“Why didn’t you surrender, then?” Blaise furrowed his brow. “That’s the part I don’t understand. The battle was all but lost. You could have told us that the Lady Cerelinde was in Darkhaven. And if you had—”

“I know!” Lilias cut him off, and drew a shuddering breath. “I would still be a prisoner, but Calandor would live. Might live. How many other things might have happened, Borderguardsman? If you had arrived a day later, Calandor would have prevailed against Aracus’ army. Or we might have escaped together, he and I. Did you never wonder at that?” They could have fled; they could have hidden. For a time, Liliass. Only that. The too-ready tears burned her eyes. “Aye, I regret it! Is that what you want to hear? A few months, a few years. Would that I had them, now. But you had reclaimed the Arrow of Fire. Could it have ended otherwise?”

“No.” Blaise Caveros murmured the word, bowing his head. A lock of dark hair fell across his brow. “Not really.”

“Ask yourself the same question,” Lilias said harshly. “What is it worth, this victory? Aracus could buy peace for the price of his wedding vows.”

“Aye.” He ran both hands through his dark, springing hair to push it back, peering at her. “For a time, Lilias. And then what? It begins anew. A red star appears on the horizon, and the Sunderer raises his army and plots anew to destroy us. If not in our lifetimes, then our children’s, or their descendants’. You heard Malthus’ words in the council, Lilias. You may disdain his methods, but it is a true dream; Urulat made whole, and the power to forge peace—a lasting peace—in our hands. Aracus believes it, and I do, too.”

“Malthus …” Lilias broke off her words, too weary to argue. “Ah, Blaise! Satoris didn’t raise the red star.”

He stared at her, uncomprehending. “What now, Sorceress? Do you claim it is not Dergail’s Soumanië?”

“No.” Outside her window, the sea-eagles circled while the Aven River unfurled beneath them, making its serene way to the sea. She sighed. “Dergail flung himself into the Sundering Sea, Blaise. It was never Satoris who reclaimed his Soumanië.”

There was genuine perplexity in his frown. “Who, then?”

“This is the Shapers’ War,” Lilias said in a gentle tone. “It has never been anything else. And in the end, it has very little to do with us.”

“No.” Blaise shook his head. “I don’t believe it.” Something mute and intransigent surfaced in his expression. “Aracus was right about you. ’Tis dangerous to listen to your words.” He heaved himself to his feet, the chair creaking ominously under his weight. “Never mind. You’ve made your choice, Sorceress, insofar as you were able. In the end, well …” He gestured around her quarters. “’Tis yours to endure.”

Lilias gazed up at him. “Aracus said that?”