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I don’t bother watching their retreat. Instead I swoop down to camp. Malaki still lays where I left him, his one good eye closed, his pulse weak. Hauling him into my arms, I sprint to what’s left of the healer’s tent.

Already there are injured soldiers lining most of the pallets and only a few healers who’ve trickled in from battle to help the wounded, but the place is not yet swarming with the injured like it will be in another hour. Shortly after I lay Malaki out, a healer comes over to us and begins working on him.

“Will he live?” I ask ten minutes in. Malaki hasn’t so much as twitched since we arrived.

The healer nods, not looking up from his work. “Aye, he’ll live. The wound looks bad, but the cut is actually quite clean. He’ll lose the eye, and he’ll carry a scar for the rest of his life, but his mind is intact.”

I sag both in relief and defeat. He’s going to be scarred and sightless in one eye. Fairies love beauty; having this kind of deformity means that Malaki, who loves women as much as I do, will be seen as undesirable.

“You should go. He needs time to rest.” The healer says it nicely enough, but it’s less a suggestion and more an order. Injured soldiers are piling up, and the last thing anyone needs are hovering comrades.

Reluctantly, I stand, and it feels like I’m lifting the world up as I do so. Everything is so heavy—my muscles, my bones, my heart, my mind.

“You’ll tell me if he gets worse?” I ask.

“Of course,” the healer says. It’s a lie and we both know it. There are too many patients here to keep track of one man.

“Come back in the morning,” he adds. “He’ll be better then.”

I take a shaky breath and head out of the tent.

“Nova!”

Distracted as I am, I almost don’t react to my fake surname.

I glance up at one of the Night generals. She’s across the way, but quickly striding over to me.

I stand at attention and touch my fingers to my forehead out of respect.

The fairy waves the action away. “I saw what you did out there,” she says.

For a second I think she’s talking about my momentary lapse of power, when my darkness had seeped out of me, and I tense. If the right person noticed—say, this shrewd general—they’d know that only a Night fae from the royal bloodline could have such extensive magic.

“I saw the tail end of your duel with the Day soldier,” she says, and I relax a little. “You know that wasn’t just any Day fae; that was Julios Soleil, one of the king’s sons.”

I raise my eyebrows. My assumption had been correct.

“You are the reason they retreated.” She gives me a meaningful look. “I’ll make sure the king hears of your valor; your sacrifice will not go unrewarded.”

I stare at the general, my heartbeat growing louder and louder with each passing second until it is a drumbeat between my ears.

She means to tell the king. Striking down one of the enemy’s sons is big. The kind of big that gets you medaled. The kind of big that allows you to meet the king.

I can feel the wheels of fate turning; after all this time, I’ll finally get that meeting with my father. The victory feels hollow. Had I not been so set on revenge, Malaki and I would not be here, and he would’ve never gotten hurt.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice hoarse.

The general nods at me, then takes her leave, heading into the medic tent.

My heart’s heavy as I make my way back to my own tent. I pass the dining hall, somewhat surprised to see it intact. I pause, then stride inside, making a beeline for the barrel of spirits.

Five steps in, I stop in my tracks. Several bodies lay scattered on the floor, one is a Day soldier, and three others are Night fae. But it’s not the sight of them that closes up my throat.

Lying only a few paces away from me is the gutted body of the human woman I shared a drink with. Her sharp eyes now stare sightlessly at the ceiling, and her mouth hangs loosely open.

I stagger over to a nearby table and fall into one of the chairs, my eyes locked on her.

I don’t know why it’s her death that breaks me.