With a deep, calming breath, I refilled the glass and started toward the interrogation chambers. The second I opened the door to Isalio's cell, an acrid stench assailed me, banishing my calm.

Isalio was doubled over on the floor beside the table, one hand on the bucket and the other pressed over his stomach. His face glistened with a sickly sheen under the harsh lights, and strands of slick black hair clung to his forehead. His eyes met mine for a second before he squeezed them shut and moaned.

"What happened?" I demanded. "Was Marqan here?"

"No, Remgar. I'm just—" He clasped a hand over his mouth, chest heaving.

"Hungover," I said, with a pang of guilt.

"Mm." He sucked in a shaky breath. "Alright, go ahead. Ask your questions."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not here to ask questions. You're clearly not well enough."

"Then why are you here?"

Lacking any better response, I held out the glass of water.

His brow furrowed. "Is it poisoned?"

I scowled. "You really think I would poison you while you are still sick?"

"No." He sounded vaguely perplexed by his own conclusion. "I don't think you would. Still, I'll pass on the water for now."

"You promised to drink whatever I give you."

His lips twitched, though he still looked nauseous. "Did I? Well, I'm pretty sure I wasn't referring to water."

I clucked my tongue to hide the heat rising in my belly and extended the glass closer to him. "Drink."

Begrudgingly, he accepted the offering and tilted it to his lips. But after two sips, his face contorted, and the glass hit the floor. He reached for the bucket—too late. Watery vomit splashed his shirt and trousers and sprayed up onto my boots.

He scooted back an inch and released a shaky exhale. "Fuck. I should have warned you—I'm significantly less adorable the morning after drinking."

I huffed a breath, half amused and half pained. "I shouldn't have given you so much zaikut."

"You drank as much as I did." He eyed me. "How are you not sick?"

I shrugged. "Guardians are built to endure."

"Yeah...so I've heard."

His voice carried a weight I could not understand. Was he afraid Guardians would defeat Demons in the end? Or did he regret the inevitable defeat of Guardians?

Did he regret my fate?

He interrupted my contemplation with another round of retching, this time all into the bucket. Before he could recover, I slipped out of the room.

I paced down the hall toward my own bedroom. Once inside, I cleaned my boots, filled a bucket with warm water, and grabbed a packet of food. After a moment of contemplation, I tugged open the door to my mostly-empty dresser and withdrew my joggers and sweatshirt. Then I set off back toward the interrogation corridor.

Just as I reached Isalio's cell, the door swung open. I jolted, half afraid Isalio was escaping and half afraid Marqan would stroll out with a bloody hammer.

Borgal's eyes met mine. "Remgar?"

I should have been relieved to see my friend...but why was he in Isalio's cell?

"Did you hurt him?" I demanded.

His jaw dropped, and he expelled an incredulous breath. "What the fuck, Remgar? Are you that gone?"

Hot humiliation replaced the fear. My best friend stood before me, face marred by the Demon royal family—a fate almost as much my fault as the fate of my mother and brother—and I was afraid he might have hurt a Demon?

I shook my head hard, a denial as much for myself as for him. "No, I just...why are you here?"

His eyes flicked down toward the bundle of clothing in my hands. When his eyes returned to mine, his voice was carefully measured, as if speaking to Marqan or Rakimar rather than his best friend. "Rakimar summoned us for a meeting. You didn't come."

I glanced down at my wristwatch. Sure enough, a message blinked across the screen: Urgent: summons to control room. Meeting starts in five minutes.

The time stamp said the message came ten minutes ago.

"Tell Rakimar I'll be there in five minutes," I said. "I have gathered some important intel. I just need to confirm its validity."

His lips twisted to the side. "You good, Remgar?"

"Always."

"Alright." He drew out both syllables, eyes fixed on mine. "I'll tell her."

I watched Borgal retreat down the corridor. As soon as he disappeared from sight, I opened the door.

Without looking at Isalio, I plunked the water and food down on the table. "You need to bathe. Then you can change into these clothes, and when you're ready, you should drink some more water and eat some food."

I tossed the bundle of clothes toward him. He caught the clothing on reflex and separated the joggers from the sweatshirt, examining both.

With slow deliberation, he said, "These are your clothes, aren't they?"

I shrugged. "The Guardians don't have resources to spare."

He swallowed, and his voice came out strangely choked. "I can't accept this, Rem."

Rem. No one had called me that since my mother died. I stared at him, but his expression appeared guileless, unaware of the transgression he had just committed.

With great effort, I managed a scoff. "You're covered in vomit. Can you really refuse?"

"Isn't it a waste, though? Giving your clothing to someone who will die in a day?"

My gut twisted, forcing my tongue. "Well... maybe that won't have to happen."

His eyes flicked to mine. "What do you mean?"

The idea I had barely admitted to myself tumbled free from my lips. "Maybe we can make a deal with your family. We could exchange you for some Guardian prisoners in the palace or tell your brother we'll spare you if he stops the Morgabeast."

He blinked—then laughed. "A deal? With Demons? And which unlucky bastard would be forced to deliver that message to the palace?"

"I'll go."

His laugh chopped off, and his face paled. "No. You can't go."

"Don't worry," I said. "I'll make sure Marqan doesn't touch you while I'm gone."

"Marqan? Do you hear yourself right now? If you go there, you'll never come back, and they'll do worse to you than Marqan could do to me."

"Maybe," I said. "That's a risk I'm willing to take. Whatever happens to me, I deserve it."

"Really?" He sounded incredulous—angry, even—and he glared at the clothing still balled in his hands. "Deserve it, why?"

His anger just made my guilt more potent, too much to trap away. I found myself fumbling through words I had never said aloud.

"I wasn't supposed to be there, the day my mother and brother died. My father stayed home because he had a terrible premonition, but my mother and brother refused to hang back while other Guardians died. I was supposed to stay with my father, but I snuck out and followed them. I...I wanted to be like Hefgar."

My voice broke. I waited for his response, but he remained silent and motionless, not even breathing.

I sucked in air and continued. "When it became clear we were going to lose, the other Guardians retreated...but I couldn't move. They came back for me—my mother and Hefgar. And that's when the High Prince killed them."

His fingers tightened over the fabric. "But the Demons left you alive?"

"Yes." I struggled to remember the details: the High Prince's eyes flashing my direction for a bare second before he moved on, the jarring laughter around me. "They...thought I was funny, I guess. The pathetic Guardian frozen to the floor; the kid who believed himself a warrior."

His mouth moved for several seconds before words came out. "Rem...what happened to your family was not your fault."

"How?" My voice came out harsh, angry at him for pardoning me when I didn't deserve a pardon. "If not for me, they wouldn't have been there when your brother arrived."

"But they would have died, anyway. All the Guardians who fought died that year."

"All of the bravest Guardians, you mean." I barely trapped the next words that swelled in my throat, an admission even more pathetic than my last: I would have died, if I had been brave enough.

I should have died.

Instead, I said, "I need to go. The Guardians are meeting."

And before he could respond, I turned back toward the door.

Rakimar's update was blunt and jarring: her connection to the First Guardian was weakening, and the Demons were growing stronger.

"I thought the First Guardian's protection was eternal," said Borgal from my left. "It has never weakened before. What changed?"

I waited for the reassurance our fearless leader always provided, but Rakimar was silent. Her usually proud posture had slumped, elbows on the table and hands massaging her temples.

Hesitantly, I joined the conversation. "Last night, the Demon prisoner told me his brother is looking for an alternative lifesource. Is it possible he has already found one?"

Marqan leaned toward me, heavy weight crackling the chair and muscular forearms settling on the table. "You mean they are trying to replace their 'cows?'"

"Or find a lifesource even more powerful—one strong enough to break through the First Guardian's protection. Is that possible, Leader Rakimar?"

"I don't know," she said. "I've been trying to bolster the First Guardian's protective spells, but I don't have anything close to the magic she had, and..." She hesitated, teeth playing with the scarred side of her lips. "I am growing weaker by the day."

Fraschkit clucked her tongue. "Don't say that, Leader. You are still as strong as ever!"

"No, I'm not. I haven't been strong since my wife died. Perhaps not even before then. After all, I let her die to protect me."

Fraschkit eyed me for back-up, but I had no argument. I could understand Rakimar's sentiment too well. Like Rakimar and many others in this room, my life had cost the life of another Guardian.

A braver Guardian.

Fraschkit's gaze returned to Rakimar. "You're the strongest and bravest Guardian I know, Rakimar. If it were possible to save your wife, I'm sure you would have. And I'm sure you will find a way to protect us all from—"

"Fraschkit, I'm dying."

Several Guardians gasped. My heart sank, but my throat closed off my reaction. Fraschkit sank back in her chair, eyes fixed on a swirl on the circular table and hands clasped so tightly the pink of her fingernails whitened.

Only Borgal appeared unsurprised. He exchanged a glance with Rakimar, and both nodded.

Turning to address the rest of the group, Rakimar said, "I am appointing Borgal as my second-in-command. When I die, he will take my place as Leader of the Guardians."

Hushed murmurs of mixed approval and resentment fluttered across the table. Marqan's fist slammed the table.

"Why Borgal?" he snarled. "How was this decision made?"

"He understands the Demons better than any of us," said Rakimar, "And he will make a wise and fair Leader."

Marqan scoffed. "With all due respect, Rakimar, we don't need 'wise and fair' right now. We need someone strong—not this half-broken man."

I fisted my hands as my anger flashed hot. "He's not half-broken. If anything, what he has been through proves his strength."

Marqan's nostrils flared, and his voice dropped dangerously quiet. "I would face a hundred years of torture to bring my daughter back."

The room dissolved into a flurry of protests and arguments over who had lost most. Rakimar raised her hand, and the voices reluctantly silenced.

"This is not a contest," said Rakimar. "We don't need more discord among Guardians. What we need is a way forward." She shifted to face me. "Remgar, have you learned anything else from our prisoner?"

"Yes. The prisoner said the people of Anyalasa should have gone underground when the Morgabeast attacked. He seemed to imply the Morgabeast can't go underground or doesn't like to."

Marqan pressed his shoulder blades into his chair and folded his arms over his chest. "He 'seemed to imply?' What the fuck does that mean, Remgar? Did you torture him for more information? Did you even ask him for more?"

Guilt pinched my gut as I remembered my response. Instead of probing him further, I had removed his mug of zaikut.

But I also remembered how defeated Isalio had looked.

'I don't want to die underground.'

All eyes pinned to me, silence hanging thick. Mercifully, Rakimar cut through the silence. "This is good information. We will send Guardians out to warn the villages of this." Her eyes flitted toward Borgal's for a bare second before returning to mine. "Remgar, you can warn your father and the rest of Pataklasa."

Fear tightened my chest. Were they sending me away so they could torture or kill Isalio? I side-glanced Borgal, but he refused to meet my gaze. In a carefully measured tone, I said, "What is this? Why are you sending me away?"

"You know your father doesn't listen to anyone else," said Rakimar.

I shook my head. "He doesn't listen to me, either. What is this really about?"

"Remgar...you've done well with the prisoner. We just feel it would be good for you to see your father again. Spend a day with him, and then you can return and pick up where you left off."

My tongue pushed against the back of my teeth, struggling with how to ask what I wanted to know without worrying them further. Do you promise not to hurt him?

Borgal patted my shoulder. "It's not just you. We want anyone with family remaining to go see them now." He nodded at Fraschkit. "Fraschkit will go see her mother and sister and warn Torglasa, too."

Fraschkit's lips parted loudly in protest. "I can't leave now! Not when Rakimar just told us she's..." She shot a shy glance at Rakimar and then dipped her head.

Rakimar sighed. "Borgal and I agree it's a good idea for the few of you with family to go see them. It may be some time before you are able to see them again. You and Remgar can travel together and stop in Anyalasa on the way to your respective villages."

Fraschkit's eyes filled with tears. "Can't someone else warn our families? I'm needed here. You...you need..."

"No, Fraschkit." Her voice was firm but gentle. "You and Remgar will go. That's an order."

Fraschkit drew one more long breath. Then she jerked to her feet and strode out of the room. I ducked my head and followed her out.