Shadows streamed across those tiles now, and when Jeid looked above him, he saw the dragons of Requiem. Dozens glided in every color, the sun gleaming upon their scales. Many other Vir Requis, these ones in human form, now rested in wooden huts among the trees. Two hundred and seventeen souls lived in Requiem—the genesis of a nation.

Jeid thought back to the days before these columns had stood. Days of death, of fear, of hiding in caves and forests. They had been outcasts, wandering the world, hunted, alone, many unaware that others even existed. So many had died. So much blood still filled his nightmares. This, now, here . . . a hint of peace, a light at last.

Perfection, he had called it. Yet he had lied.

"I wish they were here with us," he said in a low voice. "Tanin and Issari."

Laira's face darkened. She nodded. "I fear for them every day."

Fen, the Eteerian boy who had joined them in the summer, had spoken of an Eteerian exodus, of Issari and Tanin leading the people of that fallen realm into the desert. An urchin with a frail left arm barely larger than a finger, Fin had come to join Requiem, to fly with fellow dragons . . . and to bring news.

"Issari leads Eteer now," the boy had told Jeid. "She is the great Priestess in White. The savior of a lost nation."

The boy had spoken in awe, but those words still wounded Jeid.

And what of us in Requiem? Have you forgotten us, Issari? Tanin, my son—have you too abandoned us, choosing to stay with your beloved?

"If they don't return by winter, I will fly out," Jeid said. "I will seek them across the sea and desert. I will find them."

Laira shook her head. "Even a dragon, flying fast and high, could spend years aflight and explore only a small part of the wilderness south of Eteer." She squeezed Jeid's hand. "Issari sent Fin here with a message for us—a message that she and Tanin are safe, that we're not to worry. I have to trust that message." She sighed. "And yet I miss her deeply, and I worry too, so much that it hurts."

Laira closed her eyes, and Jeid held her close for a long time, silent, as she sat in his lap. The Oak Throne's roots and branches coiled around them, the columns soared, and the dragons flew above—a new kingdom, a new home, a new peace awaiting two missing souls.

"We built this kingdom for the fallen," he finally said. "For the memory of Requiem, my daughter. For the memory of my wife and my parents. For the memory of your mother and brother. For the memory of hundreds slain for their magic. And we built Requiem for those still seeking us, those Vir Requis still lost in the world. I pray to the stars that they all come home."