it was just excessive. “I don’t know what your father’s ancestors did to make them think they needed all of this room,” she would sigh.

Do something great.

What could possibly be great, after all of this?

I had lost faith in so much over the years. The Orders, the military, my brother, my father. Even the things that I loved, I had complicated feelings towards. So much of what I had taken as a given when I was younger had turned out to be flat out untrue.

I had joined the military because I had thought it was my only route to prominence. I wanted to learn how to be a powerful Wielder, and joining the military was what talented young men and women did when they wanted to fulfill their potential.

Now, I looked back on that path with disgust. How did we ever think that was normal? To teach people—teach children—that the only route to greatness was to learn how to kill?

Do something great, Brayan had written.

I swung my legs down and leaned across the table.

“If one wanted to open a school,” I said, “how would one, theoretically, go about doing that?”