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"And awfully brutish." Osta scrunched her nose. "Also quite rude, if I'm being honest." But then her eyes took on a mischievous glint, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But Esprithe if he isn't the most gorgeous man I've ever seen." Her eyes lingered on Aether's distant form.

I let out an awkward laugh. "I mean, he's okay."

"Those legs, those arms..." Osta continued, shaking her head. "He's huge. I'd be destroyed."

"Please stop." I nudged her, but couldn't help laughing at her typical lack of filter. Some things never changed, even when everything else had.

"Fine. You don't have to divulge all the dirty details." Osta pouted, crossing her arms. "But one day, you're telling me exactly how all of this happened."

I turned to her then, sliding a compact mirror into her hand before I could second-guess myself. Her fingers closed around it instinctively.

"When I return to Umbrathia, this is how we can communicate," I explained quietly. "We can't use it often, only for emergencies. But if you speak into it, I can hear you, and vice versa."

"That's brilliant." Osta turned it over in her hands, examining the delicate engravings. "Are you wanting me to keep this a secret?"

"For now." I nodded, glancing toward the Soleils. "I know you trust them. I want to, but I'm not there yet."

Osta slipped the compact into her pocket without further question. A silence built between us as I busied myself securing Tryggar's saddle, though I could feel the weight of what she wanted to ask.

"So... you're a Princess, then?" she finally managed, trying and failing to sound casual.

"I'm not sure how I feel about that word yet." I winced, turning to face her. "But technically. Yes."

"Does that mean you found out about your parents?" The excitement drained from her voice, replaced by something more fragile.

A pang of guilt hit me. Osta had always been the one desperate to know more about our past, about where we came from. She'd spent years wondering, hoping, while I'd tried to forget. And now here I was with answers about my own history, but nothing to offer her about hers.

"Yes," I said quietly. "Before Riftdremar fell, the Umbra were here." I looked around, suddenly aware of the weight of this place—where both our stories began. "Negotiating an alliance against Sídhe. My father... was the son of the current Queen. He died here when the continent burned."

"I'm sorry, Fia." The sadness in her eyes was almost too much to bear.

"I didn't know him," I cut her off with a look, shaking my head. "But this," I gestured toward Tryggar, who was watching us with those ancient, knowing eyes. "This was his Vördr."

Osta nodded, taking in the giant beast again with new understanding.

"And your mother?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know anything about her."

Osta bit her lip, and I couldn't tell if the look she gave me was understanding or sadness. Maybe both. But before either of us could say more, her eyes fixed on something behind me. I turned to find Aether approaching, his expression carefully neutral.

"We should leave soon," he said.

"I'm Osta." She extended her hand, the bubbly energy Iremembered so well returning to her voice. "We were never officially acquainted."

I rolled my eyes as Aether stared at her outstretched hand for a moment too long before taking it in his, giving it an awkward shake.

"Pleasure," he managed.

"I'm sure you've heard all about me." Osta's eyes found mine, a knowing glint in them.

I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of this interaction—my best friend and the man who'd turned my world upside down, attempting small talk.

"I've heard things." The corner of his mouth twitched, that dimple threatening to appear.

"All good things," I assured Osta quickly.

She raised an eyebrow at me. "What else is there to report?"