Hamnet gathered them together in the middle of the field and conducted a quick medical checkup. He bandaged every cut and bruise and made sure no one was seriously injured, then he told them to eat the starshade, to vaccinate against the plague.

"Why do we need it?" asked Gregor. "None of us has the plague."

"But we are all no doubt being exposed to it. In the cradle lies the cure," quoted Hamnet.

"In the . . . what now?"

Hamnet turned to Henry. "The Prophecy of Blood," he said. "You are not familiar with it?"

Henry shook his head.

"It says that in the cradle lies the cure, which is why they came here." In brief words, he explained what Gregor had told him about the Regalians' conclusions that the plague came from here. "That means the plague breeds here in the Vineyard," said Hamnet. "I do not know exactly where or how. But all of us have scrapes and wounds. Your feet, Gregor. These cuts from the vines." Hamnet turned Henry's arm around and revealed the cut where the vines had jabbed him. "If the plague germ floats in the air, grows on the plants, or sleeps dormant in this earth where we stand, be sure it will make its way into your blood as well."

At that point, nobody felt the need to argue.

It seemed as though he wouldn't need a vaccine from Regalia anymore, thought Henry as he stuffed a handful of starshade into his mouth.

After they had all eaten a fair amount, Hamnet instructed the group to start plucking. Gregor pulled a roll of something Henry didn't recognize out of his bag, but then he showed them that you could bundle the plants together with it. And so Henry pulled out Mys, and Gregor handed him the roll of what was apparently called "duct tape" to cut into usable stripes.

Initially, everyone except for Henry gathered the starshade from the field, but it soon became apparent that the humans would be most useful in taping bundles of leaves together. None of the other creatures had the hands to do it.

It didn't take long to realize that Boots and Hazard weren't much help with that, so they went back to picking plants. That was, Hazard did, while Boots sang some song relating to the alphabet, then chanted "Turn and turn and turn again" repeatedly while doing a spinning dance until she fell over with dizziness. Occasionally, she presented them with a few leaves, too. Aurora and Nike, who, with their injuries, were also fairly limited in what they could do, made sure she stayed safely in the field while Thanatos took to flying rounds over their heads to keep watch.

"It's a stanza from the prophecy," explained Gregor when Henry asked about Boots' rhyme. "Turn and turn and turn again / You see the what but not the when / Remedy and wrong entwine / And so they form a single vine."

"Charming," said Henry with a grin. He ended up sitting between Luxa and Gregor, handing them strips of tape, while they bundled the plants and gave them to Hamnet, who stacked them into a haystack of sorts.

When Hamnet was out of earshot, Gregor lowered the bundle of plants he had been holding. "So, that was some story Ripred told us about Hamnet."

"Yes, it explains a great deal about why he left," said Luxa, pensively twisting one flower between her fingers. "He was mad. But it does not explain why he did not come back to Regalia when his senses returned."

Everyone stilled when Hamnet approached to gather another load of bundles.

"Because they would have made him fight again, Luxa," said Gregor when he had moved away once more. "And he couldn't stand killing anymore."

Henry frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Hamnet told us that he wouldn't fight anymore," said Gregor. "At all. I don't think he even has a sword."

Henry stared at the Overlander in shock. "He . . . what?" His gaze flew to Hamnet, who kneeled by the starshade stack. His mind flashed with all the deep-rooted admiration he had once harbored for Hamnet. Hamnet—Solovet's one true successor that he had never quite been able to match. That day in the arena . . . Henry's hand tightened around the hilt of Mys. His first dagger that he had lost at that cliff when he—

"He doesn't kill!" exclaimed Gregor. "He doesn't want to kill anymore!"

"You speak as though killing brings us others joy," hissed Henry.

"There is no joy in killing for any of us," concurred Luxa sourly. "We do it to survive."

"So, what are you saying?" Gregor looked back and forth between the two of them. "You think he's a coward?"

Henry gritted his teeth. As he gazed at Hamnet, he understood that he was no longer the Hamnet he had once idolized. Neither of them was good enough for Solovet anymore. And upon his next glance at Hamnet, Henry's perception had shifted; no longer did he view him as a rival. Although his respect for him had significantly diminished, he had become more amicable toward him.

"Not a coward in that he is afraid to die," said Luxa. "But I think it is easier for him to live here in the jungle than to return and face his true life."

"Exactly," concurred Henry. "We are not ignorant. What happened in that garden was atrocious, but no one who died that day would care that Hamnet is here now or that he began refusing to fight. Whereas a lot of people would care if he returned home."

Gregor stared at them like he was moments from starting to shout. "You guys really don't get it, do you?" He put his bundle of starshades down. I think he made a pretty brave choice. And I think in his mind, it was the only one he could have made."

"Ha!" Henry exclaimed. "Why yes! Running away from one's problems has always been known to be the bravest of choices!"

"And so has abandoning one's family," said Luxa.

"And . . . refusing to fight, out of principle." Henry scoffed. "Fighting as little as possible is one thing, but this absoluteness? It is a quite pointless self-limitation."

Gregor shot the two of them death glares but said nothing anymore.

"You know what would have been brave?" said Henry after a while. "Staying and facing up to the mistake he made. Laying down his office publicly. If he wanted to make a statement about pointless violence, he should have actually attempted to do so. Instead, no one talks about him at all, do they?"

Luxa shook her head. "If he had stood up to Solovet in such a manner, no one would have dared to forbid any mention of him."

"You are right," said a voice behind their backs suddenly, and all three of them jumped. "That would have been the braver choice." Hamnet stepped in front of them. "That would have been the choice of one who was actually cut out to be a hero. But on that day, I did not only give up fighting." Hamnet sat on his haunches and scooped up an armful of starshade bundles. "I also gave up lying to myself that I was fit to be a leader, or even less a hero of any kind. A lie that my mother had planted in my head and one that I had clung to for far too long. Not all of us can be heroes," he said with an unshakable conviction. His eyes flickered over to Gregor before finding Henry again. "I pity those who still believe that they have to be. That they have to sacrifice their own happiness for the sake of some lofty greater good."

"What if being heroic brings them happiness?" retorted Henry with equally as much conviction.

Hamnet held his gaze for a few heartbeats. "Those who feel this way may be the only ones who should truly be heroes," he said eventually. "I cannot say I admire or envy them, though."

"I am certain they would say they harbor the same feelings for you," replied Henry in a frigid tone.

Hamnet stared at him with something that Henry hated with every fiber of his being: pity. "Do you take pleasure in battle?"

"Occasionally."

Hamnet said nothing.

"But even if I did not," said Henry after a stiff silence. "You judge the lofty ideals of heroes, and yet, is your own pacifism not such an ideal as well?"

"It is an ideal that brings me happiness."

"And heroes bring happiness too!" shouted Henry, springing to his feet. "They bring forth change. They face problems and solve them. They do not run away!"

Hamnet gritted his teeth. "You speak like her," he mumbled after a while. "Like my mother. So much like her when I was little. If I were to wish this fate upon anyone, I would wish for her to have found you in my stead."

"And even if!" Henry did his best to conceal the rush of pride that hearing such words from Hamnet of all people, whom he had once believed to embody the ideal that Solovet had strived to forge him into, brought him. "I would have excelled at it."

"You may have," said Hamnet pensively. "But I could not."

"You speak like you never had a choice." Henry scoffed. "Even if you did not want to be a hero or a leader. Even if refusing to fight brings you happiness. Your being here doesn't actually accomplish anything. Are you aware of that?"

"I am," said Hamnet somberly. "But I do not need to accomplish anything. I am tired of it, frankly."

Henry stared at him as though he had spontaneously grown a third eye, and Hamnet shook his head. "I have accomplished enough that day," he said sourly. I still dream of it every night . . . The voices crying out for me to save them . . . And what did it solve? That battle at the garden? Nothing. It solved nothing at all. When it was over, the humans and gnawers hated one another more than ever. The Underland only became a more dangerous place."

"It did," said Henry. "And you did not think about at least attempting to change that? About standing up for the sake of ensuring that nothing like this could ever occur again?"

"What would you have me do?" hissed Hamnet.

"I would have you face Solovet," retorted Henry icily. "I would have you give her, give everyone a piece of your mind. If you are gone, that leaves her in power. That opens the possibility for more massacres such as the one at the garden."

Hamnet stared at him for a silent eternity. But in his eyes, Henry did not see animosity or even the anger from before. He saw . . . sorrow. "Perhaps you are right," he said, his eyes finding Luxa. "Of everything I left behind in Regalia, Luxa, you were my greatest regret. You and your mother. And perhaps not returning or facing up to it all did make me a coward. Perhaps it made me selfish. But even so, I will not allow judgment for my decision to prioritize my own happiness over the pursuit of bravery or heroism."

A long, silent moment elapsed. "Fine," said Henry eventually. "So is your right." A crooked grin broke on his face. "I cannot say I condone your choice or even remotely understand your mindset. But I do agree with one thing." He stared at Hamnet and allowed the last remains of his former view of him to fade. Hamnet was not the Hamnet of Old. He was someone new, and so Henry would build a new view of him—based on the present and not the past. "I wholeheartedly agree . . . that not everyone is cut out to be a hero," Henry said, extending his hand toward Hamnet. "If you have no interest, that leaves more glory for me."

For one moment, they stood across from each other, and Henry registered that they were almost exactly the same height. Once, he had wanted them to be as alike as possible, but now Henry found himself glad that they were as different as they could be.

"Fine," said Hamnet, finally returning his smile. "I sincerely hope your glory treats you better than mine did me." And so, he seized Henry's hand.

Both of them were startled when, behind them, an enthusiastic applause began. "So different and yet so alike," laughed Luxa. "What do you call this? Outcast solidarity?"

"I know!" snarled Ripred. "Would you look at that? An actual ounce of respect for another's mindset that they disagree with. One might even think that they both learned something out here."

"It is quite unexpected," said Thanatos. "But satisfying. To see the two of you get along."

"But they are both so brave!" Nike chimed in. "They must get along!"

"Getting along is well and fine," snarled Lapblood suddenly. "But have we not a cure to harvest?"

They all lost their smiles at once. "She is right," said Hamnet, and after a moment of hesitation, he patted Henry's shoulder. "I feel like I should apologize for comparing you to my mother earlier. She would have never acknowledged my choice, not even in the way you did."

"I do not mind being compared to her."

"You may not," said Hamnet pensively. "But I mind. So I will apologize."

"Fine, fine!" Henry waved, plopping back down in his old spot. "If it alleviates your conscience, I shall accept. Let us get to work." He drew Mys again and picked up the duct tape. It was about enough time wasted.

Henry didn't know for how long they had worked in silence when he suddenly took note of Gregor's ashen face. The Overlander hadn't said anything in a long time, and Henry realized he hadn't applauded either.

"Oh, come, take ease!" Henry threw a freshly tied starshade bundle at Gregor's head and hit Luxa instead, who toppled over in a fit of giggles. "We made peace. Is that not worthy of your applause?"

Instantly, Gregor woke from his daze. "Oh, yeah," he said, giving a weak smile. "Thanks for . . . not forcing him to fight you."

Henry stared at Gregor, aghast. Then he broke into roaring laughter. "You thought I would fight him?" he exclaimed. "Please! I do not like fighting that much."

"Anyway, uh . . ." Gregor stretched his limbs. "Thanks for not doing that. I don't like it when people fight. And I like you both, so that makes it even worse."

"Right. Our warrior is a pacifist," Henry teased. "You and Hamnet, you probably get along well."

"As I said, I like you both," said Gregor determinedly. "And—" He cleared his throat. Henry saw him staring over at Boots, who ran in circles in front of Aurora until she was so dizzy she toppled. "I wanted to thank you for running back into the Vineyard to save Boots and Temp. That was pretty amazing." He awkwardly scratched his nose. "Ripred said you caught and dragged me out as well?"

"Oh yes, but I should thank you!" exclaimed Henry. "For the excuse to try my flaming sword in the Vineyard!"

"About that . . ." Luxa tapped the handle of her own sword, which Henry had returned to her after Hamnet's medical checkup. "How exactly does that work? Because I want one as—"

"You make me spin!"

They all jumped when Boots came running toward them, apparently having escaped Aurora, and latched onto Henry's arm. "You make fire! Me ride rat and you make fire!"

"Sorry . . ." Gregor awkwardly rose and tried to get Boots off his arm, but she wouldn't let go.

"Oh, leave her," said Henry, returning her grin. "But she must still let me do my work." Unexpectedly, he released Mys and grabbed Boots with both hands. He rose and lifted her high above his head. "You like the spinning?" he exclaimed. "You want more?"

She squealed joyously, and Henry's grin widened. He gripped her more firmly, and then he began to spin. Boots immediately became ecstatic. She howled and laughed, and Henry spun and spun until he was so dizzy he nearly tripped into the stack of starshade.

"More! More!" called Boots over and over, and Henry laughed with her. Just as he had gathered himself enough to pick up speed again his gaze met Gregor's creased eyebrows.

"What has you so sour?" exclaimed Henry, approaching the Overlander with the squealing Boots in his arms. "Would you like to go next?"

Gregor twitched. "No," he said. "No. Absolutely no. Just . . ." He stood up and extended his arms. "Can I have her back, please?"

"Little lady," said Henry to Boots. "Apologies, but there is no more. It would seem as though your brother is a spoilsport."

"Boots!" Gregor called when he handed her over, and she started yelling in his ear. Henry almost felt sorry for him. "Boots! I have something for you." He rummaged through his backpack and placed a small mirror in her hand. And Henry had to hand so much to Gregor—as soon as she saw the mirror, it fully occupied her attention. Boots was apparently very fond of making faces at herself.

"I believe this is not to be left out of sight."

Henry jumped when a voice addressed him from behind and turned to face Hamnet again. He held Mys in his extended hand.

"It usually is," said Henry, quickly taking the dagger. "But then the baby—"

"I saw." Hamnet laughed. "You chase glory, you enjoy fighting, and you do not mind being compared to my mother." Momentarily, he paused, as though evaluating how Henry could have even known her well enough to have an opinion on this. "But you also have the values of a hero. And a knack for children," he said instead. "You are lucky that my mother did not get her hands on you. She would have made you into a fine villain."

Henry could not return his smile. He could barely hold his gaze. "I could have been a fine villain indeed," he said quietly. "And yet I am not. No matter how many battles I fight. No matter what happened in my past or what others say, I will not be a villain."

For a moment, something like comprehension flashed in Hamnet's eyes, as though he had understood the silent confession in Henry's words.

"And you have a fine weapon," said Hamnet after a pause, looking at Mys.

"It is," said Henry. "But you would not have any use for it, would you?"

Hamnet looked at him, slightly bemused. "I do not refuse to touch anything that could be used as a weapon. I merely prefer to use violence as a last resort. It is a method of survival I have learned from Frill. It turns out there are many alternatives to violence if you make an effort to develop them. Living out here, I have found that many creatures would prefer not to fight. But if your first instinct is to reach for your sword, you will never discover that."

"It is not my first instinct!" hissed Henry. "I have a talent for talking my way out of nearly anything."

Hamnet's eyebrows shot up. "You did motivate them all quite eloquently earlier," he said. "You should make more use of that ability."

"How do you know that I'm not already doing it?"

"You are an outcast too." Hamnet scrutinized him. "Is that what you have learned out here? To consider talking? To consider using this talent that you clearly possess for the sake of saving your life, as opposed to reaching for your weapon the way the Regalians would have you do?"

Henry pressed his lips together; he didn't want to admit that Hamnet was right, but . . . he was. Before his exile, Henry would have never considered that he may have something like diplomatic prowess in himself. Or that something like that could even be useful. "I have never enjoyed killing," he hissed.

"I did not say that you did."

Henry's mouth snapped shut. Hamnet hadn't, and yet something about this attitude still triggered him. Here was Hamnet—an excellent warrior. Someone who had been . . . who could be an excellent warrior yet chose not to fight.

They stared at each other silently for another moment. "Despite its purpose, it is an incredible piece of work," said Hamnet eventually, pointing at Mys. "May I . . . see it again for a moment?"

"Oh, you are very right, Hamnet." Henry jumped when he heard Ripred's unmistakable snarl. The rat looked back and forth between the two of them, finally breaking into a grin. "Your banter is very entertaining indeed," he said. "Do not think that it isn't. But even more entertaining is this blade. Is that what I think it is?" He approached to sniff it and then raised his head in surprise. "It is! The tooth of a gnawer, and what a tooth!"

Henry's face brightened with pride as he held up the dagger. It was a refreshing change from his usual sardonic self-importance to witness Ripred's genuine enthusiasm. "Not just any gnawer either." Henry twirled it deftly.

"Is it not the tooth of King Gorger?" said Luxa, appearing behind him. He didn't know for how long she had stood there but from the way she looked at him and Hamnet, Henry thought it had been a while.

"Indeed," exclaimed Henry, and this admission finally truly baffled both Hamnet and Ripred.

They stared at the dagger in disbelief. "Say what now?" Hamnet asked, utterly aghast.

"A dagger from the tooth of Gorger and a sword that lights on fire." Ripred flicked the air in front of Henry's face. "You just keep the surprises coming, huh?"

"Not planning to stop anytime soon, either." Henry's grin brimmed with pride.

"And what does it say here?" Hamnet leaned closer, and Henry's fingers instinctively traced the carved-in letters, spelling "Mys". He remembered the day he had engraved it well; he had made his fiftieth tally mark then.

"Mys," Hamnet read. "Doesn't that translate to rat?"

"Considering it is the tooth of one, I found it to be an apt choice for a name." Henry held it higher so that Ripred could see too.

The two inspected it for a while longer, and then Luxa cleared her throat. "Will you at last explain the flaming sword?" She tugged at the hilt of her own blade. "I simply must know."

"A true testament to innovation," said Henry. "It is a substance the nibbler Teslas and I developed and is undoubtedly the most brilliant asset one could conceive for survival out here."

"And this is what we call a fine example of singing your own praises," snarled Ripred.

"He does lack humility," Hamnet concurred. Before Henry could start complaining, he continued: "But I suppose there is some truth in that claim. I remember the man on the mural they called Death Rider having a flaming sword, but I always believed it to be symbolic."

Henry frowned. "Symbolic?"

"Yes," said Hamnet. "For carrying light and hope in the face of death and despair."

Henry stared at him, entirely at a loss for words. Never in a hundred years would it have crossed his mind to take anything that was depicted on those walls . . . or in general, in any way but literally.

Noticing his bewilderment, Hamnet laughed. "Just watch that your invention does not fall into the wrong hands," he heeded.

"My invention is only mine, for now."

Hamnet gave him a long look. "Very well," he said. "I am inclined to say your hands are not the wrong ones."