I touch Ampelio’s gem at my neck and take a steadying breath before summoning a ball of fire to my right hand again.
“Do you still want me to throw it at you?” I ask Artemisia.
She grins. “Do your worst,” she says.
When I throw the fireball, I feel it in my chest as well as in my arm. Ampelio’s pendant throbs against my skin like a second heartbeat. This time, the fire leaves my hand and holds its form, though it grows weaker as it sails through the air. Artemisia throws a hand up before it hits her and water flies from her fingertips, turning the ball of fire into steam.
“Better,” she says. “But still weak. Let’s go again.”
By the time we make our way back down the mountain, every muscle in my body aches. I almost miss the sword lessons. But as sore as I am, I also feel whole and at peace for the first time in recent memory. I feel right. I know that it’s only the beginning and I’m far from being able to hold my own against Cress, but I’m on the path toward that, and for today, that is enough.
“So, you aren’t going to the capital to rescue Søren,” Artemisia says as we take the winding path back down toward the camp.
Thinking about Søren feels like walking down stairs and expecting there is one more step than there is. It throws my world off-kilter.
“No,” I say, hoping I sound steadier than I feel. “It would be foolish to rush in without enough warriors, without a plan. If Søren were here, he would tell us the same thing.”
“It’s the right call,” Art says with a nod. “And you didn’t lose face by prioritizing an enemy prinz in front of allies who are, at best, tentative in their support.”
“He’s not an enemy,” I say with a sigh.
Artemisia shakes her head. “We know that, and maybe after everything, some others might believe it as well, but there is still a wide chasm between being an enemy and being one of us, and it’s a chasm he will never cross.”
“I know,” I say. “I promised Erik we would save him, though. And we will—when we can.”
Something hard crosses over Heron’s expression. “Erik is more reckless than you are,” he says, his voice low. “He won’t be strung along with promises, and we need Goraki’s numbers, as meager as they might be, if we’re going to stand against the Kalovaxians.”
“Erik has a weak hold on Goraki as it is,” Artemisia says with a sniff. “He’s the Kaiser’s bastard son, and now that his mother isn’t—” She breaks off, glancing at me, though I’m careful not to give a reaction. “Now that she isn’t around anymore, his hold is weaker than ever. If he does decide to forsake our alliance and go chasing after his Kalovaxian brother, he would likely do it alone. He can’t be foolish enough not to know that.”
“He just lost his mother, and Søren is the only family he has left,” Heron says. “He’s not foolish; he understands the risk. He just might not care about it.”
Before Art and I can respond, Heron quickens his stride, outpacing us by a few feet.
“They’ve been spending a lot of time together,” Art says when he’s out of earshot, her voice wary.
I’m not surprised. Erik told me he was interested in Heron, and though Heron is far more guarded about his heart, I remember how red his cheeks would get around Erik, how he would turn shy and awkward all of a sudden.
“How long?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “Heron isn’t one to spill all the details of his personal life, unlike other people I could name,” she says with a pointed glance in my direction. “But I think it started with the molo varu. I would catch him with it sometimes, writing messages, reading others, but when I asked him if there was any news from Goraki, he would say no. Whatever it was, after the battle, things seemed to progress quickly. They spend most nights together.”
“It’s good,” I tell her. “I imagine they both need comfort and companionship. They’ve both faced losses. I’m glad they’ve at least found something positive in the midst of so much war and pain and grief.”
“I suppose it is good,” Artemisia allows, eyes narrowing. “But it’s moved so quickly…and losing Leonidas destroyed Heron. When I met him after he’d escaped the Earth Mine, he was a shadow of a person, all raw wounds and broken bits. He’s rebuilt himself slowly over the last year, painstakingly. I think having you and a purpose has been better for him than you realize. It’s the strange thing about Heron—most people who have lost as much as he has close themselves off. It’s how you and I survived, and Blaise even more so, I think. But Heron is different. He doesn’t hold people at arm’s length. He holds on to them like a drowning man. It’s something I’ve admired, but it scares me as well. I’m not keen on seeing his heart break again.”
I hear the warning in her voice clearly.
“I’ll do what I can to keep Erik on our side,” I tell her. “But I didn’t realize you were such a romantic.”
Artemisia glares at me. “I’m not,” she says sharply. “I just can’t stand moping.”
“Of course,” I say.
“You aren’t moping,” she says after a moment. “I thought you would be. You’d grown attached to the prinkiti—to Søren. And to Blaise, for that matter. And now here you are without either of them.”
I bite my bottom lip. “I’m not going to lie and tell you I don’t miss Søren. Of course I do. And I miss Blaise as well, and the people we used to be to one another. But Blaise said that I will always choose Astrea at the end of the day, and right now especially, Astrea needs me. I’m of no use to her if I’m worrying about someone without the sense to worry about himself.”
Artemisia glances sideways at me and nods once decisively.
“Good,” she says. “And now we don’t have to talk about your heart ever again.”
A moment passes in silence before I ask a question that has been on my mind for some time. “And your heart?” I ask her. “I haven’t seen Spiros in a while. Not since Sta’Crivero.”
“Oh, he’s around, but I think he’s keeping his distance from me, and by extension you,” she says with a shrug. “I seem to have hurt his feelings.”
“It seemed like he liked you,” I tell her. “Not as a friend, but as something different.”
Art laughs. “Yes, he wasn’t very subtle. Hence the hurt feelings.”
“You don’t like him?” I ask.