Evrane, he knew, would not agree. Yet as the Rook King paused before Aeduan with all the poise of a prince inside a palace, Aeduan also knew Evrane would have no choice. The Rook King had allowed their souls to return; now he would send them away.

His blood sang with a choir of scents—new leather and smoky hearths. Hot springs and empty halls. Hunger and loneliness and musty tomes stacked high. Dominating them all, though, was the smell that the first Bloodwitch had so fixated on: clear lake water and frozen winters. And deep within Aeduan, that first soul sighed. He had the answer that had eluded him for two months. He understood that the scents were not two people, but a Paladin’s spirit inside a prince’s body.

The Rook King smiled at Aeduan then, a real thing. Sad in a way that only the Old Ones could be. “It will not be the end, Nadje. The Lament is not yet finished with you.”

Nadje. So that had been his name. “I will reawaken?” He was ashamed at how much relief wept through him at those words.

“In light, twelve will meet on lands long contested, while in darkness, the shadow-ender will topple nightmares and the world-starter will build us anew.”

Now Aeduan was the one to smile, though his smile was not a sad one. He would live again, and in his own body. “When?” he asked.

“Soon.” The bird ruffled his feathers upon the Rook King’s shoulder, and the Rook King patted him with absentminded affection. “She will awaken too.” He dipped his head toward Evrane, still and half frozen upon the snow. “I had hoped that, like you, she would change her mind. Change her course. Then again, I always did have too much faith in people.” He sighed through his nose. “Or too little, if you were to ask Her.”

“Is She gone forever?” Aeduan asked as the Rook King crossed the final ten paces between them.

“No.” He extended a hand, winglike beneath his draping cloak. “Not if we win.” Cold fingers grazed Aeduan’s forehead. The Rook King’s eyes glowed silver, a light Aeduan remembered, as if he too had once possessed such power. “Find me when you wake up, Nadje. We have a great deal of work to do.”

The waters swept in. Nadje heard them first, sloshing and soughing like a waterfall awakening. Then he smelled them, crystalline and pure, glacier-formed and snow-fed. Finally, he felt them, as frozen as death but far more eternal. They sapped life and movement, breath and blood. Each of his organs iced over, each of his senses frosted away until there was nothing left but water. Until he was once more drowning and alone.

Yet only in death could he understand life, and only in life would he change the world.