“Then it is fitting.” Cerelinde smiled back at him. “I would fain wed in a place of such beauty.”

“Duke Bornin of Seahold has pledged a company,” he said. “It will be witnessed by Men and Ellylon, that all may know what we do.”

A shadow passed over the greensward. Aracus shaded his eyes with one hand, gazing at the sky. It was limpid and blue, empty. Amid the oaks, a raven’s hoarse call sounded once, then was silent.

“This is not without risk,” Cerelinde said quietly.

“No.” He glanced at her. “But it must be witnessed, Cerelinde. It must be done openly. Haomane’s Prophecy will never be fulfilled unless we fire the hearts and minds of Men. Is Lord Ingolin willing to admit hundreds upon hundreds of us to Meronil?”

She shook her head. “You know he is not. Our magic has grown weak in this Sundered World. The wards would not hold. We must be able to defend our last stronghold.”

“Here, then.” His smile returned. “We will put our faith in mortal steel.”

Cerelinde inclined her head, turning in the saddle to address Aracus’ companion. “I do not doubt my lord Blaise is capable,” she said.

The two Men exchanged an uneasy glance.

Cerelinde raised her brows. “Will you not be in attendance?”

Blaise Caveros bowed briefly in the saddle. “Lady, forgive me, but I will not.”

She studied his face. He returned her regard steadily, his dark gaze haunted by the shadow of his lineage. Once upon a time, his distant kinsman Tanaros Caveros had served as second-in-command to a scion of the House of Altorus; served and betrayed, becoming one of the Three. The enormity of his betrayal had tainted the name of all who bore it, and all their descendants thereafter. Aracus had been the first in a thousand years to set aside the ancient mistrust the Caveros name engendered, and Blaise was willing to spend his lifetime in atonement for his ancestor’s sin. His loyalty was fierce, defiant and beyond question, and Aracus would never spare him unless grave doings were afoot.

“What,” she asked, “is Malthus plotting?”

“Cerelinde.” Aracus leaned over to touch her arm. “Nothing is certain and much is yet unknown. I pray you, ask me no questions I cannot answer. Malthus has bidden me keep his counsel, at least until we are wed.”

“Even from me?” Anger stirred in her. “Am I not the Lady of the Ellylon? Does the Wise Counselor find even me unworthy of his trust?”

“No.” It was Blaise who answered, shaking his head. “Lady, I know not where I am bound, nor does Aracus. It is Malthus who asks that we trust him.”

“Malthus.” Cerelinde sighed. “Haomane’s Weapon keeps his counsel close; too close, perhaps. Haomane’s Children do not like being kept in ignorance.”