"Some spells cast themselves, is that it?" Valentine asked.

"Not precisely. But there are spells that arise spontaneously—from within, my lord, within oneself, generated out of the empty places of the soul."

"What are you saying? That I put an enchantment on myself, Deliamber?"

Tisana said gently, "Dreams—spells—it is all the same thing, Lord Valentine. Certain auguries are making themselves known through you. Omens are forcing themselves into view. Storms are gathering, and these are the early harbingers."

"You see all that so soon? I had a troubled dream, you know, just before the banquet, and most certainly it was full of stormy omens and auguries and harbingers. But unless I've been talking of it in my sleep, I've told you nothing of it yet, have I?"

"I think you dreamed of chaos, my lord."

Valentine stared at her. "How could you know that?"

Shrugging, Tisana said, "Because chaos must come. We all recognize the truth of that. There is unfinished business in the world, and it cries out for finishing."

"The shapeshifters, you mean," Valentine muttered.

"I would not presume," the old woman said, "to advise you on matters of state—"

"Spare me such tact. From my advisers I expect advice, not tact."

"My realm is only the realm of dreams," said Tisana.

"I dreamed snow on Castle Mount, and a great earthquake that split the world apart."

"Shall I speak that dream for you, my lord?"

"How can you speak it, when we haven't yet had the dream-wine?"

"A speaking's not a good idea just now," said Deliamber firmly. "The Coronal's had visions enough for one night. He'd not be well served by drinking dream-wine now. I think this can easily wait until—"

"That dream needs no wine," said Tisana. "A child could speak it. Earthquakes? The shattering of the world? Why, you must prepare yourself for hard hours, my lord."

"What are you saying?"

It was Sleet who replied: "These are omens of war, lordship."

Valentine swung about and glared at the little man. "War?" he cried. "War? Must I do battle again? I was the first Coronal in eight thousand years to lead an army into the field; must I do it twice?"

"Surely you know, my lord," said Sleet, "that the war of the restoration was merely the first skirmish of the true war that must be fought, a war that has been in the making for many centuries, a war that I think you know cannot now be avoided."

"There are no unavoidable wars," Valentine said.

"Do you think so, my lord?"

The Coronal glowered bleakly at Sleet, but made no response. They were telling him what he had already concluded without their help, but did not wish to hear; and, hearing it anyway, he felt a terrible restlessness invading his soul. After a moment he rose and began to wander silently around the room. At the far end of the chamber was an enormous eerie sculpture, a great thing made of the curved bones of sea dragons, interwoven to meet in the form of the fingers of a pair of clasped upturned hands, or perhaps the interlocking fangs of some colossal demonic mouth. For a long while Valentine stood before it, idly stroking the gleaming polished bone. Unfinished business, Tisana had said. Yes. Yes. The Shapeshifters.