Stepping toward me, he says, “I prayed every day for your safe return.”
Guilt sinks sharp claws into all my softest places, and it turns out there are plenty. I ran away. I left Fisa. I let him down, failed him for years—this person, and so many others.
The abysmal bouquet of small meadow flowers stays outstretched between us. His hand still quakes. His voice strengthens, though. “Your sister was kind and generous, but I always knew it would be you.”
What? The blood washes from my head so fast I feel queasy. Is he another oracular soul? Someone who knew my fate before I did?
No. He’s Hoi Polloi. Otherwise, I’d feel his magic.
Something about the way he’s holding out the flowers and willing me to take them plucks at a memory. It only takes a second for it to punch me in the heart, and a long-ago day of hard-won freedom comes rushing back.
“You’re the shepherd boy.” The realization flies from me, taking my breath along with it.
He nods, his whole face lighting up. It’s a handsome, strong face, with dark-brown eyes and a square jaw that seems even firmer and more angular without any of the usual longish, masculine hair to obscure it. He stands taller. Prouder. He’s thrilled I remember him.
And why wouldn’t he be? I am his Lost Princess. I am his Queen.
“We met on the hillside,” he says. “My father was there.”
I nod. I remember that day perfectly. I’ve dreamed about it multiple times. Eleni and I ran into him and his sheep. Literally. We barreled over a rise without knowing, or caring, what was on the other side, and we knocked over half the flock as well as the boy tending to the beasts. Fisan royals never showed mercy, and his father was terrified we’d kill them both on the spot just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. My magic didn’t work like that, although I could have done it in myriad other ways, even as a child, but Eleni could have easily ended them both with the simple conjuring of a flaming bird.
The thought never occurred to either of us. I gave the boy the flowers I’d picked earlier that day. They were already crushed and half wilted, but he’d looked so frightened, and I didn’t want him to be scared. Eleni took her hair down and gave his father a jeweled clip that probably fed their village for years.
My heart races like water in a rushing stream—bubbling, tumbling, slightly out of control. “How did you know?” I ask, my voice surprisingly soft considering the torrent of emotion inside me. “How did you know it would be me?”
“Gamma Fisa had rounded edges,” he answers, this shepherd turned soldier.
Gamma? That’s right. We were still young. Eleni was Gamma Fisa, and I was Delta, fourth in line for the throne.
“You were as sharp as a blade.” There’s pride in his voice, like that was exactly the right thing for me to be—a weapon.
“That should have scared you.” I was scary. Wild. Unpredictable. Often, I still am.
“It did. You were this force of nature. Packed with power. But then you held out these flowers, and you glared at me until I took them.”
“Glaring isn’t usually reassuring,” I point out wryly.
He shakes his head. “You wanted me to feel better. To not be scared anymore. But you did it so fiercely, like you were ready to fight about it. I knew then. I knew you could protect us. I knew that you would.”
My heart swells to painful proportions in my chest. “The sword and the shield,” I murmur, reminded of something Griffin once said to me. Am I the blade and the shelter? Maybe Griffin is, too.
The man nods. I don’t know his name. I never did. He sinks to his knees again, still holding out the dry and brittle flowers.
I sink down with him. “Keep them.” I gently push his hand back toward his chest, careful of the old blooms. “Wear them into battle.”
Tears flood his eyes. Mine flood, too. Quelling the tide is beyond me. I don’t even want to.
“My Queen,” he whispers after a hard swallow.
“My Fisan commander,” I whisper back.
A heartbeat passes, and then his eyes widen. They’re the deepest of browns, like good dirt to grow good things in.
“Cat…” Carver’s voice holds a hint of warning. “He doesn’t have any experience.”
“Do any of the Fisans?” I ask, blinking rapidly so that I can see the crowd, all these dusty, tired people watching us with rapt attention. They look like farmers and tradesmen, people who have never held a weapon in their lives. They left their homes and families anyway. For Thalyria, but also for me. For the Queen on her knees.
I glance up at Carver, finding his lips pressed flat as he surveys the group of Fisans with a critical eye. When he doesn’t answer, I take that as a no. Not a trained soldier among them.
“What’s your name?” I ask the new commander of my Fisan ranks—under Griffin, me, Carver, and all of Beta Team, of course.
“Lukos.”
I nod. That’s a good, strong name. “Will you follow me?”
“I will,” he answers without hesitation.
“Do you think we’ll win?” I ask.
I’m smaller than he is by a head. The Fisan shepherd looks down at me as we face each other on our knees.
“You climbed a Cyclops and killed it with Poseidon’s own trident. You can do anything.”
My breath catches, and my bones burn. He believes that. Unequivocally. Magic whips through me, and I’m reminded of all the people I read at circus fairs over the years, asking them questions and my body reacting to their answers. Feeling truths used to be so rare. Now, more and more, I feel the ones that carry the fervor of powerful belief, and Lukos’s conviction is stronger than any lie.
“Do you know what Elpis means?” I ask.
He nods again. “There’s not a person here that doesn’t know. And more will come.”
More will come. To follow me. To die for me.
Steeling myself against that thought, I ask, “Do you know what I have in my heart?”
This time, he shakes his head, because how could he possibly know, when I’m only just figuring it out myself? In less than half a year, I’ve changed completely. Maybe I’ve finally become the person I was meant to be. The person I want to be.
“I have hope.” Standing, I reach out and draw Lukos up with me, holding what I now see is a raw and sword-blistered hand in mine. “And I’ll share it with the world.”
*
Griffin quickly sets about organizing quarters for us in a more central location, so I go to Carver’s nearby tent with him to catch up and rest. There’s no question that Carver will remain in charge of the Fisans. Without a single swordsman or career soldier among them, they need the most guidance and training. Flynn and Kato will continue to supervise mixed groups of Sintans and Tarvans, which is the unity-promoting organization they’d already put into place while we were away. All three of them will again report to Griffin, who’ll oversee everyone and everything.