She could not allow herself to weep for his death; not here. Perhaps not ever. Lifting her head, she gazed at Aracus. He was a choice she had made. He returned her gaze, his storm-blue eyes somber. There would be no gloating over this victory. His men had told her of the losses they had endured on the battlefield, of Blaise Caveros and Lord Ingolin the Wise, and many countless others.

She saw the future they would shape together stretching out before her. Although the shadow of loss and sorrow would lay over it, there would be times of joy, too. For the brief time that was alotted them together, they would find healing in one another, and in the challenge of bringing their races together in harmony.

There would be fear, for it was in her heart that neither Ushahin nor Godslayer would be found on the premises of Darkhaven. Haomane’s Prophecy had been fulfilled to the letter, and yet it was not. Without Godslayer, the Souma could not be made whole, and the world’s Sundering undone. The Six Shapers would remain on Torath, apart, and Ushahin would be an enemy to Haomane’s Allies; less terrible than Satoris Banewreaker, for even with a Shard of the Souma, he would not wield a Shaper’s power, capable of commanding the loyalty of an entire race. More terrible, for he did not have a Shaper’s pride and the twisted sense of honor that went with it.

There would be hope, for courage and will had triumphed over great odds on this day, and what was done once might be done again.

There would be love. Of that, she did not doubt. She was the Lady of the Ellylon, and she did not love lightly; nor did Aracus. They would be steadfast and true. They would rule over Urulat with wisdom and compassion.

And yet there would be doubt, born out of her long captivity in Darkhaven.

Shouting came from the far side of the courtyard. More Borderguardsmen were emerging from Darkhaven, carrying two limp figures. The Bearer and his uncle had been found and rescued. One stirred. Not the boy, who lay motionless.

“Aracus.” Malthus touched his arm. “Forgive me, for I know your weariness is great. Yet it may be that the Soumanië can aid him.”

“Aye.” With an effort, Aracus gathered himself. “Guide me, Counselor.”

In the midst of slaughter and carnage, Cerelinde watched them tend to the stricken Yarru, their heads bowed in concentration. The young Bearer was gaunt and frail, as though his travail had pared him down to the essence.