The next half an hour they passed by telling stories. First, Gregor asked Dalia about her life at the Fount and how she and Stellovet were getting along and she explained that they had, for the last half a year, treated her with fairness and respect and that she had been compelled to discover her work could be fun. Stellovet was still hard to deal with at times, but Dalia said that the episode with Longclaw had not left her unscathed—in the best way.

Gregor couldn't help but find it amusing. To think that being kidnapped by rats was what it had taken for her to learn some decency . . . Then he remembered Henry and how his ordeals as an outcast had positively transformed him. And . . . hadn't he once thought that his own quests had all gained him something positive as well?

Bad things having good consequences . . . Gregor shoved the thought aside before he might become an ounce less angry at Sandwich, or the whole situation. Not all bad things had. He shuddered when he thought about the mice being slaughtered or the other deaths the war had and would still cost.

But often they do, Henry whispered in his head against his will, and Gregor made a face. Often, you have to make it so. Remind yourself that they do. Maybe that was how you survived bad things, Gregor thought suddenly. By telling yourself that it could have good consequences, one day.

"Hey, Nerissa," he asked instead of dwelling on the thought. "You're queen now. Why are you here and not in the war room?"

"Because it is one of the few rooms in the palace with a door. It will offer some protection. For the warrior and for the queen," she replied, and Gregor figured that made enough sense.

"You, uh . . . rewrote that prophecy for my family," he said after a pause. "That one line?"

"Which prophecy?" asked Dalia, and Nerissa pointed upward at the engraved lines.

"You are prophesied to die?!" Dalia exclaimed, and somehow the utter disgust in her voice made Gregor feel a bit better.

"When my family asked about the prophecy, Nerissa changed that line to "And the warrior's role fulfilled"," he said. "I was asking her why she phrased it like that."

"Is that what you think it means?" Dalia asked Nerissa with a raised eyebrow.

Nerissa shrugged. "It's more so that I hope this is what it means. I have no inkling what it actually means."

"And you are still doing what you're asked to do?" Dalia asked Gregor. "Despite this?"

"I can't just run away," Gregor said, making a face.

"But you are innocent," urged Dalia. "You would pay the price of your life for something you did not commit?"

"I'm not paying some kind of price," Gregor hissed. "I'm doing this because someone has to do it, and my chances of success are pretty good. And also because I couldn't live with myself if I just abandoned everyone here."

Dalia grew quiet after that. Gregor thought she understood better than most what it felt like to not be able to live with oneself if you chose to run away. "I feel it is ominous," she mumbled after reading it a few times. "Like it seeks to sway the Regalians to make you into some kind of sacrifice for the sake of ending this war."

"That's not what is happening," said Gregor resolutely. At the same time, he wondered if it could have happened . . . if he were less sure about what he wanted. If he didn't have the support and assurance of his friends they wouldn't let Solovet do this. Would they lead him like a lamb to the slaughter?

"How can you be so sure?" asked Dalia.

"Because even though I could have run, even though I was urged to run by my family, I'm still here. Not because I'm forced, but because it's my choice," Gregor reiterated for what felt like the hundredth time. "I'm finishing this. And I'm doing it on my own terms." He pointed at the sword in the corner. "Don't tell Ripred or Solovet, but I'm through with Sandwich's sword as well. Or analyzing what he might have wanted from me, for that."

Momentarily, the image of the stone knight—who still seemed to represent everything that Sandwich had wanted him to be—flashed before his inner eye, and he shuddered. Never in a million years would he let himself be made into that.

"The prophecy says that we ought to give you the sword, but not that you ought to keep it," mumbled Nerissa.

"I don't care what the prophecy says," called Gregor. "Just . . . Can we eat something? I'm hungry."

Nerissa laughed, but Dalia remained oddly pensive as she helped Gregor distribute the food they had been given. "I have never yet heard anyone reject what the prophecies say," said Dalia, well into their meal.

"Henry did, once," said Gregor. "Well, he said something like, "Don't let anything but your own will dictate your path" . . . You weren't there, but it was after your trial."

"Unsurprisingly, Henry would," said Nerissa. "He has always been hard to contain."

Gregor took one deep breath, then he finally dared say, "I think maybe you're doing that wrong. They're . . . prophecies, right? If Sandwich was an actual seer, wouldn't they come true regardless of how hard or not you try to make them happen?"

Momentarily, Dalia and Nerissa stared at him, awestruck. "I think not that people try to make them happen," Nerissa said slowly, "but rather that they believe in Sandwich's guidance—in that he left the prophecies to show us on the right path."

"And why would he do that?" Gregor grumbled, packing up the remaining food that they hadn't eaten. "He was a bad guy, no?"

"So I've heard," said Dalia. "That, when he first came here, he slaughtered the species once occupying this land. It's an unforgivable deed. Since I've learned about it, I've honestly not given much on his prophecies either."

Gregor gave Dalia a smile. "I know, right? Why should we listen to that guy, anyway?"

"Listening to him has aided us greatly in the past," retorted Nerissa, pointing around. "I might tell you about it if you want."

Gregor wasn't all that interested at first, but then he acknowledged Ripred's words, and the words of his history teacher—that history ought to teach you a lesson. And so, he allowed Nerissa to show him and Dalia different prophecies and tell them their histories. Like that, they learned a lot about Regalia's past, but not much about its present—or what to do next.

"I am wondering if success was always obtained through Sandwich's guidance or whether it may have been achieved by other means anyway," Dalia remarked after some time. "I'm asking myself if you are giving us non-seeing humans too little credit, Your Majesty."

Gregor nodded. "Everyone can follow someone else's instructions. But what happened to thinking for yourself?"

"What happened to swallowing your pride and following beneficial counsel?" retorted Nerissa.

"I feel like you're overdoing it," mumbled Gregor.

"I refuse to heed the counsel of someone with Sandwich's ethical shortcomings," added Dalia, and Gregor suppressed the urge to high-five her.

"Hey, what's up with there being almost no evidence of that massacre, anyway?" Gregor asked suddenly. "I've been to the archives, to try and find out what actually happened, and I found nothing."

Nerissa tilted her head pensively. "I've made that trip myself when I was half your age. I had seen something . . ." She trailed off, and Gregor didn't dare ask her what it had been. "It is true that we have almost no records of that war."

Gregor scoffed. "So Sandwich didn't just extinguish that whole species—he wanted to destroy evidence of it too?"

"Oh, no, no," Nerissa insisted. "We know who this species was. We have records of how they were killed, and that Sandwich gave the order himself. Did you not see his decree?"

Gregor nodded, having to admit that if Sandwich had wanted to destroy evidence of his war crime, he'd have destroyed that first.

"What we do not know . . ." Nerissa paused, looking wistfully between him and Dalia, "is how this conflict started."

"I have heard that Sandwich invaded their land and stole it," said Dalia.

"That is the most common belief," replied Nerissa. "Yet we do not know for certain, as all records preceding this act have been purged."

"Why?" Gregor didn't know if he was asking Nerissa or himself.

She looked back and forth between him and Dalia once again. "You both believe in his inherent wickedness, no?"

"You don't?" exclaimed Gregor. "How could someone who killed a whole species for their land be anything but evil?"

"One does not necessarily need a wicked heart to commit wicked actions." She sighed. "This is why I find this lack of information frustrating. It prevents us from making a fair judgment."

"I don't know." Gregor scoffed. "Sometimes actions speak for themselves."

Nerissa gave him a long look. But instead of arguing, she merely said, "Tell me this, Overlander—how many villains know you who call themselves by what they are?"

Gregor frowned. "What?"

"You know the name, the "killers"?" she asked, and both Gregor and Dalia nodded.

"Sandwich is deserving of it for what he did, yet not us, who did not commit his crime. I refuse any association with it," said Dalia.

Nerissa nodded. "That is why so few humans even acknowledge its existence. The few who do will tell you that it was given to us after this massacre. Yet what they will not tell you is that it was first given to us by Bartholomew of Sandwich."

Gregor stared at her, his jaw hanging open. His mind reeled; this made no sense. Even he comprehended that someone evil seldom called themselves—even less their entire species—out for it. "Why would he do that?" stammered Gregor eventually.

"No one knows," said Nerissa. "Yet we have reliable records where he dubs us humans the killers, demanding that this is what we shall be known as. You may continue to villainize him if it eases your conscience," said Nerissa with a wistful smile.

"You don't think he was that evil, do you?" Gregor asked on a whim. "I mean, like, as a person?"

Nerissa's smile grew wider. "I do not," she said, gazing around the room as if it were a sanctuary and not the sole legacy of a . . . killer. "But the least agree with me. Many Regalians believe that Sandwich was indeed as wicked as his deeds—" She glanced over at Dalia, who had crossed her arms, looking on the verge of rolling her eyes. "—And many simply do not care. This is one reason why we have distanced ourselves from this name that he has given us."

"I guess," Gregor forced himself to say, trying not to think about his "nothing is black and white" resolution. "At least you don't actually glorify him or anything," he added. "For a while there, I thought you did."

"There are some who do," said Nerissa. "But they are far and few. No one of significance . . . except for Solovet, I suppose."

"And yet you're still following his prophecies," added Dalia. "What call you that, other than glorification?"

"I call it destiny," said Nerissa simply. "This room—" She spread her arms. "Earlier, I have shown you in detail that it has already proven to harbor our destiny. And we follow it because, wicked or not, we also believe that Sandwich's goal was, first and foremost, to guide us."

"What?" Gregor scowled. "Seriously, you all know how evil he was and you're still not even the least bit suspicious? What if he was leading you on this whole time? What if he's guiding you right into your ruin?!"

Nerissa frowned. "However ruthless he may have been toward the rest of the Underland . . . What reason would he have to settle us humans down here first, only to lead us astray later?"

Gregor's mouth snapped shut. He didn't like to admit it, but . . . Nerissa had a point. Sandwich wouldn't have any reason to lead the people he had brought here into ruin. And yet . . . "I guess," he said. It didn't change the fact that he may have led Gregor on, he couldn't bring himself to add. "Why did he even bring you guys down here?" he asked instead, recalling faintly that Vikus had talked about some doomsday fears a long time ago.

"His visions had shown that the Overland was no longer safe," Nerissa confirmed. "That some grave calamity was coming, and that there was no place for him there anymore. At least that is what he insists on in every letter asking him why the humans could not simply return topside. There are many, so many of those. Very few seemed to believe in a future for us humans down here . . . Almost no one, except for Sandwich himself."

"Doesn't give him the right to just slaughter the species that lived here," mumbled Gregor.

"No one says that," retorted Nerissa. "I am simply—"

"Well, maybe he called you killers because he'd gone mad and seen you all as evil, so he had to lead you on," snapped Gregor, doing his best not to let too much of his frustration shine through in his tone. He wasn't even exactly sure where it came from. All he knew was that this conversation unnerved him, as did everything to do with Sandwich lately.

"But he gave this name to us after most of his prophecies were already written," replied Nerissa.

Gregor shrugged, turning away. He shoved aside the seed of doubt that Nerissa had successfully planted, forcing his thoughts away from the topic. If he didn't blame Sandwich for it all, thought Gregor, whom could he even blame?

"Well-intentioned or not, I won't follow his guidance either way," said Dalia, evidently having no reservations about saying the conviction that Gregor shared aloud. "Pardon if that offends you, Your Majesty," she added in a mocking voice.

"Not at all," Nerissa smiled. "I would never take away one's freedom to make their own decisions. I'm not justifying or calling "right" what he did to the species who resided here," she said after a pause. "All I say is that, without additional knowledge, it is not reason enough to dismiss him altogether. At least for me. I feel uncomfortable making a judgment without complete knowledge. It would inherently be unfair . . ." She trailed off, staring at the wall and seemingly becoming lost in thought. Gregor decided not to press her for more.

He also decided not to think about Ripred saying the exact same thing regarding not dismissing Sandwich's guidance, when he'd brought this up to him. Instead, he and Dalia agreed to attempt sleeping and settled down. Despite his restless thoughts, Gregor dozed off within mere minutes.

Gregor didn't know how long he had slept when he slowly drifted into waking. He instantly focused on whether he could hear sounds of battle outside the door, but apart from occasional footsteps or voices it was silent. Had the rats attacked? Were the humans prepared? He jerked up where he had lain. Why had no one updated them?

Dalia still lay sleeping when he rose, but Nerissa was right where he'd left her. When Gregor asked her if they could open the door to see what was happening, she adamantly refused. "This is not your battle, Gregor. This is your time to wait."

Not wanting to talk about Sandwich anymore, Gregor sat down silently. Yet he quickly realized that without a conversation topic, waiting was a lot tougher on him than fighting. As if Nerissa had sensed his unease, she directed his attention toward a spot on the floor, a good distance away from the door. "I have one more prophecy for you to look at."

"Not interested," said Gregor.

"Oh, but Henry will be offended if I tell him you refused to acknowledge this one."

The mention of Henry's name revived Gregor. Reluctantly, he got to his feet and trotted over, kneeling down. "What's this?" He squinted to make out the tiny words. He thought he'd need a magnifying glass to properly read it. "The . . . Death Rider?" he eventually read, his eyes widening.

"This is the prophecy I gave you for Henry."

"You knew it was him all along, didn't you?"

Nerissa's only response was a smile, but her silence told him all he needed to know. He suddenly recalled that she had told Henry that there were evils beyond death before they had departed on their very first quest.

Instead of asking her how much exactly she had seen, he pointed at the tiny prophecy. "It's . . . about him, isn't it?"

She nodded, and Gregor conceded, lying on his stomach with Nerissa's lantern to read the prophecy. Even in this position, he still struggled to decipher the miniature letters, but he stuck with it, to satiate his genuine curiosity. He hadn't read the prophecy back when Nerissa had first given a copy of it to him, so he thought it was about time.

When he was finally done, he couldn't deny that some of it sounded very much like Henry. "Condemner, savior has become," he mumbled the last line and looked up to see Nerissa smile again.

"As he has."

"As he has," echoed Gregor, and sat back up. "He's . . . really changed, you know? And he told me to greet you," he finally remembered. "To tell you that you're always in his thoughts. I've been meaning to tell you for a while now." For the first time, Gregor considered that Nerissa hadn't seen her brother in ages. She had to miss him as much as he missed her.

"Oh, Henry," Nerissa lamented, but her expression was contented. "In his own way, he has always shone brightly. But never like he is now. Worry not so much about Henry," she said with a smile. "He can care for himself now, and he won't be alone, so the prophecy says. For me, who has known my brother my whole life, those particular words are easy to believe."

Gregor decided not to bring up his doubts in the prophecies again. If there was something he liked to believe, it had to be that Henry would be fine. Instead, Gregor's eyes trailed back to the door. "Okay, how about now? Like, what's one little peek going to hurt?"

"One more." Nerissa ignored him and held the lantern higher to illuminate the wall above the Prophecy of the Death Rider. "Look at this poem, Gregor. It is one of my favorites. When all seems lost, I comfort myself with its words."

Gregor sighed and forewent protests this time. He turned his eyes to a short poem on the wall, only now acknowledging that this was the corner where Nerissa usually curled up. Luckily, this one was far easier to read than the one about the Death Rider.

On soft feet, by none detected.

Dealing death, by most rejected.

Killed by claw, since resurrected.

Marked by x, two lines connected.

Finally, they intersected.

Two lines met, one unexpected.

"This comforts you? Why?" Gregor stared at the words, unsure whether he just didn't understand them or did not have enough information. To him, it just sounded confusing.

"Read the title." Nerissa held the lantern higher.

Gregor looked up and saw that the poem had a title. "The Peacemaker?" Well, maybe that could be considered somewhat comforting. "So you think a peacemaker's coming? When?"

"No one knows. Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps in a thousand years. But the peacemaker will come. Just as the Death Rider, and the warrior."

For some reason, her words took him back to his first visit in Regalia. And the prophecy calls Gregor the warrior, after all. Not the peacemaker. It had been what Solovet had said to Vikus before—

Irritated, he shook his head. He didn't want to think of Solovet now. For the lack of better options, he turned his eyes back on the poem. Yet when he read it again, something suddenly struck Gregor as odd. "That's . . . wait, that's it?"

"Yes." Nerissa tilted her head. "Why?"

"I don't know . . ." He stood and ran his fingers over it. "It seems kind of . . . incomplete. Maybe that's just me. But it falls flat at the end, sort of . . . There's so much space underneath it, too," Gregor stammered, trying to put his thoughts into words.

Nerissa stepped closer and studied the words as well. "You are not . . . wrong, but I always felt like it was supposed to be this way. Why would Sandwich leave it unfinished?"

Gregor wanted to answer, but then both he and Nerissa flinched at the sound of claws scraping the door. In her own corner, Dalia jerked awake, and Gregor's heart began to race. He thought he could almost feel the rager-sensation knocking on the door of his consciousness already, even though there was no fight yet.

They exchanged a glance before he sprinted over to where he had left his sword. He took it, aimed, and drove it right through a small crack in the wood.

"Ugh! Well, at least you're being smart about it." A wave of relief washed over Gregor when he recognized Ripred's voice.

He almost dropped his sword on the spot. "You're okay!"

"Naturally. Open up in there!" called Ripred. "The palace is secure!"

When Nerissa unlocked the door, in the frame stood Ripred, visibly banged up and bloody, but mostly unharmed. Questions began pouring out of Gregor's mouth, but Ripred cut him off. "Hold it," he urged. "Many are dead, but everyone of significance to you still breathes. We were able to react on time and defend the city, thanks to your sister breaking the code. The rats have been driven away, but they will regroup and rally around the Bane."

Ripred took a deep breath, regarding Nerissa, Dalia, who had approached behind her, and then Gregor. "Now, we need you in the war room, boy." He turned to Nerissa. "I will send instructions for the rest of you later. Until then, sit tight."