Sure enough, Kissel was up and walking slowly toward the rows of shelving. “She needs us,” he said. “Don’t you hear her crying?”

Jes darted forward and stood in Kissel’s way, growling at something in front of them.

Then Seraph heard it, too. A woman’s brokenhearted weeping.

Seraph climbed over Tier’s table since it was the shortest route, waving back the others, who all started to get up to help.

“Play, Bard,” suggested Hennea. “Sing something. Something cheerful.”

Tier started a common drinking song.

With Jes blocking his path, Kissel had stopped moving forward, but tears were flowing down his cheeks. “She’s so sad,” He told Jes. “Why can’t we help her?”

The thick ruff of hair down the black wolf’s back was standing straight up. Seraph moved slowly to Kissel’s side, not wanting to startle him into doing something. He was fighting the enchantment, or else he wouldn’t have stopped, Jes or no Jes.

With her spirit sight she could see one of the dead stood a few feet from Kissel, she thought Jes saw it, too, because his attention was focused on just the right place. Either Tier’s music was keeping it back, or something about the way it fed required its victim to come to it. Either was possible from the little Seraph knew about such things.

Seraph slipped her hand into the crook of Kissel’s arm. “It’s like a painting,” she said quietly. “It makes you sad or moves you, but you can do nothing to change it. The woman who weeps died a long time ago. There is nothing you can do for her.”

“She will weep forever unless someone helps,” he told Seraph, but he sounded more alert, more like his usual self.

“No one can help her, Kissel,” Seraph said, tugging a little on his arm. “Come sit down.”

He turned and shuffled back to his place, with Seraph guiding him and Jes guarding their backs.

“She was so beautiful,” whispered Kissel as he sat down. “So sad.”

“I know,” said Jes.

Toarsen put an arm around Kissel and gave him a quick hug before releasing. He nodded once at Seraph—either telling her thanks, reassuring her that he would watch out for Kissel from here on out, or both, she wasn’t certain.

Seraph released the sight magic with a sigh of relief; it was giving her a throbbing headache. She glanced down at Jes. “Did you see her?”

He nodded, curled up next to Hennea, and rested his snout on her knee. “She was beautiful.”

Seraph bent down and rubbed him behind the ears, taking the moment to look over the others. They looked a little shaken, but Tier’s drinking song—a silly, slightly risqué piece—was doing its job. Lehr and Phoran were singing along, and after a few verses Toarsen joined in as well.

Seraph worked her way back through the crowd to Tier’s table. She patted Ielian then Phoran on the shoulder as she passed because they looked as though they needed it. She sat down on her bench and leaned her cheek against Tier’s knee and let the melody his fingers coaxed out of the battered old lute sink through her like the knowledge of everyone’s safety. Tier was safe.

She had a good idea now of how the Orders caught in the Path’s gems might be cleaned so she and Hennea could release them. They knew who the Shadowed was—and that he awaited them in Redern. Hinnum and Hennea, for all their arguing, were pretty sure they’d come up with a way to destroy the Shadowed, so Phoran could be free of his Memory. All they had to do was find a Lark, and Hennea knew of a young man who would be willing to come though it might take her a few months to find him.

“Seraph,” Tier said, as his clever fingers finished the song he’d been playing and began his between-song chord playing. “I feel better. Tell me you managed to do something more with the Shadow’s hold on me.”

She smiled at him. “Ravens are arrogant,” she told him. “When there is a problem, we tend to believe we are the only ones who can solve it.” She opened her palm, where she still held the remnants of the garnet. “You broke the spell yourself while you told the story of the Fall of the Unnamed King.”

“Huh.” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Just the same, I think I’ll stick to more mundane music for the rest of the night.” His prosaic words didn’t cover the relief she saw in his eyes.

He picked a sweet ballad written by a young man to his love, who was supposed to wed another. It suited his range, and the song was soothing, the perfect foil for the press of fear the dead still raised.

She slid off the bench and made her way to Rinnie. On the way she glanced at the Memory, but without the spell that let her see spirit and other things, it looked just as it had when it had come into the library.

Rinnie was curled up asleep on Gura, who was still watching the dead Seraph could no longer see. But the dog didn’t look upset, just watchful. His alert pose mirrored the wolf settled comfortably next to Hennea. Seraph yawned and curled up on the floor next to Rinnie, found something soft and warm to lay her head upon, and let her eyes close while Tier’s music kept her safe from harm.

Phoran must have fallen asleep sometime not too much after Seraph had. He woke up to the smell of something wild and sweet, and opened his eyes to see Seraph’s hair and realized the light drumming he heard was her heartbeat. Hastily he straightened and took a quick glance around to see if anyone had noticed.

Not that waking up with somebody else’s wife was a unique experience for him, and this was much more innocent than those instances. But still, her husband and children were in the room.

Jes, a human Jes, stretched out on his side next to Hennea, gave him a friendly smile, and lifted his finger to his lips. He was the only other one awake.

“Did you stay up the whole night?” asked Phoran, in a near-voiceless whisper.

Jes nodded, though he looked none the worse for wear. Phoran lifted and shifted and wiggled and finally managed to untangle himself from Seraph. He got up and stretched out most of the kinks in his back.

Tier slept on the table, the lute resting on his middle. Phoran smiled, then realized that the pile of sleepers was short a few people. He remembered the Memory leaving after Tier’s incredible song. Ielian and Lehr must have awakened already. Hinnum, he decided, was none of his concern.

He waved at Jes and walked outside. By the angle of the sun, he could tell it was no later than midmorning. Who would have thought it, we survived the night.

“Morning,” said Lehr, who was leaning against the wall of the library next to the broken door. “I heard Ielian get up, but by the time I could make myself move he was gone.”

Phoran nodded. “Probably headed back to camp. He’ll be hot that he was the only one who tried to run.”

“Except the dog,” said Lehr.

Phoran grinned. “That fool dog wasn’t running; he was trying to attack.”

The others began stirring not long after. When everyone else was awake, Jes woke up his parents, and they all trudged back to camp.

Phoran hadn’t noticed it so much last night, but in the clear light of day, both of the Ravens looked drained, and Tier wasn’t much better. Seraph caught his concerned look and smiled at him.

“It’s all right, just too much magic yesterday and not enough sleep.”

“Two days here, and we’ve found almost everything we came here for,” he said. “Truthfully, I didn’t think we’d find anything after Shadow’s Fall. Not Colossae, not Hinnum, not the identity of the Shadowed.”

She smiled, and her whole face lit up—he’d never seen her smile like that. For a moment she was beautiful.

“To tell you the truth, Phoran,” she said, “there were times I didn’t think we would either.”

“Thank you for talking to Mother, Phoran,” Rinnie said, one hand on Gura’s back and the other in his.

“Anytime,” he told her.

They’d left camp a little earlier than Seraph had planned, but Hennea had come up to him after breakfast to see if he would mind going earlier.