Defeat Morganya.
Establish equality.
Reform her legacy.
She felt detached from the thought of her own ending. It was a concept she’d seen foreshadowed since the very start, since she’d watched her entire family pass through death’s maws. Mama, Papa, Luka, and now her. Perhaps, she found herself thinking, this was the Deities’ will. With each regime, it was the blood of the rulers that had paved the way for a new dynasty.
It was clear, then, what she would have to do. Before her death, she needed to transition the government of Cyrilia.
Her dynasty had fallen. She was the last heir of the Mikhailov regime. The era of Cyrilian monarchy had come to its end.
The future lies here, with us. In the hands of the people.
That night, Ana was sleepless as she lay on her bed, gazingup into the sky through her window at the stars above, as she had her entire life. She wondered how the history books would write her tale, what kinds of stories the people would spin of her…and what kind of a legacy she would leave in this world, long after she was gone.
Ana was grateful for the hot koffee that the young Bregonian soldier and restaurant owner, Parren, brought her the next morning. She sipped it as she made her morning rounds, thanking the soldiers for their hard work. But there was a specific dacha she was headed to.
Daya had set up Yuri and the one remaining Redcloak not far from where Ana’s dacha was. Bregonian soldiers stood sentry outside; they saluted her as she approached, and she inclined her head.
The dacha was a single room, with two makeshift beds. The snow Affinite, Yesenya, was curled up on one bed against the wall; she looked up as Ana entered. They’d met, once, a moon ago, back at the Redcloak base in Goldwater Port. She looked to be Southern Cyrilian, her tan skin and brown hair holding echoes of Ana’s own. She watched Ana with large golden eyes, silent.
Ana moved toward the occupied bed. As she approached, she could make out Yuri’s bright red hair, singed so that it now only reached his ears. His pale skin still showed signs of the burns he’d sustained from the Kateryanna Bridge, but it seemed thehealers had worked hard. The marks were faintly red, glistening with salve.
He stirred, opening two puffy eyes to look at her. There was no emotion in them, only dull recognition. “Have you come to kill me?” His voice was a rasp.
The question was jarring. “What are you talking about?” she asked. There was a strange expression on Yuri’s face, almost like guilt.
He blinked, and it vanished; his face cleared. “I—nothing,” he mumbled. “Bad dream.” Slowly, he shifted himself into a sitting position on his pallet, wincing in pain as he moved.
Ana drew up a chair. Sat. There was something off about him and the way he shuttered his gaze. Their partnership had never been easy, but she’d thought their battle against Sorsha and Morganya would have brought them closer together.
Or, Ana thought suddenly, taking in the movement of Bregonian patrols through the frosted-glass windows, it would have confirmed Yuri’s fears. That she’d raised her own army away from him; that she’d been holding on to her own plans all along, secretly communicating with her own forces behind his back—just as Seyin had accused her.
And now, she realized with a pang, Yuri knew that Seyin had spoken true.
She wrestled her emotions into place, steadying her voice. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
He massaged his abdomen. “Alive,” he said, a wry smile twisting his cracked lips. She poured him a cup of water from the pitcher on the table next to her. He hesitated only slightly before taking a long gulp.
She returned his smile, but it felt forced. “The Bregonianhealers are something,” she said. “They’ve trained their Affinites efficiently, and their military is stronger for that.”
A shadow swept across Yuri’s face, and for a moment, Ana saw a flash of cold fury in his eyes. “I should have believed Seyin,” he said, dropping any semblance of friendliness as bitterness clouded his tone. “You lied to me. You went behind my back. And now you’re holding me hostage.”
“Wouldn’t you have done the same?” Ana asked. “If you were in my place, Yuri, and the leaders of the rebel group you’re trying to work with refuse to believe your intentions—wouldn’t you look after yourself as well?”
“You’re damn right I would,” he snapped.
She wanted to shake him, to tell him to forget Seyin’s voice in his ear; to stop blaming her for the Imperial Inquisition raid in Goldwater Port—the one that had killed his mother. That he’d never truly listened to her all along and—for what? Because she was the heir to the Cyrilian throne? Because she’d been born into the bloodline of a system that he despised?
But Ana only drew a deep breath and said evenly, “I want to work with you, Yuri.”
“And I told you,” he replied just as evenly, “we are not allies. We might have worked to take back the siphons from Morganya, but anything more than that, we won’t accept any alliance without—”
“I want to work with you to reform our government,” Ana interrupted. “I want to step back and transition to a government run by the people, and for the people.”
Yuri blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it, then sat back and stared at her. “What?” he blurted.
The reaction was so pure, so reminiscent of the stubborn,quick-tempered, and straightforward Yuri she’d known in her childhood that she felt the atmosphere instantly loosen. Ana let out a sharp breath, holding back the ridiculous urge to laugh. “You were right all along.” The confession came easier now. “I’ve always thought you doubted my ability to rule, Yuri, but now I know that is not so. Perhaps I would be a benevolent ruler—and perhaps not—but I see that we cannot trust in the monarch to be just, to be good, and to do right by the people.” She inhaled deeply. “We must break this system to make a new one.”
