No matter how much Gregor twisted and turned, he couldn't sleep. He had no idea how long they had been at the lake—maybe a day, maybe longer. All he knew was that their collective unease grew with every passing hour.

It was another five minutes before Gregor released a silent sigh and rose from his spot. The orange glow of the lake provided sufficient light, and he was tempted to blame his inability to sleep on it. Yet, deep down, he knew there were other reasons. He quietly sat by the water, captivated by the pretty orange patterns illuminated by the volcanic light.

"It . . . is certainly not a problem. Hera says she will gladly stay with us."

Gregor's head snapped up at the sound of a muffled voice.

"How is she faring? I have not spoken to her yet . . ."

He turned and peeked behind the stalactite that he had used as a backrest to double-check if he had heard correctly. And sure enough, he spotted none other than Luxa standing close by where the bats slept, talking to—

"She is better now that she has other fliers to mingle with." Stellovet shrugged. "At least something positive came from this whole ordeal. If I hadn't been abducted, she would have likely perished in that dreadful pit."

"I . . ." Luxa cleared her throat, sounding uncharacteristically timid. "I would like you to know that I never wished for anything such as this to happen, not to you and not to any of your siblings. Or anyone, for that."

Stellovet's mouth fell open, but she said nothing. Only then did Gregor see that she had fashioned her waist-long, wavy hair into a slightly haphazard braid again. "Is . . . that so?" she finally replied, though she did not meet Luxa's gaze.

"It is," said Luxa without hesitation. "I despise what Dalia did as much as you, but we must take such experiences as they come and learn from them. Not that I mean to say this was your fault. I . . ." She tugged at the seam of her shirt. "I do not mean to patronize you, but—"

"But you have experience."

Luxa stared at the floor, and Stellovet made a face. "I should not have made fun of this matter," she said quietly. "It is not something to laugh about."

Luxa's head flew up. "I can not claim I wouldn't have done the same, had it been me." She shrugged. "Have we not once intentionally sprayed your dress with moth-attractor for Nerissa's birthday? They nearly consumed it while it was on you."

"Oh, yes." A bitter curve appeared on Stellovet's lips. "But were you aware that I later sprayed the substance all over your wardrobe? It must have been quite a sight. I am all but saddened that I could not witness the outcome."

"That was you?" Luxa exclaimed. "The reason behind the sudden moth infestation in my closet remained a puzzle to everyone. I was made to wear Nerissa's oversized dresses until my wardrobe was restocked, which was quite amusing . . . for me and me alone."

They both broke into somewhat awkward yet sincere laughter, and even Gregor couldn't help but grin. Who would've thought he'd ever see Luxa and Stellovet having a proper conversation without—

Gregor winced as something suddenly shot over his head. The last thing he registered was Luxa and Stellovet crying out in unison before he lost his balance and fell, headfirst, into the pleasantly warm water.

Moments later, he resurfaced and coughed, only to observe a large black bat descending among the now fully alert questers. A black bat with a white face . . . and two riders.

A moment of stunned silence passed before Luxa cried out in joy. She dashed forward toward the Death Rider, who slowly dismounted. Gregor frowned in disbelief as he made out a human crown perched on the outcast's head.

Gregor pulled himself out of the water entirely to get a better look, but then Luxa spotted the second person who had come with the Death Rider and stopped abruptly in her tracks.

"You all . . . are still here?" The Death Rider pivoted and spread his arms, clearly dissatisfied to find them here. Gregor noticed that he was wearing one glove less and that the rest of his clothes were stained with blood. Then, his attention was caught by the frightening amount of scars on the newly exposed skin of the outcast's arm, but before he could dwell on that, the outcast continued speaking: "We have only just encountered a pair of gnawers in that tunnel." He gestured in the direction Thanatos had emerged from. "I have slain them, but there may be more to come. It seems this place is not as secure as we thought. I know a—"

"Why is the traitor with you?" Luxa stepped forward, ignoring what he had just said. Her finger pointed at the second person, who Gregor only now saw was Dalia. He hurried a few steps closer, realizing he hadn't recognized her because her braid was gone. Her previously waist-long hair now barely reached her shoulders.

"I have yet to make a decision regarding her fate." The outcast turned to Dalia as she slid off Thanatos' back. "For the time being, she is and will continue to be my captive." He pivoted back to Luxa. "However, you might like to know that Longclaw no longer lives. I'm certain he wouldn't approve of you having this," he added, theatrically removing the crown and offering it to her. "But that's not his call to make. After all, is it not a cherished family heirloom?"

Luxa took the crown from him, looking incredulous. "It is . . . very kind of you to return this," she said, twisting it between her fingers. "And I am relieved to hear that you defeated Longclaw and emerged unscathed, but . . ." Gregor shivered at the unrelenting hostility in her gaze as it settled on Dalia. "What do you mean when you say that she is your captive? Why is she here at all?"

"Because it was our choice to not abandon her in the prison of the gnawers."

"The prison?" Gregor recognized the particular tone from Luxa when she had condemned the same Death Rider, who was now their friend and guide, to certain death on the boat. "Is she not the gnawers' friend?"

"No one is a friend to those gnawers."

"You ought to have left her there regardless. Amongst the rats, where she fits right in." Dalia snapped her head toward Stellovet as she spoke, refusing to meet her unreadable gaze and defiantly lifting her chin.

"In case this was somehow unclear," hissed Thanatos all of a sudden, spreading his massive wings. "We do not sympathize with her, nor do we condone her actions. But said you not something about questioning her back in the pit?"

"To what end?" asked Luxa icily. "She has made her choice and condemned us all. Nothing may be gained out of finding out why."

Before the Death Rider could reply, Gregor came up beside Luxa and barely suppressed the urge to grab her shoulders and shake her. "Did we not talk about that?" he hissed. "About judging people without knowing the full story? Is that not what you promised?"

A hush fell over the group as Gregor's words hung in the air. After a moment, Luxa looked away. "And what is it that you expect from me now?"

Gregor found himself at a loss, realizing that, while he was certain the outcast had made the right choice, he hadn't thought through that particular issue.

"I see no harm in hearing her out," said Howard all of a sudden.

"Even if her action remains inexcusable," added Ares behind Gregor. "I cannot say that I have no questions regarding what drove it."

Howard nodded, placing one hand on Luxa's shoulder and the other on Stellovet's. "The least she owes us—owes Stellovet—is an explanation."

Gregor nodded. The Death Rider was right—they had pondered this in the pit. But before he could remind Luxa himself, an unexpected voice interrupted him: "I . . . owe you?"

All heads, even Stellovet's, turned to Dalia, who had taken a step away from Thanatos. Gregor shivered at the livid contempt in her sunken eyes.

"The audacity of your belief that I . . ." She took another step forward. "That I owe you something." Despite her scornful scoff, her tightly clasped, delicate hands were trembling. "I have poured myself into you, and, unsurprisingly, you still believe yourself to be entitled to more. But know this: I refuse to comply, now and forever more."

Just like the rest of them, Gregor stared at Dalia with a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

She briefly took in their faces before letting out a derisive snort and turning away, although Gregor briefly glimpsed what seemed like a tear in her eyes. "Just as I foresaw," she declared with a theatrical sigh. "You relentlessly implore me to explain, explain, explain. Never once do you think to employ your own minds and contemplate for yourselves. Can it truly be so difficult?"

As her words were once more followed by silence, she let out a tormented scream. "You ask, yet tell me, do any of you honestly care to understand? Or am I truly standing here alone?" Her eyes suddenly met Gregor's. "Is it only me who bears the weight of these feelings? Who holds on to the faintest shred of simple decency?!"

"Decency?" Surprisingly, it was Stellovet who cut her off and pointed a finger at Dalia, who was at least four years older but still shorter than Stellovet by a few inches. "Who are you to speak of decency to us?!"

Dalia's icy stare bore into them. "You think you have the right to pass judgment on me," she hissed. Her eyes darted around the room, filled with disdain. "Is this what we are doing? Do you all fancy yourselves as my righteous judges?" She took a defiant step back. "I would sooner face death than bow to the judgment of the likes of you—you, who are so disconnected from reality that they wouldn't survive a single minute in my shoes!"

Gregor wanted to object, to yell that he did understand, but the sudden collective uproar of protest stopped him in his tracks. He looked around in confusion and froze in utter horror when he saw what Dalia held, with her miserably trembling hand, against her throat.

"Halt!" The Death Rider was the first to speak, but Dalia retreated by the same amount as he advanced toward her.

"Or what?" she spat as her hand gripping the dagger at her throat shook even more urgently. "You . . . kill me?"

Gregor barely managed to keep his legs from giving way, and for a moment, he feared he might pass out. Every part of him protested against what he was witnessing; even when he saw this stuff in movies, he would usually switch the channel or look away.

His thoughts ran back to the first time he had asked his mom to turn off the TV for the same reason. He couldn't remember the movie, only that it was shortly before his dad had disappeared, and he had been too young to watch it. That night, his dad had consoled him by assuring him that there was no need to be scared of a movie because it wasn't real. The convincing performances by the actors may have made it seem real, but nothing bad was actually happening. So he didn't have to be scared or feel guilty.

But this . . . Gregor compelled himself to turn and look at Dalia, watching a single, thin line of blood make its way down her neck. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. She was not an actress . . . This was not a movie. And if she went through with it, Gregor already knew that he would never forgive himself for not intervening. He had to muster all his remaining willpower to keep the rising panic and the contents of his writhing stomach in check.

"I implore you to refrain." The Death Rider's voice was low, and even though he tried to conceal it, Gregor picked up on the strain in his tone. "This is not worthwhile. It is not the solution."

"What solution?" Dalia's anguished cry reverberated as she staggered backward, her eyes wild with desperation. One more step, and she would be standing in the water. "There is no solution!" The dagger trembled harder in her grip, threatening to slip from her fingers before she tightened her hold, raising it defiantly. "I believed this was the solution, but it was naught but a cruel deception. She promised me a way out." Her teeth chattered uncontrollably, each word laced with intense emotion. "She claimed that I deserved more than this. That I was . . . was kind and considerate, and that those who possess such virtues are trampled upon if they do not rise up and fight back. And she was right."

The handle of the dagger trembled in Dalia's grip as she unleashed a deluge of words. "She promised that all I had to do was deliver the oppressors to the jaws of the gnawers. They deserve it, after all. After the torment they inflicted upon you, they deserve naught but demise. Every last one of them."

They all recoiled as Dalia spat at their feet.

"Face it, Dalia, these thoughts haunt you. In the depths of night, when your labor is done, you dread going to sleep, for you dread the arrival of the new day. And in those moments, you entertain the notion: What if they would all perish?"

Her voice distorted further with each word.

"Oh, the kind and feeble are exploited, exploited," she lamented over and over. "Dalia, attend to this task, regardless of whether it falls within your duties. Dalia, clean up the mess, even if it leaves you bruised and in pain. No, Dalia, this won't do; do it again, over and over, until it's flawless. Do not think, Dalia; thinking is not your concern. Your concern is to serve. Be a tool, Dalia, not a person, a tool . . . a tool, waiting to be used . . . to be exploited. To . . ."

Her flood of words tapered off as her voice broke. "She never exploited me, never smothered my soul. She recognized my humanity . . . Is it not quite ridiculous? That the only stranger in a long while to acknowledge my humanity was a gnawer."

". . . Tonguetwist."

Her eyes locked onto the Death Rider. "Indeed, Tonguetwist's words were also steeped in fakeness! She too exploited me, and I obeyed her every whim—every single one! She dangled the hope of a way out before me—a chance to live a life free from exploiters and liars, a life of promise for my brother and I—away from all of this revolting fakeness!" she wailed. "My life is wretched; I detest every moment of it! It all!" Her voice broke as she succumbed to a torrent of tears.

For the first time, the hand with the dagger lowered, but as soon as Howard, to Gregor's right, moved, she yanked it up again. "Stay back!"

Howard flinched, his face frozen in a grimace of bewilderment and shock.

"To end your life is no solution," Thanatos spoke up, catching everyone off guard. His expression mirrored the gravity of the Death Rider's. "Even in the face of hardship, even when we falter, to keep struggling is always worthwhile." His eyes dropped to the ground. "So I've come to understand."

"Indeed." Despite Dalia's furious hiss, the Death Rider took a step closer. "Sometimes, existence appears as an endless cycle of torment. You rinse and repeat, but you see no progress, no change, no . . . light. You are lost. Is it not so?"

The words, uttered with a nearly contradictory blend of bitterness and hope, sent a shiver down Gregor's spine.

"Until you realize you don't have to remain idle," continued the outcast. "You harness the power of breaking the cycle. Even if only little by little, you may—"

"I attempted that!" she yelled, leaving the outcast standing frozen, mouth wide open. He seemed like he wanted to say more but couldn't bring himself to speak.

"Why do you continue to speak?!" Dalia spat through gritted teeth. "I am fated for death, whether it be here, by any means, or by your judgment." Her gaze bore into Stellovet and Howard. "I will not die by your hand." Gregor's heart skipped a beat, then turned to solid ice. "At least grant me the dignity to die by my own!"

"You will not die."

The sound of a different voice caused everyone to flinch, even Dalia. Gregor had to make himself aware of who the speaker was consciously—he barely recognized Stellovet's voice through the unprecedented fierce resolve in it.

Dalia's eyes flashed with contempt as she scoffed, "Oh, the irony of hearing these words from you. You, who—"

"You . . . will not die. This, I vow."

Howard's head twitched towards his sister; his hand raised to restrain her but then sank back down, allowing her to take another step forward. Dalia stumbled back, and Gregor winced at the loud splashing of her bare feet as she stepped into shallow water.

"You cannot die," Stellovet insisted, and Dalia looked at her with swollen eyes, filled with complete bewilderment. "You will return with us," she continued, "to care for your brother. What will he do if you do not return?" Her voice rose until she cried out the last words, her fists tightly clenched.

The memory of Dalia sitting on that ledge, in the bright beam of his flashlight, suddenly filled Gregor's mind. Her words echoed within him: From that day forward, I had to care for my brother.

"He adores you; I'm certain of that. And he is in need of you."

At first, Gregor interpreted Dalia's expression as contempt, but then he noticed a glimmer of sympathy breaking through for the first time. "How do . . . you know my brother?" she asked, as her hand holding the dagger marginally lowered.

"I have never met him," Stellovet admitted. "But I have younger siblings as well. They can be a handful at times, but we love them all the same. And then, when they set fire to your fancy gown and you feel like you are seconds from losing it, you catch sight of the picture they drew for your birthday, with their proud, beaming face, and . . . Well, the gown is still on fire, but the point is . . . The point is that someone ought to teach them that setting gowns on fire is wrong, no? I may leave that to more qualified role models and teachers because my siblings have many of the sort. But your brother only has you, and I—" She nervously pulled at her sleeve. "I always thought the two of us were a little like that too."

"You—?"

"I understand that I am difficult and self-indulgent and, in general, a disappointment," she said, her lips pressing together firmly. "Perhaps I'm foolish; perhaps I'm oblivious and immature, but . . . but I've always wished for an older sister. I thought . . . I believed that you may . . ." She tentatively met Dalia's gaze once more. "I believe I need you too."

In the silence that followed, Gregor thought he could have heard a pin drop. "Oh, and Howard, you count not," she suddenly interjected toward her brother, and a part of Gregor felt the urge to laugh.

Stellovet took a hesitant step closer to Dalia, struggling for words. "When you handed me over to those gnawers, I was filled with rage. I thought I despised you more than anything, but . . . I didn't comprehend . . . I never intended to mistreat you. Looking back, I realize that . . . I apologize. I never . . . I mean, I know not how to . . ." She scowled in frustration. "Even if you cannot forgive me, I wish not for you to die! None of us do." She glanced back briefly. "That is why we talk; do you not understand? Because none of us wish for you to die!"

"I'm of the same mind," the Death Rider instantly agreed.

"So am I." Thanatos, beside him, nodded.

"I concur," said Howard.

"Me too!" Gregor only then processed that he had not said anything yet.

"I as well," said Ares.

"So do I," it came from Aurora.

All gazes turned to Luxa—the only one who had not yet expressed her opinion. "Of course . . . I have no wish for her to die," she mumbled.

Stellovet pivoted back to Dalia. "See you?"

Gregor watched in slow motion as her hand holding the dagger lowered until Stellovet seized and pulled it from her grasp. Shortly after, the blade made a silent splash as it hit the water. Even so, she held onto Dalia's wrist.

They shared a prolonged look before Dalia's legs gave out. Stellovet cried out, struggling to support her.

Howard was immediately at her side, lifting Dalia's frail figure out of the water and carrying her toward where they had lit a fire with one of the torches. "I will assess and treat any injuries," he announced, then turned to the Death Rider. "You and Thanatos will be next. Have you even taken a look at that arm since you received the hit?"

The outcasts exchanged a significant look before silently nodding. "I feel not so good anyway," the Death Rider mumbled, but Gregor suspected there was more to it than just his physical condition.

***

Even with the alluring scent of grilled fish in the air, none of them had any appetite. Gregor still felt traces of sickness in his stomach that wouldn't go away. The only one whom Howard compelled to eat was Dalia, and when Hera awoke, she declared that she felt better.

Thanatos escorted her pups back to their mother, and Gregor couldn't help but envy the happy bat family. None of them had witnessed the earlier scene at the lake, and with every fiber of his being, he wished he hadn't either. When he finally managed to avert his gaze and search for Luxa, he found her sitting a little off to the side, absentmindedly poking at her food.

"Are you okay?" asked Gregor as he took a seat next to her. He despised himself for it, but there was still a nagging voice in his head that reminded him of her moment of hesitation when Stellovet had asked who wanted Dalia to live.

"I . . . No."

His mouth shut, and Gregor felt a wave of shame for doubting her. "Me neither," he admitted.

"Honestly, I know not what to feel." Luxa pushed the fish aside and hugged her knees. "Dalia's words won't leave my mind. She called us . . . exploiters and oppressors. What do you think she meant?"

Gregor shook his head, acknowledging that he could barely recall most of Dalia's monologue. What remained was only the fear and despair that had seeped out of her every word.

"Think you that I am an oppressor?"

"No!" Gregor quickly interjected, pausing to gather his thoughts. "I mean, I don't think you'd oppress anyone knowingly." He stared at the floor, mulling over everything he knew about monarchies. There was always a hierarchy, with those higher up having power over those lower down. He let out an agitated sigh. Was there even a way to make a monarchy fair? Gregor didn't know; all he knew was that he couldn't bring himself to tell the future queen about his dislike for her people's political system.

"I have never looked at it from this angle," Luxa pondered. "I know you disapprove of our ruling system, but it has stood the test of time. I doubt there is another way to effectively govern Regalia. I . . ." She sighed. "I always aspired to be a just queen, but I never considered showing more respect to servants and commoners as part of it."

"Just . . . just treat others the way you want to be treated," replied Gregor. "It doesn't matter what their status or job is. People are people."

"I suppose you are right . . ."

Gregor suppressed a groan. Only someone raised as a princess would not consider this basic knowledge. Basic . . . decency, he thought, glancing at where Howard had set up a makeshift bed for Dalia.

"I reckon there are others with similar stories," continued Luxa. "Perhaps I should remember this for my future as queen."

Gregor nodded. "You could make a difference," he mused. "I mean, I doubt you'd have been a bad queen anyway, but there's no harm in putting in extra effort."

They sat in peaceful silence for a while until Gregor spotted Stellovet and Hera on the other side of the cave, quietly talking. "You know what?" he said with a smile. "She was great earlier."

Luxa followed his gaze. "Yes . . . I suppose she knows Dalia better than any of us. Still, had she not been . . ." Luxa trailed off, yet Gregor knew what she meant.

Another tranquil moment passed before Luxa suddenly exclaimed: "I hate this!"

Gregor jumped. "What?"

Luxa looked at him with disbelief, clutching the fabric of her pants. "Gregor, do you not see? I must make a decision." He stared at her with a frown, and Luxa let out a groan. "A decision about . . . what shall happen to her now."

"What do you mean, "what shall happen to her now"?"Gregor was struck with a cold wave of fear. "You can't still see her as a criminal after everything that—"

"Gregor, this is not up to me," Luxa cut him off. "Were I the queen, I would pardon her, but I have not that power yet. The decision I must make is whether to take her back."

Gregor made a face. "I don't think she'd want that." He vividly recalled the look in her eyes when she had declared that she would rather end her own life than be judged by those she blamed for her situation. "Wait . . . Maybe you don't have to be the one to decide." He perked up. "Maybe you can ask her for what she wants and go with that?"

"You . . . That is a fair idea," replied Luxa after a few heartbeats. "I cannot stop thinking that, if we could persuade her to return, I may be able to convince a tribunal to grant her a pardon. It's a risky gamble, but honestly, what are her chances if we leave her out here?"

Gregor looked over at Dalia, curled up and resting, thinking she looked almost childlike, and it struck him that Luxa's assessment was accurate. Individuals like Ripred, the Death Rider, and Hamnet had the resilience to thrive in the Dead Land. They were all warriors—albeit some more reluctantly than others—capable of fending for themselves and surviving alone. But Dalia? He couldn't picture her with a sword before, and he still couldn't picture it now.

"You might also refrain from disclosing any of these occurrences when you return to Regalia."

Gregor and Luxa both flinched at the sound of a voice behind them, and Gregor spotted the Death Rider with his hands on his hips. Once more, he tried to appear self-assured, but Gregor could plainly see his distress.

"You really ought to quit sneaking up on us like this," mumbled Luxa, and the outcast responded with a grin that indicated he had no plans to stop before sitting across from them.

"You mean we should lie?" Gregor frowned. "I mean, technically we could, but would she want that? She seems to be about done with lies." Little of her monologue had stuck with Gregor, but what did was her desperate need to be acknowledged for who she truly was.

"Think you?" The Death Rider tilted his head, frowning. "To me, this seems like the only way forward that shan't end in her demise."

"We may ask her opinion," said Luxa. "But if we leave her here, could you not protect her?"

The Death Rider made a face. "In theory . . . But this doesn't strike me as a viable long-term solution."

Neither Gregor nor Luxa had a response. Gregor's mind spun, yet no matter how desperately he tried, he had no better solution either—none that would make sense within the customs of the Underland, anyway. Considering his only experience with their justice system had been when they had attempted to execute him for not killing the Bane, he could not really see things going well for someone who had deliberately delivered them to the rats.

"Fear not," said the Death Rider after a while, rising to his feet. "I shall talk to her later. But we should not linger here for much longer. As I said earlier, I know not how many gnawers may find their way here in pursuit of us."

"Is it not I who should talk to her?" asked Luxa.

The outcast gave her an encouraging smile. "You must not if you don't want."

Luxa immediately breathed out in relief. "I would be grateful."

"Then worry not," said the Death Rider. "I have it handled."