The door opened for Pietre’s return, with Sarika at his heels, a pitcher of water in one hand and wine in the other. They served the refreshments with exquisite, sullen grace. Sarika knelt at her feet, grey-blue eyes pleading mutely for reassurance. Lilias caressed her cheek, finding her voice.

“Thank you, child.”

Sarika was pleased; Pietre shot a triumphant glance at the Soldier, who nodded courteously at him, studiously ignoring his bared chest, and how it gleamed by lamplight, oiled and taut below his servant’s collar. Lilias poured the wine herself, and waited until Tanaros had filled his mouth with bread and cheese.

“So,” she asked him then, “what does your Lord Satoris wish of me?”

Swallowing crumbs, he told her.

I WILL NOT BE AFRAID.

I will not be afraid.

Calandor!

And he was there, with her, as he had been for a thousand years and more, a reassuring presence coiled around the center of her being. Lilias touched the Soumanië at her brow and breathed easier, turning to face the Soldier. When had she risen to pace the room, when had her hands become fists? She did not remember.

“You will bring war to Beshtanag.”

“Aye, lady.” There was regret in his voice. “A war to prevent a war.”

Bring him to me, Lilias. I would hear his Master’s words.

“You understand,” Lilias said to him, “the decision is not mine alone to make.”

“The dragon.” There was fear in his eyes, and exultation, too.

“Yes.” Lilias nodded. “We are as one in Beshtanag.”

Tanaros rose, bowing. “It will be my honor. I bear him greetings from my Lord Satoris.”

“Come,” Lilias said.

Outside, the air was thin, gold-washed in the afternoon sun. Once again, she led him herself, through the rear entrance her wardmen guarded, out of the castle and upward, up the lonely, winding path where her own people feared to tread. The mountain of Beshtanag ran both deep and high. His breath labored in the thin air. Holding her skirts, the Sorceress cast glances behind her as she climbed.

His face was rapt, and he paused at every chance to gaze at the sun as it gilded the peaks of the trees below. Seeing her notice, he smiled with unexpected sweetness. “Forgive me, my lady. We do not see the unveiled sun in Darkhaven, save as an enemy.”

Of course.

Haomane First-Born had Shaped the sun, wrought it of the light of the Souma before the world was Sundered. Lilias knew it, as every schoolchild did. And after the world was Sundered, when Satoris fled into the depths of Urulat, Haomane sought to destroy him with it, withdrawing only when the sun scorched the earth, threatening to destroy all life upon it.

And Satoris had escaped; and in his wake, the Unknown Desert.