There was a long pause, then Ripred cleared his throat. "Dears, haven't we stood around here uselessly for long enough?"

Everyone began shuffling, embarrassed. Luxa jumped and almost ran back to the starshade stack, where Gregor still sat. Hamnet excused himself as well, and when he saw that Henry didn't follow, he went to fetch his own knife and cut the tape.

"He's not quite the way he once was," said Ripred, looking at Hamnet.

"No," replied Henry. "Choosing not to fight!" He shook his head. "What could ever come out of that?"

"At least he has a choice, you mean?"

Henry whipped around to Ripred but could only hold his inquisitive gaze for a few heartbeats. "He is throwing away a choice that—"

"That you would give anything to regain?"

Henry said nothing; he gritted his teeth and angrily wiped his face. To cry in front of Ripred was really the last thing he needed now.

A moment of loaded silence elapsed. Henry thought about the quest and how much better he felt being here with everyone, plague or not. And then, for the first time, he thought about what would happen once this quest was over. The thought filled him with horrid dread, so he shoved it aside. He didn't want to think about an "afterward" because he had none. None that would feel like this did.

Just as Henry turned to reluctantly get back to work, Ripred spoke again: "So, is that really "anything"?"

"Obviously," scoffed Henry. "Although I don't see how this matters. There is nothing anyone can do. Not even you." He wiped his face again, yet the tears kept rising despite his best efforts. "I shall be useless for the rest of my life, and so is the truth. To pretend otherwise is cowardly."

Ripred said nothing, and a wave of shame washed over Henry about how pathetic he must look. "Just do me the favor and let us forget—"

"Not so fast."

Originally planning to storm off, Henry abruptly halted in his tracks. "What?"

"What?" aped Ripred, but his attempt to sound carefree did not fool Henry. Not with how his claw agitatedly worked the ground. He did not even look him in the eye. "The "what" is that your issue lies with your diminished eyesight, no?"

"Yes," said Henry, frowning. "How does that matter? It's not like I may regrow eyes."

"No," said Ripred, finally dropping to lie on his side amidst the starshade. "But eyesight is not the only way to perceive. There are others."

"Such as echolocation?" Henry scoffed. "But of what use is that if I cannot use it in battle?" He crossly snapped his fingers. "I am human. For me, there is no way to produce any sound consistently enough."

It was then that Henry thought Ripred became properly interested for the first time. He even rose a little, staring at Henry with wide eyes. "You can already use echolocation?" he exclaimed, staring at Henry for a few seconds before his eyes trailed to Gregor. "Well, perhaps you could do me an outcast favor and have a little chat with the great warrior over there. I've been trying to teach him for a while now, yet he persistently fails."

"I may," said Henry, suddenly feeling incredibly dejected. "But none of this explains why we are still having this conversation! Why is echolocation of relevance? It cannot help me!" He kicked the grass, only to almost trip. "Don't you get it? I hate it!" he screamed, and both Hazard and Lapblood, who stood closest, turned his way. Henry waved in their direction reassuringly but persistently battled the rising tears.

Surprisingly, Ripred did not respond to his little outbreak. He remained lying in the grass, pensively plucking a few flowers. Then he looked up at Henry, his expression more evaluating than ever.

"What?" snapped Henry. "Are you going to help or not? Because if not, I will—"

"Oh, I can certainly not help," said Ripred finally. "Not I." He broke off, and his gaze trailed in the opposite direction from where they had come.

"Not you?" Henry finally sat beside him, digging his hands into the soft grass. "But someone else?" He barely dared to ask.

Ripred stared at him for a moment longer. "Forget it," he said eventually. "I would only waste both of your time if I sent you to her."

"To whom?" By this point, Henry's heart was hammering out of his chest.

"Fine." Ripred sighed. "I'll talk. Yet do not hold me responsible if this does not work." He stared into Henry's eager eyes and sighed. "See, usually, you would be right about the echolocation. Humans are severely limited in that your senses and brains are not equipped to produce and analyze high-frequency sounds with speed and accuracy the way we other creatures do. But you have taught your brain to do it on a basic level, yes?"

"You mean this?" Henry snapped his fingers. "Yes. I can envision stationary objects and rooms like this. But how does this—"

"A human who has actually acquired the ability to use echolocation!" exclaimed Ripred. "For convenience, we shall call this, what you do, your first threshold. So, in theory—"

"There are more . . . thresholds? More echolocation?" Henry's heart hammered so fervently that he feared it would break through his ribcage. "Is this not the skill's cap after all?"

"For all practical purposes, it is," said Ripred. "But you are interested in the theoretical potential, no? Like, a second threshold."

"And?" exclaimed Henry, and Ripred laughed.

"My lad, I know not enough about this theory to elaborate. And even if—this is a theory. One that . . . has not found any application in practice, as far as I'm aware, other than for the one who developed it. Even less by a human. Perhaps you should concern yourself with that before you get your hopes up."

Henry swallowed repeatedly. He swallowed all his rising inhibitions and fears about how theoretical or impossible this apparent solution the rat was talking about would be and whether it would take up a decade of his life. It suddenly didn't matter. Nothing mattered except one thing: a solution.

"Impossibility is not my concern," Henry said grimly. "All impossible things are unachieved, but not all unachieved things are impossible. I shall decide for myself which one of the two this . . . advanced echolocation theory is."

When he next looked up, he flinched because he found Ripred staring at him with wide eyes. There were traces of an emotion on his face that Henry thought had to be a figment of his imagination. Never in a hundred years would he believe that the Ripred he knew could ever look at him with . . . fright.

"Fine," said Ripred after another silent eternity. "Fine, fine. Just don't come crawling back to me if nothing comes of it." When Henry didn't respond, Ripred sighed. "I cannot help you, as I've mentioned. But the one who developed this theory and is, as far as I'm aware, its only utilizer, may."

"And where do I find her?"

"Travel to the Firelands," said Ripred. "Ask around. Those new crawler friends of yours at the citadel, or really anyone, for the one named . . ." Ripred broke off. "Named . . . Kismet." He paused. "Someone's ought to have heard where exactly she lives."

"Kismet." Henry frowned. "Kismet it is, then. But how do you not know where exactly to find her? And how is it possible that she lives in the Firelands? Is that land even inhabitable?"

"My lad," said Ripred emphatically. "You ask too many questions. I do not know where she lives because the last time I saw her, all she said was that she may settle down in the Firelands. I picture her smart enough to pick somewhere that is inhabitable. That is all I can tell you."

Henry briefly recalled several trips he had undertaken with Ares to explore the edges of the Firelands, but they had never ventured far in. Well, it appeared as though it was time to rectify that. "And this advanced echolocation could help me fight again?" Henry asked, mindlessly plucking a flower. "Better than before?"

Ripred laughed. "Lad, we are not merely talking "better than before". If you somehow accomplish the double impossible and not only get Kismet to teach you but also succeed, you may fight unlike any human has ever fought. Unlike anyone who is not a rager has ever fought." He scrutinized Henry. "That is as much motivation as I can offer. But that is more than enough for you, no?"

"It is," said Henry. For the first time, he felt a grin spread on his face. "Watch me!" He leaped to his feet and put his hands on his hips. "Say now, what if we make this into a bet? I will do what you say. I will find Kismet, and I will achieve this double impossible: I will persuade her to teach me, and I will learn to fight unlike any non-rager has fought before. And then I will challenge you to a re- . . . I mean, duel. And if I then impress you, we shall be outcast buddies. Do we have a bet?"

Ripred stared at him for a second, then he broke into roaring laughter. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" he giggled. "So, a double impossible is not yet enough for you? You want to make it into a triple?"

"Impressing you is not so impossible." Henry shrugged. "As long as you are not overselling the significance of learning this second echolocation threshold."

"Crossing," amended Ripred. "And . . . perhaps you aren't so wrong. Either way, this is the most interesting challenge I have received in decades; I take your bet." He stared at Henry bemusedly. "I almost pity you," he said after a while. "So unaware of just what kind of goal you have set for yourself there."

"I will not fail."

"Oh, but you might!" said Ripred. "I would give much to witness your attempts at persuading her to teach someone. Let alone you. A human!" Ripred laughed. "But you will try your hardest. And you are . . . Are you truly a fellow warrior of the mind? You?" Ripred scrutinized him, still giggling. "This may be the first worthy battle of wits that she'll have waged in decades."

"A warrior of the . . . mind?"

"A strategist!" Ripred waved. "A mastermind. Someone who fights intelligently and not just with raw power."

"That is me!" exclaimed Henry. "Even Goldfang said that I reminded her of someone who was once called "The Cunning"."

Ripred froze. "She said what?"

"She compared me to someone." Henry blew out a breath, trying his best to recall that conversation. "Before we fought, she said that I was brave and cunning and that I reminded her of a . . . custodian," he said finally.

Ripred gawked at him with unconcealed disbelief.

"It is true!" exclaimed Henry. "Because of something I said about heroes and villains. Because I . . . knew my place even though, if I tried, I could be so much more. Or something like that. Do you perhaps know who she meant?"

Ripred stared at him for a second longer. "You are not making this up," he said, ignoring Henry's question. "You . . . hah." He rose to his hind legs and stretched. "Whatever possessed Goldfang to say such things, at least I am a little more inclined to believe that you truly are a warrior of the mind. You shall be a nice surprise for her—for Kismet—if nothing else."

"I shall," concurred Henry. "But do you know whom Goldfang—"

"I know," Ripred cut him off, "that we are loafing around while there's work to be finished. Chop chop!" He gave Henry a hefty shove in the back. "You do not want them talking behind your back that you are lazy and useless, do you?"

"I am not!" cried Henry, but he began to walk anyway, not without casting a few defiant glances back at Ripred, who strolled over to Hazard and Lapblood, gathering the last remaining starshade.

Eventually, thoughts of Ripred's solution, of Kismet, began to overtake Henry's mind. He attempted to chart a route from here to the Firelands, thinking they may as well fly straight for the citadel from here; he did not need to go back to the nibblers under the current circumstances.

Kismet. The name had burned itself into his mind, and Henry could barely believe that it had been Ripred, out of everyone, who had given him the first hope, the first goal, in months. A goal . . . a solution that had come from an utterly unexpected angle: echolocation. Maybe it shouldn't have been so unexpected, thought Henry. All creatures except humans used echolocation to orient themselves in the dark . . . They could do it because they were all better equipped for it biologically. But who was he to let something such as a biological disadvantage stop him?

Henry suddenly scolded himself for not having considered the possibility that he hadn't hit the cap on what was humanly possible in terms of echolocation after all. Even if it was only a theory, it was hope—delivered to him by Ripred, whom he had regarded as an enemy not even so long ago. Maybe that was the real impossibility, thought Henry, bemusedly. And what was even more bewildering was that when he searched for lingering traces of animosity, he found nothing. All he felt was a burning desire to win Ripred's challenge. Their bet. To . . . prove himself, Henry thought. To prove himself to . . . Ripred.

Henry was so preoccupied with digesting this nothing short of shocking realization that he did not take care where he was going. And so he quickly found himself in front of the enormous stack of starshade, which stood taller than he now; Gregor and Luxa were nowhere to be seen, and Henry inadvertently glanced around for them.

"It can only ever be your choice whether you share the story."

This was Hamnet speaking. Henry halted in his tracks; hadn't he just seen him over with Frill and Hazard?

"You truly think so?"

Henry stilled to stone because the one who replied was . . . Thanatos.

"Of course I think so," said Hamnet crossly. "And I also think that you should not feel so guilty about complaining."

Despite his better judgment, Henry couldn't resist the temptation to keep listening; he felt an overwhelming urge to discover what Thanatos was griping about . . . and why he had confided in Hamnet instead of him.

"In the garden," said Thanatos now, "I technically knew that I did nothing wrong. I saved my bond, and—"

"—and I did not save mine," finished Hamnet. "She warned me, you know? Persephone did. She urged me not to open the gates. Oh, if only I had listened!"

"Out of the four of us, she was always the wisest," said Thanatos with so much sorrow that Henry felt a twinge of pain in his own heart. "The only thing I never understood was what she wanted with a prickly loner like myself."

Hamnet laughed. "Don't we all occasionally ask ourselves that with the person we love most?"

"We do," the flier concurred. "Which is why . . . why you should forget what I said earlier. Because I—"

"Wait!" exclaimed Hamnet. "You cannot seriously compare this. You are not the one who should feel undeserving in this relationship."

"But I do," said Thanatos. "I—"

"No!" Hamnet cut him off. "Not if that is how he treats you."

"Treats me," echoed Thanatos, with so much numb apathy that Henry's heart contorted. "It is not about how he treats me. It has never been about that. It is about the fact that I have finally found something . . . someone to be devoted to—and I refuse to be ungrateful for that. If I have come off as ungrateful or selfish, I did not—"

"Be quiet!" yelled Hamnet, and Henry flinched.

"No," hissed Thanatos. "Do you not understand? All I must do is let go of the notion that he may ever genuinely care about me. I sometimes do. I sometimes imagine. Maybe I should stop." The flier released a strained exhale. "Because it is not about that. It is about something to live for. And I have that now. I have . . . I have him, and I will not lose him. So he can treat me however he likes. If I do not have him, I have nothing. That is what this is about. Don't you understand?"

"You cannot be serious—"

"I am!" cried Thanatos. "And you still don't get it! Arya is dead, and so is Persephone. And it will never be the way it was before they died, for either of us. I wish I could make myself accept it like you did. I must be strong enough to do it . . . one of these days, I must be. But I want you to forget what I said," urged Thanatos. "I should not be complaining. I should . . . I am grateful for what I have. For what I didn't have over the last seven years. I have him, and I will not lose him. Especially not to some petty, selfish notion such as this."

"It is not selfish!" exclaimed Hamnet.

"It is," said Thanatos. "Do you not understand that he is all I have?"

"That is what concerns me so!" said Hamnet. "I . . . I cannot believe I am hearing you speak like this. You! Out of all of us. You were always so . . . Was it not you, once upon a time, who judged us others for not standing up for ourselves? For conforming our lives to the wills of others?"

"But Hamnet," said Thanatos, and a shiver slithered down Henry's spine from the numbness in his voice. "I have no life. Not in the way that he does. And he is my only light."

"But you—" Hamnet cut himself off. "You . . . at least, you should talk to him. Explain this."

"And what will that change?" interjected Thanatos. His words were followed by a stifling silence. "What will it change?" he repeated. "It will not change that he does not care for me. That he remains with me for his own convenience . . . Or who knows why. I do not even want to know. But it will rob me of the luxury of pretending that he does for good. It is pathetic, I know. But—"

"But that is not—"

"It is the way it is," the flier hissed. "I will not risk losing the only light I have. For nothing."

"But that is not a bond!" exclaimed Hamnet at last. "I have no words to convey the immense sadness I feel upon discovering you in such a state. And I cannot sit idle or tell you that it is okay, because it is not. Please bring it up to him. Maybe you are misunderstanding . . . ? I did not get the impression that he has a malignant intention."

"I cannot," hissed Thanatos. "Because it does not matter. Do you still not get that it does not matter? Not what he does, nor why he does it. And I cannot afford to . . . take any risks."

"You would rather break yourself with your own claws than take a chance at remaining unbroken?"

Thanatos said nothing, and Hamnet sighed. "I want to help," he said eventually. "If you do not want to . . . take risks, well . . . I know you declined my offer when we last met, but let me make it again today." He paused. "Stay here with Frill, Hazard, and I. Let us give you new light. Let us give you peace."

His words were followed by an eternal pause, as if time itself had frozen. In that stillness, Henry could keenly hear the rapid pounding of his own heart.

"I cannot," said Thanatos eventually. "You know that I cannot. Whatever you claim, it is still a bond. I will not break it."

"If he is not treating it as a bond should be treated, why should you?" retorted Hamnet coldly.

Another silent eternity elapsed. "I . . ." Thanatos hesitated. "That is not—"

"Oh no!" Henry whipped around, almost tripping into the stack of starshade, when he discerned behind him the voice of Ripred screaming. "How did they even get in here?" the rat yelled.

Dazedly, Henry scanned the plain for the source of Ripred's troubles, and it took a few heartbeats until his overwhelmed brain finally processed what that was—the red wave seeping into the field. They were so close together that they appeared as one entity, a thick, bloody liquid creeping toward them. The image was not unfamiliar, Henry thought, and amidst the jumble of thoughts and disarray in his head, he at last processed that it was . . . the cutters.

***

The next few minutes went by in a blur. Ripred took charge, and for once, Henry was grateful for it. He sent Boots and Hazard away with Aurora and called the rest of them to arms.

Henry could barely drag his sword out of his backpack, let alone listen to instructions. Jumbled words and phrases replayed in his head. Emotions dug into his heart that left him disarmed and helpless because he did not know how to make them stop. Because he barely understood what they meant, and he understood less and less the more he allowed them to sink in.

"Lad." Ripred's voice cut through the mist creeping in on his mind, and suddenly, the rat had his shoulder. "Are you with us?"

Henry nodded. Ripred stared at him pensively for a heartbeat, then shoved him toward the others, wildly gesticulating as he instructed Luxa to fight from the air on Nike. Gregor ran over and taped one of his light sticks to her arm, then another to his own.

"Five-point arc!" shouted Ripred. "I'll take the tip. I want the Overlander and Lapblood on my right, Hamnet and Frill to my left." The rat turned to Hamnet, who seemed suddenly to have frozen to the ground. "You are fighting, right?"

And . . . to Henry's astonishment, Hamnet ran to Frill, ripped open the pack under her neck, and pulled out a sword.

"I have no flashlight for you," said Gregor to Henry apologetically.

"Luckily, the lad has a sword that lights on fire," snarled Ripred. "Is that not why this invention is so innovative?"

Henry nodded.

"Then get on your flier and join Her Highness in the air!" shouted Ripred. "And before you claim that you will be of no use because of that eye, I won't hear it. You will do your best. Even if your skill is subpar. You will fight for this cure like a hero would. Like your life depends on it." Ripred grabbed him by the shoulders. "You will, because it may just. Do you understand that?"

Henry opened his mouth but had no words of protest in himself. Instead, he only nodded.

"Ready?"

Henry jumped and nearly tripped when Thanatos spoke behind him. He hesitated for a moment longer than he probably should have, then nodded.

Dazedly, Henry mounted up and ignited his second Ignifer pellet, watching the ordered five-point arc assemble. Temp took his spot on the stack of starshade, looking as determined as the rest of them.

He looked over at Luxa, and the encouraging smile she threw him almost lifted his spirits. "We have this," she said, and Henry nodded.

"We always do."

"Hold your positions as long as you can before you fall back," yelled Ripred. "When we reach the stack, circle around. Don't save each other; save the plants! Remember, it's the starshade we need. Defend it at all costs! Defend the starshade!"

At all costs . . . The phrase rang uncomfortably in Henry's ears, but before he could linger on it, Thanatos and Nike lifted off.

"It is just the cutters," said his bond. "We must not have any fear of them since the citadel. Is it not so?"

"It is," said Henry, like in a trance. "They should fear us."

And it was then or never, Henry thought. Crossly, he shook his head. It all—their quest, their lives—perhaps the lives of all warmbloods in the Underland—depended on this battle. He could not be distracted. He had to . . . focus. Henry gritted his teeth, gripping his sword tighter. He had no time for foolish emotions or pains. "Let us remind them why they should fear us," he said. "Let us fight."

And then they fought.

And Henry fought. He fought as desperately as he had for the citadel, perhaps even more so. He hacked away at the cutters' delicate bodies, their midsections, their legs. He tasted sweat, and blood, and desperation. But it was not enough.

Henry fought all while the cutters overran the fighters on the ground. While they hacked the starshade to pieces and shredded the tall stack, leaving not a single flower intact. He still fought when they continued on their path and marched straight into the Vineyard. And then the vines fought for him.

Henry screamed. He screamed, and he did not cease fighting until Thanatos landed and Ripred dragged him off his flier with force. "Let go!" the rat hissed. "Let go, lad. It is over!"

But it could not be over. Henry writhed in Ripred's hold and screamed until his throat was sore. The burning sword slipped from his hand, and something wet his face. He did not bother stopping it from dripping into his collar.

Ripred dropped him into the barren grass, and Henry landed on all fours, desperately attempting to catch his breath. He raised his head and found them all assembled around the spot where there had once been an eight-foot-tall stack of starshade.

Moments later, Ripred threw Gregor onto his rear, next to Henry. The Overlander scrambled to all fours. "No," he stammered. "No! No! It's gone," Gregor wept. "The starshade is gone. The cure is gone."

"All gone," said Ripred quietly. "It's all gone now."

Henry barely managed to extinguish his sword and watched Gregor struggle to his feet. The starshade was gone. What did this mean? What . . . what would happen now?

Henry surveyed the group; they were all battered and disheveled, with bloody cuts all over their bodies. He stared at his own cut-up legs and realized he barely felt the pain. Ripred and Lapblood were hunched behind him, and Luxa still sat on Nike's back. Surrounded by dead ants, Frill's blue-green body lay sprawled across the field, her skin scored with hundreds of cuts. Henry saw at first glance that her chest was still as stone.

And there, Temp hovered over something at the edge of the jungle. Henry froze as he recognized the form on the ground as Hamnet.

"Uncle!" Luxa cried, and then she was sprinting across the field toward him. Henry stared after her and watched the entire group assemble around him. He was not dead yet, thought Henry. There was still time to speak to him. There were so many things he still wanted to say to him.

But Henry could not move.

Their disagreement flashed in his mind, as did the way Hamnet had looked at him when he had told him off. Henry clenched his fists around the ripped grass. Does he hate me? He thought. Will he die hating me? For the way I am like Solovet? For the way . . . He cast his eyes down, forcing himself to think about the conversation he had overheard.

Fresh tears rose in his eyes. Henry knew very little at that moment, but what he did know was that he didn't hate Hamnet, and he didn't want Hamnet to hate him. He didn't want him to die hating him.

Henry buried his face in the crook of his arm to hide the tears. He couldn't cry, he thought. Not now, not in front of the others. They would only ask awkward questions, such as why he wept for someone he had barely known. He had not even told Hamnet that he was Henry, he thought. He did not know that he was alive, that they were both alive, that . . .

"I will cry later," Henry whispered, pretending that Hamnet on the other side of the plain could hear him. "I will cry later." It was all the words he had.

He could not join them, the group that had assembled around Hamnet. He could not cry with them or hold Luxa, as her body was wracked with desperate sobs.

Then someone pressed against his back, and Henry recognized Thanatos. The flier trembled, attempting to hide his sorrow, even from Henry. "He would not have wanted us to cry," he whispered, and at that moment, Henry allowed himself to forget everything he had heard earlier. He wrapped his arms around the neck of his bond tightly, allowing them both to conceal their tears.