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?”

“Aye.” He gave her a wry smile. “He did. I’m sorry, Lilias. Would that I could have found words that would make your heart relent. In truth, it’s not why I came here today. Still, I do not think it is a choice you would have regretted.”

“Blaise.” Lilias found herself on her feet. One step; two, three, closing the distance between them. She raised her hand, touching the collar of his shirt. Beneath it, his pulse beat in the hollow of his throat.

“Don’t.” He captured her hand in his, holding it gently. “I am loyal to the House of Altorus, Lilias. It is all I have to cling to, all that defines me. And you have seen that brightness in Aracus, that makes him worthy of it.” Blaise favored her with one last smile, tinged with bitter sorrow. “I have seen it in your face and heard it in your words. You find him worthy of admiration; perhaps, even, of love. If I understand my enemy a little better, I have you to thank for it.”

“Blaise,” she whispered again; but it was a broken whisper. Lilias sank back into her chair. “If you would but listen—”

“What is there to say that has not been said?” He gave a helpless shrug. “I put no faith in the counsel of dragons. Without them, the world would never have been Sundered.”

It was true; too true. And yet, there was so much to explain. Lilias struggled for the words to articulate the understanding Calandor had imparted to her. From the beginning, from the moment the red star had first risen, he had shared knowledge with her, terrible knowledge.

All things musst be as they musst.

The words did not come; would never come. Fearful mortality crowded her thoughts. A void yawned between them, and the effort of bridging it was beyond her. “Go,” she said to him. “Just … go, and be gone from here.”