“Fine.” I wiggle the fingers on my right hand. They’re still swollen, but at least I can bend them somewhat now.

“You’re supposed to swallow that before you do anything.” Heidi gestures toward the table between our beds.

I turn and find a small cup half-full of a pale-yellow liquid. It smells atrocious.

“What is it?”

“More medicine to fight the infection.” Heidi straightens her injured leg slowly.

Another thing I can’t afford to refuse. I hold my breath, toss the nasty medicine down the back of my throat, and head for the door.

“Don’t go far. Just to the bathroom and back.” Her voice is thick with warning.

“Where am I going to go? Overboard?” I yank open the door and step outside.

I’ve slept nearly the entire day away. Dusk hangs in the air, a mantle of purple slowly smothering the western sky.

I glance around the deck, hoping to catch sight of Quinn even though I know he’d be a fool to be out of hiding while there’s still daylight left. I don’t see him, but the knowledge that he’s on the boat warms me.

The air carries the soft, musty scent of wet bark mixed with the sharp tang of the bright-green algae that blooms in the water. Ahead of us, the river spills into a huge lake. At the far end of the lake is the dam with its system of locks that keeps the enormous amount of water in the river from flooding the city-state of Rowansmark.

Heidi was right. If we’re already nearing the first gate, it won’t be long before we make port. I need to hurry.

Voices murmur above me, and a tracker with thick arms and unsympathetic eyes stands near the hall that bisects the lower deck. He looks at me, gestures toward the hall, and then watches carefully while I obey his silent instructions. I’m guessing this is Masterson.

I hurry past Masterson and find the bathroom. It’s a small, windowless box of a room. Closing and locking the door behind me, I stare at myself in the mirror bolted to the wall above a small, pump-operated sink. I barely recognize the wild-haired, hollow-faced girl looking back at me.

Gone is the pride, the complete confidence that I could take on the entire world with nothing but determination and the things I learned from my father. In its place are shadows of grief and guilt and a weary understanding that there are few easy answers, and even fewer easy roads to walk. The confidence I have now has little to do with my ability to win a fight, and everything to do with the knowledge that my choices have consequences, and that if I’m not prepared to face the consequence, then I have to make a different choice.

I pump some water into the sink and grimace at the floating bits of silt and algae that flood out of the pipe. This water must be pumped straight from the river. Pressing my lips closed to avoid getting any in my mouth, I grab the bar of soap sitting on the side of the sink and use my left hand to scrub clean as much of my skin as I can reach without stripping out of my clothes.

Then I finger-comb my hair and tame it into a long braid like the one Willow wears. I don’t have anything to tie off the end, so I rip off a bit of the bandage on my right arm and use that.

The girl staring back at me looks more presentable now, though the hollows in her cheeks can’t be fixed so easily. Nor can the hollowness in her eyes. I decide I don’t want it fixed. I don’t want to go back to the girl who glibly thought she could make life bend to her will if only she pushed hard enough. I don’t want to pretend that everything is black and white, that people are either all good or all bad, and that I’m the one best qualified to tell the difference.

I want to remember the things I’ve learned. Remember that killing Melkin taught me that life is precious, and that the taking of a life is an almost unspeakable burden, even when the person seems to deserve it. Remember that Sylph showed me that prowess in battle takes skill, but choosing to love others in the midst of your own pain takes true strength. Remember the sight of Thom, quietly becoming a hero—not because he wanted to, but because the right thing was in front of him, and he chose to do it.

I need to hold on to Quinn’s advice to face the things that hurt me so that I can keep chipping away at the silence within until it finally disappears. I refuse to lose myself again. I’m not going to dishonor those who love me by running away from the things that haunt me. I’m not going to dishonor myself.

The lessons I’ve learned have left permanent scars on my spirit, but the scars are proof that I’m not broken. I’m healing. And I’m not done with the hard things. Ian has to be stopped. Rowansmark’s tech has to be destroyed. The Commander must die.

I’ll do my part. When the right thing is in front of me, I’ll choose to do it. And I won’t lose myself, because I finally understand the difference between seeking revenge and seeking justice.

I push away from the mirror just as someone raps a fist against the door.

“Rachel?” Ian asks. “You aren’t hatching any little plots in there, are you?”

“Plots like maybe slitting the throats of some children and poisoning a bunch of innocent people, then having the gall to call it just?”

His fist slams against the door, shaking it against its frame. “Masterson is a friend of mine. And Samuel is on the upper deck, supervising the ship’s passage through the gates.” His voice is low. “He won’t be able to rush to your rescue before I do some damage.”

“Haven’t you done enough?” I ask.

“Not even close.” He sounds cold. Empty. Like the emotion that propelled him to attack Samuel has been snuffed out.