Cocky woke to darkness.

  Not the oppressive darkness of the tunnels, but soft. Gentle. The fairies had created a curtain of shadow around the alcove, their lights dimmed to let him rest.

  He blinked. His body ached. His throat was dry.

  How long had he—

  He could see through the fairy-curtain that the sun was high in the sky. The crowing. He'd missed it.

  Every morning since he could remember, his body forced him to crow at dawn. An instinct deeper than thought. Cockatrices set the rhythm for the world's roosters—someone had to wake the sun.

  But he'd slept through it.

  Other cockatrices would have taken up the call. The world hadn't stopped. But he...

  He'd failed even that.

  Footsteps, soft on moss. The fairy-curtain parted.

  Old Nerris sat down beside the alcove, a bowl in her weathered hands. Steam curled up, carrying the scent of earth and growing things.

  "You're awake," she said. Not a question.

  Cocky tried to sit up. His head spun. He sagged back against the cushions.

  "Easy now." Nerris said. "You've been out since yesterday afternoon."

  Yesterday. The eel report. Jorvan's ships leaving.

  The collapse.

  Shame burned through him.

  "I'm fine," he said. His voice cracked.

  "You're not." Nerris held the bowl to his beak. "But you will be. Drink this."

  "I don't—"

  "Drink."

  There was no arguing with that tone. Nerris held the bowl.

  The broth was warm. It tasted like the cavern itself—mushrooms, herbs, something green and alive.

  Healing broth.

  Cocky drank.

  Nerris watched him, her hands still holding the bowl.

  "You missed your crow this morning," she said.

  "I know."

  "First time?"

  "Yes."

  "The world kept turning."

  He looked at her. "What?"

  "The sun rose. The children woke. The fairies shifted from stars to sunshine." Nerris's eyes were kind. Old. Knowing. "The world didn't need you to crow. It kept going."

  Cocky stared into his bowl.

  "Your people are the same," she continued. "They'll keep going whether you're there or not. The question is—when you get back to them, will you be someone worth following?"

  "I don't—" His voice broke. "I don't know how to do this."

  "No one does. Not at first." Nerris reached over and gently pushed the bowl back toward his beak. "Drink more."

  He obeyed.

  "You're doing this for your people," Nerris said. "That's good. That's right. But you're trying to do it alone. And no king can be successful alone?" She shook her head. "The task is too big. Just like Bree can’t run The Turnip on her own or help the children alone. You can’t keep pushing your friends away."

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  "I'm not pushing them away," Cocky said, but even he didn't believe it.

  "You snapped at Kith for trying to help you plan. At Dain for offering hope. At Bree for telling you the truth." Nerris's voice was gentle, but firm. "You're so afraid of failing, that you won't let them stand with you."

  Cocky's beak trembled. "What if I make the wrong choice? What if I—"

  "You will."

  He looked up sharply.

  "You'll make wrong choices," Nerris said. "You already have. You'll make more. That's what being king is—making choices when there are no good options. But you don't have to make them alone."

  She gestured toward the fairy-curtain, toward the cavern beyond where his friends waited.

  "Kith obeyed your signal. Risked her life. Dain cried when he thought you were dead. Seren hasn't let go of her sword in four days because she's ready to fight for you." Nerris's voice softened. "Let them help you. That's what they're here for."

  "But I don't know what to do," Cocky whispered. "When we get to Eldmere, I don't know how to convince the people to stand behind me, let alone convincing them I'm alive. I don't know how to stop Jorvan. I don't—"

  "Then you figure it out together." Nerris took the empty bowl away. "You ask them. You listen. You trust that they want you to succeed just as much as you do."

  Cocky sat with that. The curtain faded as the fairies unlinked and returned to the children. One landed on the blanket beside him. A firefly—just an insect, tail glowing amber. The "fairies" were bugs.

  And yet they'd created a sun. Stars. Comfort for traumatized children.

  Maybe that was more magical.

  "Being king is a big responsibility," Nerris said quietly. "And if you don't learn how to carry it—how to share it—it will kill you." She stood, bowl in hand. "These challenges will keep coming. Jorvan won't be the last. So you need to find a better way."

  She moved toward the entrance, the fairy-curtain now gone, then paused.

  "Your people need a king who fights for them. Not one who fights alone."

  Cocky sat there, blinking against it.

  He could hear the children playing. Laughter. The splash of water. Dain's voice, teaching a song.

  His friends. Still here. Still waiting.

  He took a breath. It hurt less than when he woke up.

  Then he pushed himself up—slowly, carefully—and stepped out of the alcove.

  ***

  Ink was on her back in the moss, tongue lolling, while three children took turns rubbing her belly. She'd been playing games with the children since she arrived—racing around alcoves, letting the little ones "catch" her, then rolling over for victory belly rubs.

  This was, quite possibly, the best time of her life.

  Nearby, Cocky sat with Kith and Seren, watching two of the older children fold paper flowers with intense concentration. He'd emerged from the alcove two hours ago. Apologized—haltingly, awkwardly—to Kith, to Dain, to Seren. They'd accepted without fuss. No dramatics. Just: "We know. It's alright."

  Now he was here. Not pacing. Not spiraling. Just... present.

  Dain was teaching a group of children a clapping game, getting the rhythm deliberately wrong to make them laugh and correct him.

  The fairy-sun was beginning its descent. Long shadows stretched across the moss.

  The stream erupted.

  Sleech, Blink, and Grin surfaced together, water sloshing.

  Ink's head turned towards the stream, but she didn't abandon her belly-rub station.

  "Premium intelligence!" Grin's voice oozed with excitement. "Very valuable news about ships in harbor, yesss, worth knowing who arrives when—"

  "MERREN'S SSSHIP HAS DOCKED!" Blink shrieked, vibrating so hard he nearly launched out of the water.

  Silence.

  Then chaos.

  Dain shot to his feet. "WHAT?!"

  "Merren-ship in harbor!" Sleech confirmed, deliberate as always. "Black sails. The Black Ballad. Arrived one hour ago."

  "He's HERE?!" Dain's voice cracked. "Thorn the Bard is HERE?!"

  Ink rolled onto her feet and shook herself, abandoning the belly rubs. Three disappointed children watched her trot to Seren's side.

  Seren stood, hand going to Stormdrink—not in threat, just... reflex. Relief.

  Kith let out a long breath she'd been holding for days.

  Cocky felt something in his chest unclench. Finally.

  "I'll tell Mistress Bree!" Kwik zipped toward the drain that led to the kitchen, tail whipping with excitement.

  The children who'd been rubbing Ink's belly looked up at Old Nerris.

  "Is the sad king happy now?" one of them asked.

  Nerris smiled. "I think he might be."

  Dain was pacing now—not anxious like Cocky had been, but energized. "So when do we leave? Tonight? Tomorrow? Do we just—can we—"

  "That’s for our captain to decide. But probably tomorrow." Seren said, practical as ever. "Sun's already setting. Tomorrow morning, with the tide."

  "One more night," Kith said quietly.

  "One more night," Cocky agreed.

  The weight of it settled—not heavy anymore, but real. Tomorrow they'd leave this sanctuary. Tomorrow they'd face Eldmere. Tomorrow everything would change. Maybe.

  But they had a ship. They had Merren. They had a chance.

  Dain dropped back down beside Cocky. "Mate, we're actually gonna do this."

  "Yeah." Cocky looked at his friends—Kith, Dain, Seren with Ink at her side, the dog's fur still covered in moss from rolling with the children. "We are."

  Seren sat down across from him. "So. How are we going to handle the invasion, Your Majesty?"

  Cocky took a breath. For the first time in days, his mind felt clear.

  "Right," he said. "Let's work out our plan."