Blaise sighed and rumpled his hair. “I raised the hackles of your pride, Lilias; aye, and your grief, too. I know it, and I know what it has cost us. I know the Counselor’s words in the great hall stroked you against the grain. I knew it when he spoke them. I am here to tell you it was ill-considered.”

Lilias glanced out the window. The Eagles of Meronil soared past on tilted wings, watching her with their goldringed gazes. “Do you suppose any of this will change my mind?” she asked.

“No. Not really, no.” There were circles around his eyes, too; dark circles, born of weariness and long effort. “Lilias …” He hesitated. “Did you know that Darkhaven’s army wasn’t coming?”

There must, she thought, be a great sense of freedom in riding the winds’ drafts; and yet, how free were they, confined to this endless gyre? Lilias thought about that day, during the siege, when she had dared the node-point of the Marasoumië beneath Beshtanag and found it blocked, hopelessly blocked.

“Yes,” she said. “I knew.”

“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.”