“Forge a truce.” He handed the reins up to her, his fingers brushing hers. Blaise’s eyes were dark and intent. Her chestnut mare snuffled his hair, and he stroked its neck absently, still watching her. “He’s big enough for it, Lilias, despite their fears. I ought to know.”

Lilias shook her head, unsettled in the pit of her stomach. What did it matter that Aracus Altorus had forgiven Blaise Caveros his immortal ancestor’s betrayal? Calandor, her beloved Calandor, was no less dead for it. On the ground, Phraotes coiled tight around a knot of pain and waited. Only the wrinkled, foam-flecked lips of his muzzle gave evidence to his slow death throes. He met her gaze with a glint of irony in his amber eye. He was the only creature here she understood. “It’s easy to be magnanimous in victory, Borderguardsman,” she said.

“No.” Sighing, Blaise straightened. “No, it’s not. That’s the thing.”

In time, the arguments fell silent and Aracus returned, retracing his path with heavy steps. The Rivenlost were amassed behind him, a quiet, glittering threat. A concord had been reached. Aracus Altorus stood above the dying Were, gazing downward, his face in shadow. His voice, when he spoke, sounded weary. “Will you hear my terms, Oronin’s Child? They are twofold.”

Phraotes’ sharp muzzle dipped and lifted. “Speak.”

“One.” Aracus raised a finger. “You will foreswear violence against all the Shapers’ Children, in thought and deed, in property and in person. Only such simple prey as you find in the forest shall be yours. You shall not conspire upon the soil of Urulat in any manner. You will disdain Satoris the Sunderer and all his workings.”

The Were ambassador exhaled, crimson blood bubbling through his nostrils. It might have been a bitter laugh; the arrow in his breast jerked at the movement. “The Grey Dam Vashuka accedes. So it shall be. Do you swear us peace, we will retreat unto the deepest forests to trouble the Lesser Shapers no more, and be forgotten.”

“Two.” Aracus raised a second finger. “You will abjure the Sunderer’s Gift.”

Behind him, Lorenlasse of the Valmaré smiled.

So, Lilias thought; it comes to this. That offering, which Haomane disdained for his Children, he cannot bear another’s to possess. The Shapers’ War continues unending, and we are but pawns within it. Silent atop her mount, she thought of the things Calandor had shown her in his cavern atop Beshtanag Mountain, the things that filled her heart with fear. One day, he had said, when his own are gone, Haomane will adopt Arahila’s Children as his own. Until then, he will eliminate all others.