To Revekah’s surprise, he cracked a smile. “Much. You’ll want this.”

He fumbled with his sword belt. One of two, overlaid so close that Revekah had missed that detail. Tugging it free, he tossed the sword to her.

“If you’re determined to lurch back into the fire, might as well do it armed.”

Revekah stared at him, suspicious once more. “You don’t have to come.”

“You’re right, but I’d planned on heading back once I’d stashed your useless lump somewhere safe.” He grinned infuriatingly. “Together again, eh?”

Calenne couldn’t be sure she wasn’t wandering in circles. The chambers would have looked similar even with a firestone lantern to hand. With only the strange, anti-luminescence to guide her, she’d no chance. But she pressed on, striving to ignore a wrist that throbbed with every step, and a throat burning from lack of water.

Without the certainty that attempting to retrace her footsteps would leave her more lost than ever, she’d have turned back. But it wasn’t that alone.

There was something ahead, urging her on. The same feeling she’d had about the statue. Familiar. Welcoming.

More likely, she was going mad.

“Should have tried the climb,” she muttered. “Now you’ll die down here, and no one will ever know.”

She regretted the words at once. Bad enough to suspect the fate without hearing it spoken.

“No,” she said firmly. “Trelans are stubborn, remember? And you’re stubborn enough for two or three. Otherwise you’d not be here, would you?”

“No,” Calenne replied to herself. “Likely I’d be dead twice over.”

She growled back a despairing sigh. “And now I’m talking to myself. Nothing good ever comes of that.”

Feeling more alone than ever, she walked on, never glimpsing light.

Melanna emerged from the sanctum tent into the blinding sun. Her head throbbed. Her cheek stung from the balm with which Sera had treated her wounds. Her circlet was gone, mangled by the Thrakkian’s axe-blow. Her broken banner had been lost in the confusion of the knights’ charge. But she could yet hold a sword, and so was content . . . in one way, at least.

Far to the west, the owl-banner flew on a field empty of conflict. Strife persisted on the heights, but the only Tressian banners were those above the distant redoubts.

Muffled footsteps drew close. Shadow eclipsed the sun. Melanna found herself staring up at her father.

She knelt. “Forgive me.”

“For what?” he rumbled.

“I failed you. I disobeyed. You ordered me to take the heights, and instead . . .”

He stooped and took her fingers in one massive hand. “And instead you saved my life. It was a brave, foolish and noble gesture. My gratitude cannot be measured. Just as my fear at the cost knew no end, Ashanal.”