Another silence stretched between them. Cerelinde studied him. He looked tired, his face bearing the marks of sun and wind. The hollows of his eyes looked bruised, and beneath the errant lock of dark hair that fell across his brow, there were furrows that had not been there before. It stirred pity in her heart, an emotion she sought to repress. He was Tanaros Kingslayer, one of the Three, Lord General of the Army of Darkhaven.

Still, he was here, sitting in her well-appointed prison cell, and he was the only sane person she had seen in this place who did not appear to wish her dead.

“In Haomane’s name,” she said quietly, “or any you might honor, will you please tell me what is happening?”

“War.” Tanaros held her gaze without blinking. “Not yet, but soon. Even now, they are gathering in Meronil to plot strategy. They are coming for you, Lady.”

Cerelinde nodded once. “Do they have a chance?”

He shrugged, making his armor creak. “Do I think they can take Darkhaven? No, Lady, I do not. But nothing in war is certain save bloodshed.”

“It could be averted.”

“By letting you go?” Tanaros gave a short laugh. “To wed Aracus Altorus?”

She made no reply.

“Ah, Lady.” His voice roughened. “Even if your answer were no … how long? One mortal generation? Ten? How long do you suppose it will be until another scion of Altorus is born who sets your heart to racing—”

“Enough!”

“—and makes the blood rise to your cheeks?”

“Enough, my lord,” Cerelinde repeated, flushing. “There is no need to be vulgar.”

Tanaros raised his brows. “Vulgar?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

Tanaros sighed and rumpled his hair with one hand. “In the end, it matters naught. I do not think Haomane’s Allies would ever be willing to forgo the Prophecy. And I am quite certain, in this instance, that his Lordship is not interested in negotiating.”

“He could relent,” Cerelinde said in a low, impassioned voice. “I have said it before, and it is still true. He could relent and surrender to Haomane’s will. There is that. There is always that.”

“No.” Tanaros shook his head. “No, Lady, I don’t think there is. I don’t think there ever was.”

“Why?” she asked steadily.

He shrugged again. “Ask him, if you truly want to know. Perhaps the answer lies in what-might-have-been.”

“You heard of that?” Cerelinde flushed a second time. “I meant to speak to you of the incident. It is a small gift, a small magic. Vorax was wroth, but I did not mean to disturb, only to bring comfort. It eases them, to glimpse the paths they might have walked.” She considered Tanaros and added softly, “I could show you, if you wished.”