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Yes, he does. As little as I want to talk to anyone right now, if I can get the answers I seek about my mother, maybe this victory will feel less hollow. “When?”

“As soon as you’d like.”

What I’d like is to have answers immediately, but even in the midst of everything, I can recognize how close to fracturing I am. “Tomorrow.”

He nods. “Very well. I’ll come to you at twelve strikes.”

I move away without another word. There’s nothing I want to say to anyone here, nothing that won’t go against Vesper’s caution to be careful of exposing weaknesses.

Stepping into the Moon’s temple doesn’t bring any relief. The stillness is oppressive, the gently glowing room grotesque. The altar in the center of the room holds my sickles; they’re here once again after I left them elsewhere. I touch the hilts and then bypass them entirely, taking the stairs down to the residential level.

Priestess waits for me there, her smile trembling and pale eyes shining. “You did it.”

Did I? Because it feels like the game was rigged in my favor. Death interfered time and time again to ensure I survived the Trials. Why would he do that? Surely it’s not misplaced guilt over killing my mother? Such an emotion doesn’t seem like something he’s capable of. “Is Death a friend to the Moon?”

Immediately, her expression shutters. “He executed the previous Moon.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Isn’t it?” She tilts her head to the side. “Very well. I won’t pretend to know Death’s mind any more than the rest of the living do. His choices are his own. If you want an answer, you’ll have to ask him.”

“Believe me, I plan to.” I step around her and walk to the bathroom. “I want to be alone.”

When I glance back, she’s gone as if she never existed. It sends a shiver down my spine. For such an old woman, she sure is spry. It’s almost enough to distract me from the oppressive weight threatening to crumple me to the ground.

I step into the bathroom and shut the door so I can lean against it. Alone. I’m finally alone. Except it doesn’t feel like enough. Not until I turn the handles to send water cascading from the faucet into the tub. I pull off my boots, but that’s all I’m capable of right now. I half fall into the tub as it fills. With my thighs to my chest, held as tightly as I can, I bury my face in my knees and let out the sob that’s been building since Nero fell and I realized he would never again draw breath. The sound rakes claws along my throat as it emerges, so violent and furious and filled with sorrow that it’s more animal than human.

“I’m sorry, Nero. I’m so sorry.” If I hadn’t overstepped … If I’d listened when he told me we should wait the night out in the bathhouse … If I hadn’t run after him and tried to keep him and Cato apart … The Star dealt the killing blow, but she wouldn’t have had the opportunity if he wasn’t so focused on me. He never dropped his guard during the previous nights, all the other battles.

And Mara. She was only in that arena, was only targeted by the Wands, because of her connection to me. She was only vulnerable because I asked her to look out for my family while I was gone. Another person I care about, cut down because I joined the Trials.

I can scream that it’s the Minor Court’s fault, that they set up the Trials and they’re the ones to blame, but my actions brought us here. I might not have struck the killing blow with either Nero or Mara, but I hold some of the responsibility all the same.

Another sob rips itself from me, and then another. I muffle the sounds as best I can, but there’s no telling if Priestess is close enough to hear me. My only consolation is that she’s proven she can keep her own counsel.

My sorrow empties out before the hot water cools. I blink wet lashes, tasting salt, and numbly unplug the tub. It takes longer to strip out of my wet pants and shirt because the material is unforgiving when saturated.

I find a robe hanging on the wall and shrug it on. The hallway is empty as I cross to my bedroom and collapse face down on the mattress. I don’t expect to sleep, but darkness pulls me under all the same.

Somehow, I’m not surprised to open my eyes and find myself no longer in my bedroom, but in the strange place in between. It’s both like the shadow realm and not. I can see, for one thing. For the other, I’m not alone.

The Moon looks different from when I saw Them after I passed out from using too much magic. Their skin is brighter, shining cool light from within. Their eyes are now the darkest blue, Their hair coiled and moving about Their head in a breeze I can’t feel. They smile. Well done, Daughter.

“I didn’t think it would be like this.” I press my hand to my chest. “It hurts.”

Survival often does.

I look around again, mostly to buy myself time. My brain still feels fuzzy from crying so hard for so long. The Moon had no answers about my mother, but maybe they do have some answers. If I know the correct questions to ask. “Is Death an ally?”

The Moon titters out a laugh. Death is my sibling. Sometimes we are allies, sometimes enemies, sometimes something infinitely more complicated.

Unfortunately, that’s not helpful in the least. “Is Death’s champion an ally?”

They consider for several beats. He would like to be. His success in that goal remains to be seen.

An answer and not, all at the same time. I’m starting to sense a trend when it comes to the Moon. “Are you my ally?”

Only as much as I was during the Trials. They shrug. My powers have been greatly diminished by the efforts of the Minor Court. I can only help you in indirect ways, but I shall do my best for my daughter.