“To be sure,” Lilias said absently. Although she did not know the details of Haergan’s end, Calandor’s words echoed in her thoughts, accompanied by the memory of his slow, amused blink. I might not have eaten him if he had been more ussseful.

“Why?” It was the Ellyl woman who spoke, and the sound of her voice was like bells; bells, or silver horns, a sound to make mortal flesh shiver in delight, were it not infused with anger. She leaned forward, her lambent eyes aglow with passion. “Why would you do such a thing?”

Her words hung in the air. No one else spoke. Lilias glanced from face to face around the table. Plainly, it was a question all of them wanted answered; and as clearly, it was an answer none of them would understand.

“Why do you seek to fulfill Haomane’s Prophecy?” she asked them. “Tell me that, and perhaps we may understand one another.”

“Lilias.” Malthus spoke her name gently. “These things are not the same, and well you know it. Urulat is Sundered from itself. We seek that which Haomane the Lord-of-Thought himself seeks—to heal the land, so restore it to the wholeness and glory to which it was Shaped, and which Satoris Banewreaker has perverted.”

“Why?” Lilias repeated. They stared at her in disbelief, except for Malthus, who looked thoughtful. She folded her hands on the table and met their stares. “I ask in earnest, my lords, my lady. Was Urulat such a paradise before it was Sundered?”

“We had the light of the Souma!” Lorenlasse of Valmaré’s voice was taut with fury, his bright eyes glittering. “We are Haomane’s Children and we were torn from his side, from all that sustained us.” He regarded her with profound contempt. “You cannot possibly know how that feels.”

“Lorenlasse,” Ingolin murmured.

Lilias laughed aloud. There was freedom in having nothing left to lose. She pointed at the lifeless Soumanië on Aracus’ brow. “My lord Lorenlasse, until very recently, I held a piece of the Souma itself. I stretched the Chain of Being and held mortality at bay. I had power to Shape the very stuff of life, and I could have twisted your bones like jackstraws for addressing me in such a tone. Do not speak to me of what I can or cannot know.”

“My lord Ingolin,” The Ellyl woman turned to the Lord of the Rivenlost. The rigid lines of her body expressed her distaste. “It seems to me that there is naught to be gained in furthering this discussion.”