He draws his sword.

Logan does, too.

I pull my knife from its sheath and say, “You aren’t strong enough to take me. I choose not to bend to your will. I choose not to break.”

“I know how to break girls like you.” He flings the words at me.

“And I know how to stop tyrants like you.”

His smile is cruel. “Not if I stop you first.”

He lunges for me, his sword arcing toward my neck with terrible swiftness.

I whip my arm up to block him just as Logan does the same. We stand, hip to hip, our arms crossed at the wrists as we keep the Commander’s weapon arm in the air.

He glares, his scar twitching. I hold his gaze as Willow’s arrow streaks past me to bury its tip between the Commander’s eyes.

He stiffens, his spine arcing. Slowly, he falls to his knees, his sword spinning away from him, and then he tumbles forward to lie unmoving at my feet.

Several Baalboden guards step toward us, their weapons raised, but a harsh order from a ranking officer in a Hodenswald uniform stops them. We turn our backs on what’s left of the Commander and walk away.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

LOGAN

We buried Smithson beneath an oak tree at the eastern edge of the Wasteland. Nola put flowers on his grave, and I found words that I hoped would honor the kind of person he was. The kind of friend he was.

Connor and Jodi left their lookout post in the Wasteland and joined us, and then I sent them with Frankie, Nola, Adam, Willow, and Quinn back to Lankenshire with the armada, promising to join them in a month or two. I sent Marcus with them as well, because he was in no condition to live on his own, and because I can’t turn my back on my father.

Oliver would’ve liked him.

The armada left on a brilliant summer morning, taking the surviving soldiers from the northern city-states with it. A few of the ranking officers have stayed behind to help Rowansmark rebuild and to help them choose a new leader. I spend four days working with them to get a plan in place, and then, satisfied that the worst case scenarios have been addressed, I leave them to the details.

I don’t want to make any more decisions. I don’t want to make any more plans.

I want quiet. The space to think and invent.

And I want Rachel.

Three hours after sunrise on the sixth day after the battle at Rowansmark, I hoist my travel pack over my shoulder and take Rachel’s hand as we walk out of the gate and into the Wasteland.

My heart feels like it could float out of my chest. I’m going to do the one thing I haven’t been able to do since all of this started: I’m going to spend time alone with Rachel.

Without looking over our shoulders. Without running for our lives. Without grieving over our latest loss.

Time spent talking. Kissing. Just breathing and belonging to the girl with the fiery hair, the fierce heart, and the smile that makes every logical thought fly out of my head.

The sky becomes a patchwork of blue and gold glimpsed between branches loosely intertwined above us as we leave Rowansmark behind.

“This is new,” Rachel says, her smile suddenly shy as she looks at me. “No one chasing us. Nothing we have to do because if we fail, everything will be ruined. It’s strange not having an agenda.”

“Who says we don’t have an agenda?” I wink at her.

She laughs. “Let me guess. You have a list of worst case scenarios we need to go over.”

I spin her toward me and wrap my arms around her, pulling her close. “I look at you, and I see nothing but best case scenarios.”

She smiles, and I feel like a prince.

“How about this?” Her voice is sly. “Worst Case Scenario: Logan doesn’t kiss me right this second. Any idea how to solve that one?”

“I think I can handle that.” I lean toward her, but she’s still talking.

“Another Worst Case Scenario: Logan stops kissing me before the sun goes down. Now that would be a serious problem, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely.” I tangle my fingers in her hair and tilt her head back.

Her breath catches, a tiny gasp that makes me desperate for her. “Or maybe—”

“Are you—”

“—you could—”

“—going to keep talking—”

“—just kiss me already.”

“Yes.” I crush her to me and kiss her like I never need to come up for air. Like everything I ever need is right here in my arms.

She pulls back. “I love you, Logan.”

“I love you, too. Always.”

And then I kiss her until the sun goes down and the stars prick the sky and all I can hear is the way her heart pounds against mine. Until her breath and mine are tangled up and I can’t tell where one of us begins and the other one ends. Until all I feel is the way we love each other.

This is all I want—all I’ll ever want—Rachel, and starlight, and peace.

EPILOGUE

RACHEL

I can measure my life in befores and afters.

Before I saw Oliver die or realized that I loved Logan. Before I killed Melkin and became focused on revenge. Before I chose silence inside me instead of feeling the grief that consumed me after I lost my dad.

That girl—a girl without scars, without doubts, and without the ability to see that life isn’t always black and white—is barely recognizable to me now.

Now, seven months after the battle at Rowansmark, I live in the afters. After the loss and the betrayal. After the fight to right the wrongs and save those who needed saving. After I let myself feel the grief and the healing.