“I do not understand!” Turning her face to the night sky, Cerelinde let the rain wash away the gathering tears. “Lord-of-Thought,” she pleaded, “I pray you lend me wisdom.”

“Lady.” A bulky figure trudged across the garden toward her, its path marked by the yellow glow of a bobbing lantern. “The Mørkhar said his Lordship had left you. Come on, I’ve not got all night.” Holding the lantern aloft, Vorax sniffed. “Vulnus-blossom,” he said in disgust. “You’re better off avoiding the foul stuff. After a thousand years, I can tell you, some things are best forgotten.”

“Lord Vorax.” Cerelinde laid one hand on his arm. “What do you see?”

He turned his broad face toward her, illuminated by the lantern’s glow. It was a Man’s face, an ordinary Staccian face, plain and unhandsome. For all that, it was not a mortal face; the eyes that regarded her had watched a thousand years pass, and gazed without blinking at all the long anguish contained within the Helm of Shadows.

“You,” he said bluntly. “I see you.”

USHAHIN TURNED HIS FORKED STICK, rotating the slow-lizard’s gutted carcass.

It was an unlikely breakfast, all the more so for being prepared by virtue of a dragon’s courtesy. The lizard was roasting nicely in the outer verges of the searing flame she provided, held under careful control. Its charred hide was beginning to crackle and split, tasty white flesh bulging in the seams. Ushahin brought it in for inspection and scorched his fingers wedging loose a chunk of flaky meat. It had a sweet and mild flavor, with a smoky undertone. “Very pleasant,” he said, extending the stick. “And done, I think. Will you not share it, Mother?”

The twin-sourced jet of flame winked into nonexistence as Calanthrag the Elder closed the iron-scaled valves of her nostrils, blinking with slow amusement. “My thanksss, little ssson. As I sssaid, I have eaten.”

“Anyone I know?” He picked out another chunk of roasted lizard.

“Perhapssss.” The dragon shifted one submerged claw.

Ushahin paused in the act of raising the piece to his mouth. “Vorax’s Staccians.”

“Perhapssss.”

He chewed and swallowed the bite, conscious of the fact that he owed its delectation to her hospitality. “And yet you spared me.”

“Are you sssorry?”

“No.” He thought about it and shook his head. “Of a surety, I regret their deaths. Yet if you had not devoured them, I do not think I would be sitting here. And you would not have told me such mysteries as stagger the mind.”

The nictitating lids blinked. “Even ssso.”