Not until she stood did he meet her eyes, and she knew, then, that she had seen his likeness elsewhere, in the shadow of features worn by his distant kinsman. The dark hair was the same, falling over his brow; the stern mouth, the face, austere and handsome by the standards of Men. Only the eyes were different, weary with the knowledge of centuries beyond mortal telling.

Her voice shook. “You!”

“Lady.” He bowed, correct and exacting. “I am General Tanaros of Darkhaven, and I mean you no harm.”

“Harm!” Cerelinde passed her hands over her face, another wild laugh threatening to choke her. “O blessed Haomane, Arahila the Fair, what does such a word mean to you people? I know you, Tanaros Kingslayer, Banewreaker’s Servant.”

“So you name me.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I did not choose such names, Lady. Is this how you return a greeting fairly given?”

“You cut down my guardsmen where they stood, sent one of Oronin’s Hunters against my husband-to-be, unarmed in his wedding bower. How can you say you mean me no harm?” Anger set her words ablaze. “What happens to me matters naught, Kingslayer. I am resolved to die. But do not slay my kinsmen and tell me you mean no harm! In cold blood, unprovoked—”

Tanaros interrupted her. “Why did you agree to wed him?”

Cerelinde looked away, gazing past him, through the impenetrable cavern walls.

“Why?”

She flinched at his tone; the granddaughter of Elterrion the Bold. Yet there was steel in her—courage, and heart. Oh yes, Haomane’s Children had heart. It had been Arahila’s Gift to them, the only one Haomane had permitted. “You need to ask?” Her backbone rigid, she stood straight and tall. “There is valor in him, and a noble spirit. I am a woman, Tanaros Kingslayer, Ellyl or no.” Color flushed her cheekbones. “And there is naught in him a woman would not—”

He cut her short. “You sought to fulfill the Prophecy.”

Cerelinde opened her mouth, then closed it.

Tanaros laughed, a dry sound. “You sought to fulfill the Prophecy. Make no mistake. It was an act of war.”

“I seek to preserve the lives of my people, Tanaros Blacksword.” Her grey eyes were somber. “Can you say the same?”

“Aye, I can and do. You are a pawn, Lady, in a war of Haomane First-Born’s devising.” He raked a hand through his hair; it was greasy, after days under a helm. “Who talked you into the wedding? Ingolin the Wise? Malthus the Counselor, Haomane’s Servant and Weapon?” Tanaros gave a bitter smile at her expression. “See how their wisdom availed them! Well, now I have taken you, and you are Lord Satoris’ pawn. At least he is honest about it. And as his emissary, I tell you this: He means you no harm.”