This is not her, he told himself. This is just a girl whose body you will one day claim.

He had to wonder if Corlant saw the resemblance too. If perhaps that was why the man was so obsessed with her, for the priest’s fascination certainly went beyond mere familial interest.

But no. Corlant was obsessed with Iseult because she was half of the Cahr Awen. She and the other girl were the only people who could end the way Corlant lived … and the way Aeduan lived too.

“You are awfully calm,” said the older woman who was now called Evrane. She sat across from Aeduan. The fire morphed her face until she looked almost as she had all those years ago. “Without the Threadstone, she is useless to us.”

“There is no reason to panic.” He gazed steadily at her, inhaling the strange angles and curves of her blood. He had gotten used to this body’s magic. It was powerful, it was useful.

And strangely, he found Evrane’s scent soothing. Crisp spring water and salt-lined cliffs. It belonged to the first soul who had worn that body—it was too pure, too tame to be the Old One’s.

“No reason to panic?” She snorted. “It took him centuries to make those stones.”

“And we have waited a millennium. He will not give up so easily.”

“I hope so.” Her voice came out softer than usual. A sure sign she was worried, perhaps even frightened. “As long as they exist, we are at risk.”

Who is the weakest now? he wondered, though he preserved his silence. She was too quick to anger, too slow to cool off. Even a thousand years in darkness had not robbed her of that.

So Aeduan drank his soup. It was disgusting. Easily one of the worst meals he had ever eaten. He might not remember his name, but he remembered good food. Cinnamon-spiced lamb and white-ginger veal. Wine from the south and beer from the north. More fruits and flavors than most people would ever encounter in a lifetime, he had feasted on daily.

He would feast on it again, once all of this was over. Once the Lament had come to pass and five had turned on one. Then this new world would be right again, the chaos finally contained.

Several long moments passed before Evrane spoke again. As he swallowed, Evrane pushed to her feet. “I will sleep first,” she declared, turning away. “Wake me when the Sleeping Giant hits her peak.”

“Yes,” Aeduan murmured, glad to be left alone. “When the Giant hits her peak, I will wake you.”

Evrane did not walk away, though, and after several seconds, she said: “He was waiting for me. When I came out of the Well, he was there.”

“Corlant?” Aeduan set the bowl, half-empty, upon his knees.

“No.” She frowned. “Him. The Rook King.”