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Hope filled her as everyone left their segregated groups and reached out to someone new. People were laughing together, talking quietly over some project, a few even hugging.

Pyetar tugged lightly on her hand. She turned to find the real Pyetar, the one he usually only showed her. His blue eyes were dark under the moonlight. He was smiling at her.

“Let me look at your head.”

Pyetar pulled her to an open area, not yet filled because of its proximity to the ledge, and carried his pack. Iryana sat down on a higher rock, Pyetar dropping at her side.

She was still looking out at everyone in shock. Had she really done that? It didn’t feel real.

Yes, she felt like an impostor. Like being heir was just an act she pretended at, bottling everything else up inside. But… this was the first moment where she actually believed that one day she might be enough. That she’d figure this out. That she could do this.

“Are you sure about this?” Pyetar asked gently, holding up their still-clasped hands. “That was quite a public announcement.”

Ripping her gaze from the others, Iryana focused on Pyetar. It looked like he was bracing himself for more rejection.

She might not be sure of herself, but she was sure of him.

“I just told everyone that it doesn’t matter if we’re guardians or soldiers,” she said softly. “And if that’s the case, what’s holding us back? You’re just a man. And I’m just a woman.”

His eyes widened with hope. “So, you mean…”

“Can I fight for you, Pyetar Horvol?”

A relieved grin curved his lips and he dropped his head.

“Only if I can fight for you too.”

“I suppose I can allow it.” She felt herself smiling too. “I can’t promise it’ll be easy.”

“I don’t need easy.” His gaze was molten. “I just need you.”

They just stared at each other, longing in their eyes. She’d missed him.

Pyetar had to drag his eyes down to the medical supplies, but they kept drifting back to her—back to her mouth—frequently, while he cleaned up the wound on her head and bandaged it.

“That was incredible, by the way,” he said once he was done.

Iryana chewed on her lower lip. “I don’t know what came over me, I was just so angry and I just… didn’t think about what I was saying. It feels strange, like it wasn’t even me.”

Pyetar looked at her intensely. “It was you.” He pulled Iryana’s hands into his, rubbing his thumb over her gloves. “Have I told you—”

“Granddaughter.”

Iryana looked up, tensing as Vesima stood weakly before them. Pyetar leaned back, releasing her hands. She swallowed.

Her grandmother turned to Pyetar, looking at him carefully.

“Aren’t you going to help me sit?” she demanded of Pyetar, who jumped into action and helped the old woman to the spot beside Iryana. When Pyetar moved to leave, Vesima just pointed at the ground and waited for him to join them.

“I’m not going to apologize,” Iryana rushed out, rambling. “You’ve been trying to tell me to stop worrying about being everyone’s friend and making everyone happy. Well, maybe that includes you sometimes. I’m sure you’re not—”

“I’ve focused so hard on keeping the Kleesolds together, on ensuring we survive. But our clan needs more than that.” Her voice was so thin and brittle. “I’ve neglected so much, failed our clan in so many ways.”

Iryana shook her head desperately. “You’ve had to sacrifice too much, but you have kept us together. You’ve made hard, impossible choices that I couldn’t imagine, that I hope I never have to make. You became steel to help us survive.”

Vesima let out a long, weary breath. “I’ve outlived my younger sister, my husband, and two sons. I have forgotten what hope and joy feel like, forgotten the importance of such things. We need to get back to living again, to doing more than surviving. That’s what you need to bring the clan.”

Iryana swallowed thickly, glancing at a wide-eyed Pyetar for a moment.