Gregor aimed the small flashlight from Mrs. Cormaci down at the churning moat, which lay two hundred feet below where he was standing, leaning on the parapet that enclosed the Fount Keep's grounds. Contrary to his hopes, he didn't feel much better out here either. All he could think about was how he was supposed to explain his absence of more than four days to his family, and he couldn't come up with a single believable excuse that didn't involve outright deception.

"There you are," came a voice from behind, and Gregor turned to see Howard making his way over. His hair was tousled, and dark circles shadowed his eyes.

"What did they say?" Suddenly, a surge of dread engulfed Gregor. In his mind, he saw the burly guards who had restrained Dalia after her elaborate confession. He recalled Luxa pushing past the adults to slip into the central hall, as well as Howard and Stellovet, whom their parents had attempted to send away. I'd rather be taken captive again—Stellovet's furious declaration surfaced in his mind, along with her father's outraged yet concerned gaze.

Gregor had been the first to leave, unable to stand the charged atmosphere of the trial they had chosen to commence right away for longer than ten minutes. Instead, he had gone to check on Hera, who had struggled to make it here and had to be carried by Thanatos for the final stretch. Despite the uproar sparked by Dalia's confession, no one had made any effort to dispute Hera's and her pups' right to stay.

"You will not believe this."

Gregor's spirits dropped at once. Despite the seemingly discouraging words, he caught a glimmer in Howard's tired eyes. "Stellovet . . . she was truly remarkable. I have never witnessed her advocate for something so passionately . . . or even openly disagree with our parents. She . . ."

"She won the trial," it sounded from behind Howard, and Gregor peeked around him to spot the Death Rider strolling toward them. "I have to say, Howard, I underestimated your sister."

"As much as it shames me . . . so did I."

Gregor twitched. "What did she do?" He recalled the sight of Stellovet standing beside Dalia—frail yet resilient, with her braid on the verge of falling apart. Her parents had looked at her in a way that suggested they had never seen her so unkempt and disheveled . . . Not that she had been concerned about it.

"She ignited a fire under York's and Susannah's asses." The Death Rider grinned, and Howard threw him a glare. Toward Gregor, he continued: "When Dalia stated that she was willing to accept any punishment, Stellovet proposed that the punishment should be none. It caused quite a stir."

"But . . . they didn't really agree to that, did they?"

"She's been permitted to stay!" Another voice called out from the entrance, and Gregor spotted Luxa rushing out toward them, trailed somewhat awkwardly by a young guard with a clunky helmet and a second, considerably older guard who struggled to keep up.

"Not so fast, Your Highness!" he called, but Luxa only laughed.

"They would not have without you," said Howard to Luxa, then gave the guard an apologetic smile. Gregor looked back and forth between the two and suddenly regretted having left so early.

"Well, it was a sensible suggestion," said Luxa, clearly pleased with herself. When Gregor gave her a look of confusion, she elaborated: "Stellovet and Howard made it clear that they wouldn't stand by her being executed. When no one else could come up with a suitable punishment, I asked if Stellovet would vouch for her. You should have seen York's face when she promptly agreed! So, instead of imprisoning her, I proposed placing her under house arrest here. It would be a shame for Stellovet to lose such an intelligent educator, wouldn't it? Besides, she's not known to be violent or dangerous."

Gregor frowned. "Wait . . . but doesn't that mean nothing changes for her? Like, she's back to the same job she hates under the same people she—"

"Oh, everything changes for her," Luxa cut him off. "You have not witnessed York's and Susannah's faces when Stellovet described to them what has transpired by the lake. Susannah extended a formal apology in the name of her entire household, and even York said that he . . . What said he?" Luxa glanced at Howard. "He "regrets that things have escalated in this way"."

"No one is taking this lightly, I assure you." Howard placed a hand on Gregor's shoulder. "Furthermore, I vow to keep an eye on Dalia myself to ensure that she faces no more unacceptable work conditions or harassment."

"Really?" Gregor looked back and forth between them incredulously. He couldn't say he'd had much faith in the people here actually listening to Dalia, but maybe . . . His gaze trailed back to the imposing keep. Maybe he should've known better than to not keep an open mind by now.

"Oh, certainly." Howard shook his head. "Nothing appalled our parents more than being indirectly responsible for the actions of a traitor. This is certain to keep Mother awake for weeks."

A portion of Gregor's happiness diminished; of course they cared more about their own association with treason—one of the worst possible crimes in the Underland. His gaze lowered to the swirling moat, and he pondered how much treason was actually committed down here. It had been a year and a half since he had first set foot in the Underland, and he had already seen it twice. But this time, they had at least . . . what? Gregor frowned. Saved the traitor? Perhaps "redeemed" was a better word.

Gregor sighed, attempting to feel hopeful. It had been a struggle, but they had saved her. At least the traitor they had saved was one he actually liked, Gregor thought momentarily, then frowned, picturing Luxa's ashen face. But . . . there had been no saving Henry. No opportunity, no time . . . Not himself and Henry together, anyway. For the first time, he was actually distressed by this thought.

But Dalia wasn't like Henry. She was so . . . Gregor's frown deepened because the first word that came to his mind was "real". Gregor's focus shifted to the wondrous structure of the Fount Keep towering behind Luxa, to her silver-blonde hair with a stray lock falling across her face. Her eerily pale complexion and the soft violet hue of her eyes. Could it be that he hadn't fully comprehended that the Underland was a real, tangible place existing in the same universe as his family's apartment, his school, Central Park, and the bustling, lively streets of New York City? Gregor nearly laughed. Well, if so, could anyone honestly blame him?

"So, she's . . . alright?" he asked.

Luxa and Howard both nodded at the same time. "I believe she's currently with Stellovet. They have a lot to discuss. Oh, and," Luxa beamed at him, "they've permitted Dalia to bring her brother to live in the keep. So far, he's been staying at the school, but here, they may be together."

"In the school?" Gregor frowned. "Is it like . . . a boarding school?"

"I'm unfamiliar with the term," Luxa remarked. "Does it describe a school where children whose parents are either working or deceased can both reside and be educated?"

Gregor nodded. "We have that in the Overland too, but it's not so common . . . I think. At least where I live." He briefly recalled the flyer he had come across on the kitchen table during his summer break, right after completing elementary school. His mom had never brought it up, and he had never found out why. However, he could still vividly recall the bold letters against the backdrop of an old building with distinct, brick-red walls, announcing "St. Benedict's Preparatory School" and "Ranked among the top boarding middle schools in New York."

As he looked up, he couldn't help but ask himself again why his mom had never mentioned it. Why she hadn't sent him there. His dad had still had his job at the time, and based on his recollection of the brochure, they could have afforded it. If his mom had sent him to boarding school, he would probably be there now—enjoying himself with other kids, engaging in clubs or sports. Maybe he would even be sending letters, pictures of trophies, pictures of him and his team, grinning in unison after some grand victory, back home regularly.

Then his eyes suddenly met Luxa's. If his mom had sent him to boarding school, he would never have fallen into the Underland. He would have never ridden a bat or talked to giant cockroaches and rats . . . he would have never met Luxa or Ares, or any of his other friends here.

He pondered the matter for another moment and whether he'd accept that trade, then realized that he was being stupid. Even if his mom had sent him to boarding school, she would have transferred him back as soon as his dad had disappeared. Without his income, she would not have been able to afford it, and without his dad around, Gregor was the only one who could watch his sisters. He released a silent sigh. Maybe all this was really as inevitable as it seemed. Maybe for him, all roads truly led to the Underland.

Before he could decide whether he deemed that good or bad, Luxa cut in. "Both schools in Regalia, and the one here at the Fount too, offer to harbor the children. It is not practical for most commoners to keep their children at home. At school, they are professionally protected and cared for."

Gregor nodded; he hadn't considered that safety would be a very important aspect for the Underlanders.

"Howard, you must come." All eyes turned toward the entrance as Stellovet emerged, accompanied by a guard. She hadn't bothered to change out of her torn, soiled dress or tidy her hair yet. "Mother requires a more detailed recount of events, and I believe she is anticipating you."

"I shall go," announced Howard. "This shall be a joyous evening indeed."

When he saw his slumped shoulders, Gregor attempted to give him an encouraging smile. "I'm sure it won't be so bad. Why only your mom, though? What about your dad? Didn't he organize this whole quest?"

"I doubt Father would want to see me," mumbled Howard.

Gregor frowned. Yet before he could ask, the Death Rider, who had been chatting with Luxa's assigned guards, emerged behind Howard. "If that is so, he is not worth your concern."

Howard spun around and assumed a look of offense, but before he could speak, the outcast interrupted him: "You must cease thinking that your life is anyone's to determine but your own."

Noticing Gregor's confused look, the Death Rider elaborated: "His father is angry with him for pursuing medicine instead of following in his footsteps as governor of the Fount." He shrugged. "And Howard here believes that this detracts from the quality of his decision."

"I mean . . ." Howard suddenly cut himself off. "Halt, who even mentioned this to you?"

"It makes no difference," the outcast continued, ignoring the question. Then, to everyone's surprise, he placed one hand on Howard's and the other on Stellovet's shoulders. "No matter how meticulously they have hammered this into your heads—making your parents, or anyone else, happy should not be your goal in life. See, it may have taken until exile for me to learn this, but life is not about competing with others for their gold—it is about forging your own. Only this gold may be uniquely yours and truly earned."

"My . . . own?"

"Your own." The Death Rider nudged Stellovet with a crooked grin. "Gold, which has never belonged to anyone else before. Gold, which you may create for yourself in any way, shape, or form that makes you happy."

"And if the pursuit of my happiness comes at the cost of my father's love?" said Howard sourly.

"Anyone who loves you truly will not require you to sacrifice your happiness for them." The Death Rider shook his head. "If your father does, then he is not worthy of your love."

His words were followed by a meaningful silence. Everyone had assembled around the outcast in a circle; even the guards peered at him.

"You owe no sacrifice to anyone!" exclaimed the Death Rider. "You must not give anything you wish not to give, lest everyone's demands suck you dry."

"But I owe so much to so many," mumbled Luxa. "I owe it to my people to be a good queen."

"You must be a good queen for yourself too," said the Death Rider. "Rule in a way that lets you be proud of your ruling, not in the way that anyone else wishes for you to rule. Choose wisely whose advice to trust. Advice is only valuable if it is in your best interest, not the advisor's."

"And you say we should trust your advice?" asked Howard with a raised eyebrow. "You are no older than me, are you?"

"I am not, yet I am wiser." The Death Rider patted Howard's shoulder with a grin. "And I have no selfish gain to reap out of giving it, do I?"

"Then why do you give it?" Gregor frowned. All this time, he had watched the exchange silently, not knowing how to feel. On one hand, what the Death Rider said seemed sensible, but on the other, wasn't it a little . . . selfish?

"Because," the outcast took one step toward him and crossed his arms. "I have decided a while ago that I wish to be a hero. And going out of my way to aid others happens to be part of that."

"Why wish you to be a hero?" asked Stellovet with round eyes.

"Because it brings me happiness," replied the outcast, and Gregor found himself inevitably taken back to his argument with Hamnet in the jungle. "But if being a hero brings you no happiness, you are not obliged to be one," he said, looking directly at Gregor.

"The prophecies say otherwise," mumbled Gregor.

"The prophecies are carvings on a wall." The Death Rider waved dismissively. "You all must refrain from letting anything but your own will dictate the direction of your lives. If the prophecies are documents of genuine visions, are they not meant to come true regardless of whether you attempt to follow them?"

Everyone was silent then. From the way they all looked, Gregor gauged that no one had ever dared say anything of the sort yet. But . . . he frowned. Technically, what the outcast was saying was true.

"Let nothing other than your own will dictate the direction of your lives," urged the Death Rider again. "Have we not seen an excellent demonstration of what may happen if you follow the beckonings of others against your will in Dalia? It will only make you miserable."

"You mean if we allow ourselves to submit for too long, we may become like her?" asked Stellovet with round eyes.

Before the Death Rider could reply, Howard placed a hand on his sister's shoulder. "The root cause of her downfall was the discrepancy between her genuine desires and the obligations she felt compelled to meet," he said.

"There was also my nastiness," mumbled Stellovet.

"You have only been nasty because you knew not better, no?" The Death Rider grinned and then extended a hand to pat her head. A soft, startled squeal escaped Stellovet, and her face quickly flushed a deep shade of purple. Howard's eyebrow shot up at once, but both Luxa and Gregor had to suppress laughter.

"And so I heed you all to never let it get this far again," concluded the Death Rider eventually.

"We shan't," declared Howard, his voice slightly rigid. "And now let us go. Mother is waiting for me, you said?"

"Halt." Stellovet tugged on Howard's arm, then turned to the Death Rider. "Will you leave us now?"

The outcast nodded. "We have completed all quests and concluded all trials, no? I have no need for further drama at the moment."

It was then that Gregor, for the first time, actually related to him.

" . . . Oh." Stellovet's smile dropped. "Will you not return soon?"

"I'm not certain when I will return." The Death Rider shrugged. "I'm not certain of what I will do now in general," he said more quietly. "But I cannot stay here and pretend that I am one of you for much longer either."

Looking at him, Gregor suddenly understood that they had yet another thing in common: They were both struggling with the pull of two separate worlds—drawn to Regalia, with ties and connections to it, while never completely belonging there.

"I see," said Stellovet stiffly, yet in her eyes, Gregor saw disappointment.

"Either way, you have our all's . . . gratitude," Howard pressed out. "Without you, our quest would have failed, and Longclaw would not have been slain. So . . ." He made a face. "Shall you fly high, wherever your . . . dubious, to say the least, paths may take you."

A wide grin spread on the Death Rider's face. "I shall relish my dubious paths," he exclaimed, giving Howard's back a hefty pat, then Gregor's. "Shall you all fly high too!"

Before anyone could react, Stellovet abruptly released Howard's arm and sprinted toward the Death Rider. She almost bumped into the outcast, who towered her by more than a head, and Gregor thought she shoved something into his hand. He couldn't make out any of her quietly whispered words before she turned and dashed past Howard, heading for the keep, her loose braid trailing behind until she had disappeared through the gate. Her assigned guard struggled to keep up.

Howard stared at the Death Rider with bewilderment, then turned his gaze toward where Stellovet had disappeared. Gregor was certain he heard him mumble, "Sisters . . ." before giving a final smile and wave to Gregor, Luxa, and the outcast, and then disappearing after her.

The three of them exchanged glances. "And while I am gone, heed my advice. And lose not hope," urged the Death Rider. "You know what I say to that."

"I will remember it," replied Luxa, averting her gaze. "I will . . . remember it," she repeated. "What you did for us." She paused, then raised her chin to look directly at him. "You once said that you seek to prove your loyalty. I will admit, I have had difficulties accepting this, but now . . . I say, you have."

Profound silence followed, only broken by the moat's crashing waves below.

Luxa cleared her throat. "And so you have earned our . . . my trust," she proclaimed, unable to hold his gaze any longer. "Regardless of the wisdom of this decision, I want you to understand. And never forget."

Gregor couldn't recall a time when the veteran outcast had been rendered so completely speechless. He stared at Luxa with wide eyes and an open mouth.

Before he could find words to reply, they all jumped as Thanatos dashed over their heads and landed beside his bond. "Ares and Aurora are on their way," he announced to Gregor and Luxa. "We have just exchanged words. They are set to return to Regalia shortly." Thanatos paused, looking back and forth between the three who were still visibly shaken. "Did I . . . miss something?"

"Nothing."

Luxa glared at the Death Rider, shaking her head. "I have just made him aware that the two of you have gained our loyalty and trust. We are indebted to you, and it is not only Howard who wishes to express his gratitude." She then gave a respectful nod to both the flier and the rider.

"You are quite welcome, and . . . this is wonderful news," Thanatos mumbled, throwing his bond a quick look. "Shall we get going?" he asked. "I believe I know a place for us to stay tonight."

"Couldn't I persuade you to stay for the night, at least?"

Gregor tensed at Luxa's plea. If the outcasts consented, she would compel them to stay as well, making him even more delayed than he already was. Luckily, the Death Rider shook his head. "No, this shan't be necessary."

Luxa's face fell, yet he undauntedly scooped up his backpack, which he had leaned on the parapet, then mounted up. "Fly you high."

"Fly you high!" called Luxa, sprinting toward the parapet after Thanatos had already lifted off and raising both her hands to wave. "We must see you again soon!"

"You shall see me again," was all the Death Rider replied, then raised his hand for a salute. "Fly you high!" he called as Thanatos circled above their heads once.

Gregor barely remembered to give them his own "Fly you high!" before they disappeared into the darkness and out of sight.

Luxa and Gregor lingered there for a long time, leaning on the parapet side by side, staring after the outcasts. "When will we see them again?" she asked eventually, her voice so quiet that Gregor barely heard her.

"I don't know." He shrugged, registering his own sorrow at the prospect of not seeing them in a while. Gregor made a face; they were outcasts—for some reason they were not part of society, perhaps even criminals of some sort—yet, at the same time, Gregor thought that they were still a part of . . . well, their team. Their little group of somewhat randomly thrown-together people who had a peculiar tendency to end up on quests together. "Questers"—the term he had coined—suddenly came to mind, and he smiled. "I mean, he's part of us, isn't he?"

"Of the questers?"

Gregor nodded."Don't forget, he's still got a story to share with us about how he tackled his perception issue. He promised to tell us, remember?"

Luxa nodded. "Perhaps it's best to wait for Ares and Aurora inside," she mumbled after a moment of consideration. "York and Susannah will likely want to send guards with us for the return journey and see us off properly."

"Yeah . . ." At the mention of returning to Regalia and subsequently facing his parents, Gregor made a face. "Hey, do you think I can still talk to Dalia before we leave? I haven't seen her since the trial."

"If that is your wish, let us proceed inside." Luxa pushed herself off the parapet. "I hope that her struggle will bring about real change. It would be a shame if her sacrifice was futile. Judging by her likely intention to become a martyr for her cause, this would probably be the worst-case scenario for her."

"You think she wanted to be a martyr?" Gregor stopped in his tracks.

"During the trial, she said something about . . . readiness to accept any fate for the sake of her voice being heard," mumbled Luxa. "For the sake of proclaiming what she has endured so that others with similar struggles may feel heard."

"Wow." Gregor slowly trailed behind Luxa as they made their way to the entrance, where Luxa's guards were still waiting. The elder guard was engrossed in some kind of game with the two who were assigned to stand watch at the door. "That's really brave."

"It is," concurred Luxa. "And so I hope it will not be futile. Yet, I am uneasy that the trial may not be the most difficult part, but rather what comes after. I did not consider the possible consequences of proposing this punishment."

"You mean they will give her a hard time? The other servants and such?"

"The common people might be more resentful, for they know not the whole story." Luxa nodded. "Then again, I have overheard some speak of her as a role model and advocate for justice. They likely share in her hopes that her story will make a difference in their lives and how they are treated."

"Let's hope so." Gregor gave her an encouraging smile. " Who knows? Maybe this was the first step toward some sort of better future for everyone."

"I shall hope so too," replied Luxa, giving the guards a wave. The younger one pulled his companion up by the arm, who gave up his game reluctantly, before the two escorted Gregor and Luxa back into the keep.

"Will your parents be cross with you for being so late?" asked Luxa out of the blue. "I am expecting them to be enraged with me back in Regalia. The council will be livid, and Vikus likely has fretted excessively."

Gregor nodded and opened his mouth, then closed it again. He still hadn't found a good excuse. Not for staying away and not for breaking the expensive flashlight either. He sighed. "We had a good reason, right?" The Death Rider's advice on not letting others dictate your life came to mind, and he offered Luxa the most encouraging smile he could muster. "Maybe . . . that's what really matters."