“Ahhh.” A pang ran through her. For as long as Lilias had lived—far longer than the allotment of Arahila’s Children—Sorash had been the Grey Dam. “I grieve for your loss, Phraotes,” she said in formal response, rising from her couch and extending her hand. “I give greetings to the Grey Dam Vashuka, and recognize the ancient ties of alliance. Thy enemies shall be mine, and my enemies shall be thine.”

“Sorceress.” He bowed his head, but his amber eyes glowed uneasily at her. “The Grey Dam values the friendship of Beshtanag.”

The words were a blow. “Friendship.” Lilias withdrew her outstretched hand, regarding Phraotes. “Not alliance.”

The ambassador’s keen, pointed ears tightened against his head. “War comes to Beshtanag. We do not desire war. Only to hunt, and live.”

“You helped to set these forces in motion, Phraotes”

“Yes” His muzzle dipped in a nod. “The Grey Dam Soash had cause for vengeance. Two Brethren accompanied her. All are dead. The debt is paid. The Grey Dam Vashuka does not desire war.”

“Why?” she asked him.

His lip curled. “Once was enough, Sorceress.”

Lilias paced her drawing-room, ignoring the clatter of Gergon’s wardsmen arriving in a panic, waving them back when they sought to enter the room. Phraotes watched her with wary patience. “You prevailed in that war, Phraotes.”

The Were shook his head. “We won our battle, Sorceress. We lost the war.”

It is so, Lilias.

Lilias sighed. “You should have stayed in the west,” she said to Phraotes. “The children of Men would not hunt you beneath the Sunderer’s protection. He commands a vaster territory than I do.”

His amber eyes shone. “Our home is in the east, Sorceress. We are Oronin’s Children and it is here he Shaped us.”

“Oronin should have better care for his Children,” Lilias said sharply.

“No.” Phraotes’ shoulders moved in a shrug. “He is the Glad Hunter. He Shaped us in joy. The Grey Dam Vashuka believes we were foolish to listen to Satoris Banewreaker, who spoke smooth words and roused our ire against Haomane First-Born for denying us the Gift of cleverness. Only Yrinna’s Children were wise.”

“The Dwarfs?” She laughed. “The Dwarfs are content to till the soil and tend the orchards of arrogant Vedasian nobles, ambassador, accepting humility as their lot. You call that wisdom?”

“No one slaughters their young,” said Phraotes. “There is merit in Yrinna’s Peace. So the Grey Dam Vashuka believes. I am sorry, Sorceress. You have been a good friend to the Were. In Beshtanag, we have been safe. No longer, if war comes.” He paused, then added, “We do not abandon you. The Grey Dam pledges a scouting-pack of yearling Brethren to range the western borders, reporting to you. But we will not join in battle. We are too few.”

It is their right, Lilias.