“Tanaros,” she said gravely.

“Cerelinde.” He drank in the sight of her. “I didn’t know if you would come.”

“You have kept your word of honor, and I am grateful for the protection you have given me.” She studied his face. “It is to be war, then?”

“Yes. On the morrow. I wanted to say farewell.”

She laid one hand on his arm. “I wish you would not do this thing.”

He glanced at her hand, her slender, white fingers. “Cerelinde, I must.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You have a choice, Tanaros. Even you, even now. Perhaps it is too late to stem the tide of battle, but it need not be, not for you. There is goodness in you; I have seen it. It is yours to reclaim.”

“And do what?” Tanaros asked gently. “Shall I dance at your wedding, Cerelinde?”

The matter lay between them, vast and unspoken. She looked away. In that moment, he knew she understood him; and knew, too, that unlike his wife, the Lady of the Ellylon would never betray the Man to whom she was betrothed. The ache in his heart intensified. He laid his hand over hers, feeling for a few seconds her smooth, soft skin, then removed her hand from his arm.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I cannot.”

“There are other things!” She looked back at him and starlight glimmered on her tears. “The world is vast, Tanaros. You could … you could help Staccia rebuild its ties to the rest of Urulat, or the Beshtanagi in Pelmar, or hunt Were or dragons or Fjeltroll—”

“Cerelinde!” He halted her. “Would you have me betray what honor I possess?”

“Why?” She whispered the word, searching his face. “Ah, Tanaros! What has Satoris Banewreaker ever done that he should command your loyalty?”

“He found me.” He smiled at the simplicity of the words. “What has he not done to be worthy of my loyalty, Cerelinde? When love and fidelity alike betrayed me, when the world cast me out, Lord Satoris found me and summoned me to him. He understood my anger. He bent the very Chain of Being to encompass me, he filled my life with meaning and purpose.”

“His purpose.” Her voice was low. “Not yours.”

“Survival.” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “He seeks to survive. What else do any of us seek? Because he is a Shaper, the stakes are higher. I tell you this, Cerelinde. His Lordship is here. Wounded and bleeding, but here. And he has given shelter to all of us, all whom the world has bent and broken, all who yearn for a Shaper’s love, all whom the world has despised. He demands our loyalty, yes, but he allows us the freedom to question the order of the world, to be who and what we are. Can you say the same of Haomane Lord-of-Thought?”

“You do not understand.” Cerelinde’s voice trembled. “He is … everywhere.”