Gregor sat in loaded silence, listening intently for any signs of danger. His head was spinning, his stomach churning, and right then, all he wanted was to be back home. Back with his family, back in Regalia. Or in New York. Anywhere but here, on this stupid quest, and definitely not anywhere near Luxa.

Maybe she had been right. He tightened his grip on the handle of his dark flashlight. Maybe she wasn't the kind of girl he would ask on a date. Gregor's dating experience was very limited, but even he knew that a basic requirement should be that she didn't attempt to resolve her issues by declaring war.

When he and Ares had brought back the injured mouse, who had introduced himself as Cartesian, Howard had attended to his injuries and sedated him, wrapping him in Gregor's travel blanket. Shortly thereafter, he had announced that he would probably survive.

For one moment, Gregor had felt relieved . . . Yet then, Luxa and the Death Rider had returned, and with them had come an explanation for the strange vow. For what they had done.

Howard had been unhappy with Luxa's decision to declare war, but he had become furious when she had revealed that she and the outcast had done it together. Are you utterly mad?! Now you have tied your fate to his, and that without so much as knowing his identity or true motive!

Gregor shuddered. His hand fiddled with the flashlight's switch, but he refrained from flipping it. Personally, he didn't care much about that part. What bothered him was the fact that she had actually started a whole war, just like that.

Even though the camp lay in a heavy silence now, Gregor could still faintly hear the echoes of their argument. He had chosen to stay out of it, not because he had no opinion, but because he didn't want to cause Luxa more pain. Just the memory of her pained expression and how desperately she had tried to defend her actions haunted him. When the Death Rider had tried to break up the argument, Howard had attacked him too.

It was enough fighting, thought Gregor. It wasn't as if he or anyone else could change anything anymore, anyway.

Instead, he sat there, having taken the first watch. The Death Rider had seemed appreciative, and the others had shown little interest. At least the others were all sound asleep now . . . Whenever Gregor closed his eyes, all he could see were images of that pit. Shiver after shiver ran down his spine, and he thought it would be a while before he could sleep peacefully again.

Gregor clenched his hands together, digging his nails into the handle of his flashlight. Why did they all have to fight? Why was there more fighting . . . There would be more fighting, and it wouldn't remain just shouting. Because now there would be a war.

At least they hadn't been fighting; Gregor sniffed. They . . . their group. Their team. Hadn't they just sat together, laughing? Assuring the Death Rider that he was part of them?

In the light of Zap's bottom, which flared and dimmed periodically as she slept, Gregor spotted Luxa curled against Aurora's side, looking almost haggard. Instead of thinking about how he wanted to be miles from here, Gregor stared at her, trying to make sense of this decision in light of the Luxa he knew. She had never been overly aggressive or malicious, not even when they had first met. Then why . . . war?

Well, in a way, it was obvious why. Despite himself, images of mouse corpses flashed before his inner eye. She thought it would put an end to whatever the rats were doing to the mice, and so did the Death Rider.

To Gregor's astonishment, that surprised him too. The outcast was by no means a pacifist, but . . . he was an optimist. If even an optimist thought that there was no other way . . .

There had to be, thought Gregor grimly. Something less . . . violent. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think of anything. Not when he considered what he had witnessed and where all this seemed to be going. His mind went back to the heaps of corpses in the pit time and time again, and he couldn't stop shuddering. Maybe Luxa had just been . . . desperate.

Gregor sat there for an indeterminable while, playing with the flashlight, when a voice beside him spoke: "Is it too early to take over yet?"

He flinched, then his eyes met Luxa's. Her braid had come undone, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Unwanted guilt swept over him, and he quickly looked away, nodding. "Yeah, but . . . we can keep watch together if you want."

She sat down without a word. "It is just that I have difficulties sleeping," she said eventually. "And I do not mean to keep Aurora up as well."

"And I'm already up anyway."

"Yes . . ." She didn't laugh.

They sat in silence for a minute or so, and Gregor battled valiantly to keep his true thoughts to himself. She seemed miserable enough as she was. Maybe she came to me because I didn't shout at her earlier, he thought grimly. But in the end, he lost his battle. "That . . . that vow you made earlier . . ." From the corner of his eye, he saw her flinch and quickly added, "What exactly was it? I've never heard of it."

"The Vow to the Dead," she said without meeting his gaze. "It is a vow for those of royal descent, those who wear a crown, to speak when there is unjust death or suffering. It binds the speaker to strive for vengeance until they succeed . . . or until death."

"That's . . . one hell of a commitment."

"I do not regret making it."

Taking in the sheer resolve in her voice, Gregor shuddered. "What about the Death Rider?" He finally turned to look at her. "He is not royalty, is he? Does it even count for him?"

"I don't know," said Luxa. "It has never been spoken by a commoner, as far as I know. Yet he will treat it as though it counts, and so will I."

Gregor meant to ask her to explain the words as they usually did with prophecies, but he quickly found that he didn't remember the exact phrasing anymore. Well, to be fair, he had only heard it twice. It would have been a miracle if he had remembered.

Then again . . . he frowned. Something wasn't quite right. "Hey, this vow—is it commonly known down here? Like, would you even know the words if you never had anything to do with royalty?"

Luxa shook her head. "Unlikely—" Then understanding flashed on her face, and she froze. "You wonder how the Death Rider knew the words, no?" When Gregor didn't reply, her frown deepened. "It is not only that he knew the words. He knew to . . . The way in which we made it—to hold hands and speak in unison. It is a very special thing for two people to take the vow the way we did. We do not simply pledge ourselves to vengeance; rather, we tie ourselves to each other until the goal is accomplished."

"So that's what Howard meant . . ."

"Howard was not pleased with my actions, not because I declared war, but because I tethered the Death Rider to our group, to myself, in a more lasting manner than he would have preferred."

"I mean . . ." Gregor contemplated how to say this without seeming as though he disliked the outcast. "I can see why he would be. He . . . I still think he is a good person, but . . ."

"But being suspicious is warranted." In her voice, Gregor heard that Luxa struggled with her own lack of suspicions. "I always think that he will tell us more about himself when he is ready, but . . ."

"But we actually know nothing about him." Gregor finished her sentence, making a face. "It's not like I don't know that."

"There has to be a reason . . ."

"Maybe he will tell us in due time. But . . . Luxa." Gregor faced her. "Doesn't that mean Howard is right? That you guys should have—" He cut himself off, but not before his own disapproval could slip out.

"Should have what?" Luxa's tone instantly turned to ice. "Should have waited for the gnawers to kill more of them? Should have sat idly, watching them die? For, if that is what you think we should have done, I—"

"I just meant, don't you think it was a little rash?" Gregor cut her off. "I am as horrified as you by what we saw today, and I would never ask you to sit around and watch them die, but . . . war? Don't you think there would have been a better way?"

"As in?"

Gregor hesitated. "I don't have any, off the top of my head," he mumbled without facing her. "But I bet I can come up with something a little less extreme." He didn't mention that he had already contemplated this extensively and come up empty-handed.

"Well, when you do, I'd love to hear it. Certainly, it will dazzle us all."

She was mocking him. Gregor didn't even bother looking at her. He might as well have been talking to Ripred. At least Ripred's taunts had taught him that the best response to mockery was to not let it affect you. "It was pretty easy, starting a war."

"It was not difficult."

"I wonder what it will take to get out of it."

"I doubt you will ever find out. Since your mother will send you home." Luxa's tone suddenly took on a new level of bitterness. "We, on the other hand, must stay and live here."

Gregor whipped around; he wanted to respond, but his thoughts were empty. There was nothing he could say, and that fact stabbed at his heart.

Instead, he stood up. "My watch is over anyway, I suppose." With that, he pivoted on his heel and made his way over to his backpack.

Yet, despite his anger, he couldn't keep himself from throwing a few glances back.

***

The following day started off just as uncomfortable as the previous day had ended.

When they all reluctantly sat down for breakfast, Gregor felt more miserable than he had in a while. His argument with Luxa lingered over him, and all he desired was to resolve it, but he wanted to do so in private. Unfortunately, privacy was not an option here.

Only Boots was as carefree as ever. "More to eat!" she pleaded, tugging at the Death Rider's fur boot. "Gre-go said you have more to eat!"

"You already had your share." He picked her up and rocked her. "I cannot just give more food to anyone lest we run out in a heartbeat. Especially with this new company." He regarded the fireflies eating the remains of yesterday's cake.

Boots opened her mouth to protest, but then Temp poked the outcast with one of his antennas. "The Overlander has food, the Overlander has."

The Death Rider whipped around to Gregor and raised his brow. Gregor stiffened, gripping his backpack. What was Temp . . . "Oh!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Boots, come, I have cookies for you."

The moment Boots heard "cookies", she wriggled out of the Death Rider's grasp and scampered toward him. Gregor brandished his still-sealed pack of cookies, yet before he could open it, the Death Rider came up beside him. "I see that you have been hogging food."

Gregor glanced up at his outstretched hand. Briefly, he wondered if he should be cross with him too for what he and Luxa had done yesterday, but . . . Gregor let out an exasperated sigh. He was honestly about done being cross with anyone. "I just—"

"Perhaps it would be prudent to store everything edible in one place," said the outcast. "The number of edible supplies we have is far more limited than it appears. Especially since the arrival of the shiners."

Gregor handed the cookie pack over without protest. "Is your hand okay?" he asked, pointing at the fresh bandage where the outcast had bruised his knuckles back in that pit. He hadn't seen Howard tending to it.

"Nothing significant." The Death Rider waved. "You may trust that I will keep these safe." He brandished the cookie pack. "You say they pacify your sister?"

Gregor nodded. "That's why I always carry some."

"Excellent." The Death Rider ripped the pack open and waved one cookie in Boots' direction. "Look what I have here."

Her eyes lit up immediately. "Cookie!" She waddled over, snatching the cookie from his hand. "More!"

"Later." He stashed the pack away. "If you behave."

Boots' smile faltered, and she let out a deflated "Oh. . ."

Before she could cause a commotion, Temp appeared behind her, poking the binoculars she had left on the ground. Gregor had given them to her when she had pestered him that she was bored earlier, and she had immediately invented a game that consisted of spotting and naming various objects in their environment.

"The Princess wants to continue the game, wants to?" asked Temp, and as he watched her pick the binoculars up and climb onto the roach's back, riding off toward Ares and Aurora, Gregor thought just about everyone was glad that Temp was here.

"Is there any food left? I'm hungry," a weak voice suddenly asked behind Gregor.

"Of course." Luxa, who had silently watched, instantly leaped up. "For those who haven't eaten yet."

Gregor turned to watch a still somewhat sour-looking Howard carry Hazard over to the rest of them. He ignored the Death Rider and, when faced with Luxa, he hesitated, but then sat Hazard down beside her.

"Are you feeling better?" asked Luxa.

Hazard nodded. "My head still hurts, but I don't feel like throwing up all the time anymore."

"What of Cartesian?" Luxa finally addressed Howard, who somewhat reluctantly accepted a pair of sandwiches and a plate of beef from the Death Rider.

"I must still sedate him," he mumbled, handing Hazard his portion. "He remains confused, though his physical injuries will heal."

Luxa hesitated. "Thank you," she mumbled at last.

Howard halted. "It is my job to care for the sick," he said with a sigh, and his tense face eased a little. "The job that I chose for myself."

"So your determination persists, despite your father's wishes?" asked the Death Rider. "Attaboy. What a rebel!"

Luxa actually stifled a laugh, and Howard shot him a glare, but he couldn't suppress a smile either. "Apparently, a little . . . resistance is necessary sometimes, for the greater benefit. Becoming a doctor shall make me eligible to positively impact more people than negatively, so it seems a worthy trade."

Gregor stared at them standing together around the smiling Hazard and found himself smiling along. Maybe they weren't that mad at each other after all. Maybe—

He winced as something suddenly flew over his head and watched two bats land in their midst. "We scouted ahead," mumbled Thanatos to his bond, who nodded in acknowledgment.

"I take it the path is clear?"

"As clear as it could be," confirmed Nike. "There lies a large river ahead; it glows brightly, so you will not need light. It has fish, and oh, those lovely shells with their shimmering, rainbow-colored insides when you crack them open!" She slid over and nudged Thalia. "I can show you how to do it. They are simply delicious!"

"Really?" Thalia excitedly flapped her wings. "I want to learn!"

"And you will," said Thanatos with a half-smile.

"You know?" Nike turned back to Thanatos, her eyes not losing an ounce of their shine.

"He knows many things . . . except how to take a hint," said the Death Rider to her. "But you may step up your game of advances on the flight."

"Game of . . . what?" asked Thanatos.

The Death Rider snorted. "You are utterly hopeless," he said to his bond. "But I shall not intervene." He raised his arms, giving Nike a grin. "He is all yours. Although a word of advice, you may want to be a bit more . . . direct if you ever intend for him to catch on."

"What the actual hell are you meaning?" asked Thanatos.

Yet Nike, to Gregor's surprise, twitched and her wings fluttered, as though she were dying of embarrassment. "S-Say it not like that—"

"We fly on!" exclaimed the Death Rider, turning from the two bats. "I sent these two to scout ahead," he explained," "so that we may not run into any more . . . surprises." He didn't have to specify; everyone knew what kind of surprise he was talking about.

Gregor scooped up his backpack and rose to his feet, all while contemplating what Nike had been so embarrassed about. What had the outcast meant when he had said—

Just then, it dawned on him that he hadn't seen Boots in a while, and he came to an abrupt halt. "Boots?" He glanced around.

"Come back! Come back!"

When he heard her tiny voice behind him, Gregor whipped around, only to be struck with horror as he witnessed his baby sister happily waddling after the binoculars she must have dropped. They were quickly sliding on the smooth stone of the outcropping where they had camped . . . toward the edge.

"Boots!"

Before he could even attempt to reach her, a fur-lined boot halted the binoculars just short of the edge, and a hand in a leather gauntlet snatched up the baby that had been trailing them. "Where do you think you're off to?"

Boots giggled, reaching her tiny arms down toward the binoculars. "I look through spyglass!"

"This thing?" The outcast maneuvered his foot beneath the binoculars, flicking them upward with a deft kick and catching them with his free hand. Yet when he raised them to his eye, he almost dropped them again. "Everything magnifies!"

"Yeah. They're binoculars," said Gregor, approaching gingerly. "You can use them to see things that are far away."

"Sublime." The Death Rider twirled them, handing them back to Gregor with visible reluctance.

"Are you all nearly finished? We must fly on." Howard put his hands on his hips. He had already secured Cartesian on Nike's back and allocated the hampers among the other bats.

Temp nudged Gregor, presenting to him his backpack. "We fly on, we fly," he said, and Gregor nodded.

"We fly on!" echoed the Death Rider louder. "We fly—agh!" Just then, Boots, whom he was still holding, found his ponytail and promptly started pulling at it. "Little lady, what are you up to with my hair there?" the outcast inquired of Boots, poking her cheek with a finger.

"I make it!" She giggled. "Let me make it!"

"What?"

"Never mind her." Gregor cringed. "She . . . wants to give you a makeover. Recently, she's been all about giving makeovers to people with long hair. It's like, her latest . . . thing. My mom and my other sister had to sit through hours of this for months."

"But you cannot make over my hair now," the outcast said to Boots. "Now, we must press on. We must fly. Do you not like flying?" He rocked her back and forth, and she squealed, reaching to pat his cheek with her little hand.

"I fly!" she called. "You make me fly!"

The Death Rider laughed. "I cannot make you fly, little lady," he said. "Were I a flier, I might. But like so, we must let them do the flying."

"No, no!" She squirmed. "You made me fly before. I fly like you made me before!"

Abruptly, the outcast froze, his grin vanishing. "Like . . . I did what before? Oh, Gregor!" He spun around to him, laughing nervously. "Could it be that your sister has me confused with someone?"

"Uh, yeah . . . What do you mean, Boots?" Gregor stretched his arms out and took her from the Death Rider. "What do you mean, he made you fly before?"

"Perhaps she means that I spun her in the jungle," suggested the outcast. "Either way, take her along now, lest she make up more fantastical stories. Is it not so?" He gave Boots another pat. "To fly, eh? Oh, what else would you have me do?"

Boots reached for his hand, catching his finger in her small grip. "You made me fly," she said with so much conviction that Gregor's brows furrowed again. "You throw me, and bats catch me. And then I fly!"

"Wait." Gregor's head jerked up. "Boots, what are you talking about? Nobody ever—" Only then did his memory return, and his eyes widened. "Oh! Oh, Boots, you have that confused." He soothed back her curls. "It was Henry who threw you in the bats' land. That," he pointed at the outcast, "is the Death Rider, not Henry."

"But . . . I fly!" Boots scowled, tugging at Gregor's shirt.

"Yeah, I remember that. But that was Henry," insisted Gregor. "Uh . . . There was this incident where a . . . I mean, someone threw her off a cliff in the bats' land, and they caught her," he explained to the perplexed Death Rider. "I guess it was fun for her or something. That . . . I mean, the guy who threw her was—"

Gregor cut himself off, sizing up the Death Rider. He hadn't compared him to Henry in a long time; they had both been Underlanders with long hair . . . that, along with their similar age and height, were the only resemblances Gregor could think of. Besides that, they didn't look particularly alike. Or did they?

Gregor frowned. Though the image of Henry's face had become fuzzy in his memory, he was certain that it had lacked the hardness and unyielding quality of the Death Rider. Were those few similarities enough to have fooled Boots?

"He . . . I guess he looked a little like you?"

"It is quite alright." The outcast waved. "Just watch her keenly."

Gregor nodded, then turned to carry her over toward Ares. He placed her on Ares' neck and mounted up himself, watching Temp scurry up behind him. But . . . Boots rarely ever mixed up faces. Hell, she could even tell apart the cockroaches!

***

Although Cartesian and Hazard both had to lie down, space on the bats was not yet an issue as long as Thalia flew by herself. Gregor, Boots, and Temp remained on Ares; Luxa with Hazard on Aurora; and Howard with Cartesian on Nike. Thanatos carried the Death Rider and the majority of their supplies.

In a matter of minutes, they were airborne. It took less than an hour to traverse the flat stretch of Hades Hall. Then, the tunnel began to slant upward as steeply as it had dipped before. While descending had required patient navigation from the bats, they had at least been able to coast for much of it. Now that they were flying upward, they seemed to be moving faster, yet it required real physical exertion.

As the morning progressed, Thalia started to fall behind. By lunchtime, it was evident that the little bat was completely worn out. "We ought to make some adjustments," the Death Rider announced over lunch. "Death, could you take Thalia? I may load some supplies onto Ares and fly with someone else myself."

"Of course." Thanatos turned to Thalia. "Would you like that?"

The little bat stared at him with awe. "Yes! Yes!"

Thanatos smiled gently. "So we shall do it, then."

"In that case . . ." The outcast strode around, inspecting the party. "Cartesian is heavy, and so is Howard. Nike cannot manage more than that." He pivoted away, shifting his gaze between Ares and Aurora.

"You and Temp can fly with me," said Ares. "You are heavier than Gregor. With Luxa and Hazard, Aurora will not carry you far."

For a heartbeat, the outcast hesitated, yet Gregor had no time to wonder why, because then he realized where that left him: with Luxa.

"Aurora, can you take them all?" asked the Death Rider. "Gregor, Luxa, Hazard, and Boots?"

The golden bat nodded. "They are light, and I am not made of glass."

After another odd moment of hesitation, the outcast clapped his hands in his typical fashion. "Alright, then let us not delay any longer. Have you all finished packing?"

"We are set," said Luxa, securing the last hamper on Ares' back.

Gregor watched the Death Rider as he approached Ares and, somewhat awkwardly, mounted up, shortly joined by Temp. "Death, I believe you should continue leading the way," he called to his bond. "Ares and I will bring up the rear, looking so that no one falls behind again."

With a nod, Thanatos took off, and Gregor turned his attention back to Aurora. Luxa was probably no more thrilled about the travel arrangements than him, but there was no point in complaining. So, Gregor lifted Boots and took a seat on Aurora's neck, facing forward.

"We don't ride with Temp?" she asked promptly.

Gregor shook his head. "Not this time. You can play more when we land again."

As soon as Luxa had mounted up, Aurora and Ares took flight. Luxa sat with her back to Gregor so that she could entertain Hazard, who lay with his head on her lap. Fortunately, Boots drifted off to sleep after just ten minutes, saving Gregor from having to keep her amused.

For the first few hours, Luxa completely ignored Gregor. She passed the time playing word games with Hazard. When they tired of that, she recounted the Underland equivalent of "Little Red Riding Hood." Unsurprisingly, the wolf in the story was a rat, and the lesson was—never trust a rat.

"But what about the good rats, Luxa?" asked Hazard. "Like Lapblood. She saved Boots' life in the jungle. Or Ripred. My father said he was a good rat, and he is Vikus' friend."

"Yeah, what about them, Your Highness?" Gregor couldn't resist speaking up, his annoyance about her generalizations mounting. Hadn't they talked about the impact of prejudice during their quest to save Stellovet? Hadn't she promised—

"You must be very careful with rats, Hazard," Luxa said to him without acknowledging Gregor. "It would take many years and many acts of loyalty for me to consider a rat my friend. They teach their pups to despise us."

"But isn't that what you're doing right now?" Gregor exclaimed, immediately regretting it as Boots stirred. Luckily, she didn't wake up. "Or are we supposed to feel sorry for the Big Bad Rat?" he hissed in a much quieter voice, but with equal anger. Strangely, a part of him felt genuinely let down that she still didn't even trust Ripred. "Back when we were out to save Stellovet, you promised that you wouldn't generalize anymore. It was you who criticized me for it first."

Luxa said nothing for a while. "Perhaps I spoke rashly," she mumbled.

"No!" hissed Gregor. "You were right. I was wrong. And it flipped our entire way of judging people upside down. I get that. I get that it's tough." He gritted his teeth. "But you don't know every rat. You can't judge those you don't know. That was what you told me."

"I told you . . ." she said in a weak voice.

"You also told me not to judge based on only the bad things."

"I have seen so many bad things."

"But you've also seen some good," said Hazard suddenly. "I've seen some good." He hesitated. "Am . . . Will you be angry with me if I decide to trust a rat?"

Gregor almost fell off Aurora's back in an attempt to pivot and face Hazard. His mouth opened, yet before he could speak, Luxa beat him to it: "I will require a solid justification," she said stiffly. After a loaded pause, she added, "I will not be angry. I might be concerned and somewhat overprotective, but not angry."

"Only you can decide whom you trust," said Aurora.

"There are rats I trust," said Gregor, as he hoped, with conviction.

Luxa hesitated. "You have no idea how much they hate you, do you, Overlander?"

Gregor's throat clogged at her icy tone. "I know most of them do," he said without looking back. "But there are still a few I would call my friends."

"I wonder, would they call you their friend too?"

Gregor let the question hang and realized that he had a hard time imagining Ripred or Lapblood calling him their friend. The only rat who might do that was Twitchtip, but she was not really representative of other rats. Then again . . . neither was Ripred. And wasn't that the whole point? Maybe something such as a "representative" specimen didn't exist anyway, thought Gregor. Maybe to assume that was judgmental in itself.

For a while, he said nothing. Until Hazard had announced that he wanted to sleep and began to snore gently. Then Gregor mumbled, "The world isn't black and white. Not every rat is the same, just as not every human is."

Luxa exhaled. "You shall never let me live this down—what I said by that lake?"

Gregor shook his head. "You said it, and I already told you that I'll say it back as many times as I have to. Even if you've suffered a lot because of them, you know very well that there are some good rats."

"And some evil humans."

Gregor opened his mouth to ask if she was talking about Henry again—the very same human she had asked him not to label as evil during that conversation. Then he closed it again. Part of him felt that this argument wouldn't amount to much more, and quite frankly, he was tired of being angry with her.

"This statement that she has made has caused her much distress, Overlander," Aurora chimed in all of a sudden. "You know not how many nights she has kept us awake, going on and on about whether it was something she regretted saying."

"Why would she regret it?" exclaimed Gregor. "It's true."

"It is," concurred Aurora. "And she knows this. What she does not know is whether it is safe. So, she has fear."

"Be still!" hissed Luxa.

"I wish to thank you for uttering it," Aurora said to Gregor, disregarding Luxa entirely. "Before you, no one has ever come so close to breaking down her fear-induced preconceptions."

"I said be still!" yelled Luxa.

"No problem," said Gregor, ignoring Luxa too. He smiled, enjoying the rare feeling of having the upper hand for once. "But you should also thank her—she said it herself. All I'm doing is making sure that she doesn't forget."

"From what I hear, the one we should really thank is Henry," replied Aurora. "Although not even he could make her relent on her stubbornness. If you can, you would do us all a favor."

"I despise both of you," said Luxa.

"I'll do my best." Gregor's smile widened. Aurora hummed in approval, and he wondered whether her decision to speak so much to him—more than she ever had—indicated a growing trust.

Then again, all that his little exchange with Aurora had really done was ensure that Luxa went back to ignoring him. He didn't know how much silence passed, but it quickly became hard to bear. Gregor's guilt over being so harsh with her mounted, and he racked his brain about how he could finally end this stupid argument once and for all. Eventually, he realized that there was only one thing he could say: "So . . . you were right about one thing: I really didn't have any alternatives to declaring war either."

"You don't say."

Gregor bit back the wave of irritation her cold voice evoked. "I still don't condone it!" he amended. "But . . . I wouldn't have a clue about what to do in that situation. I've never been a king or anything, so I can't really relate to or understand why you made that choice. War is bad, but . . ."

"I enjoy war no more than you," said Luxa in a surprisingly mellow voice. "But sometimes there is no other way. And . . . it has to happen, Gregor," she said after a pause. "Everyone knows it. Humans and gnawers cannot live in peace. One of us has to leave."

"Ripred said there was peace sometimes, in the past."

"But it never lasts," retorted Luxa. "We may as well get it over with. Wage the war that will answer the question of who stays and who goes."

"Goes where, Luxa?" urged Gregor. "If you lose . . . are you coming back up to the surface?"

"I do not know." She paused. "More likely, we would be forced into the uncharted lands, beyond the edges of our maps. Perhaps, after some trial, another home could be found."

"And if the rats lose, do the survivors have to go there?"

"So it will be."

"Why can't you just both stay?" exclaimed Gregor after a while. "I . . . like, if we already go to war, shouldn't we make an effort to reconcile and live peacefully at least in the aftermath?"

For a while, Luxa said nothing. "There is an old saying," she mumbled eventually. "They say the Underland is not big enough, for both gnawers and humans."

Gregor almost blurted out that this was stupid, but refrained. "Well, at least you have a pretty good reason for going to war now, I guess," he mumbled, recalling what they had concluded about breaking the rules for good reasons and wondering if that rule was in some way universally applicable. "Whatever the rats are doing to the mice . . . I'm not sure if I even want to know. What I do know is that someone has to stop them. Desperate times need desperate measures . . . Isn't that what they say?"

Luxa remained silent, yet the ensuing quietness was not oppressive; instead, it held a mix of wistfulness and tranquility. Before long, she leaned against Gregor's backpack, her steady breaths soothing his own unease. Then, she laid her head on his shoulder, allowing him to feel the gentle brush of her hair against his ear. And to his own surprise, Gregor found it . . . nice.

He sat very still, not wanting her to move away. Not wanting to think about wars or going home. Just wanting to sit close to her in peace. His final peace? Gregor wondered. Before the . . . war.

In this manner, they flew for a long time. The air became warmer, and eventually, a foul smell reached Gregor's nose, like rotten eggs. It had to be sulfur . . . and smoke. So, they had to already be near the top of Hades Hall.

Recalling that someone had said the air would get foul as they came to this part of the Firelands, Gregor attempted to breathe shallowly, but it didn't do much for the odor. Then Aurora banked for a curve, and the fireflies unexpectedly blacked out. Yet Gregor could still see a little.

For a moment, he was confused, thinking they might be in the jungle. But no . . . As his eyes adjusted to the dim, reddish light, he realized they had left Hades Hall . . . and entered a whole new world.