"But you see, Prince of the Akarans, the People can't gather an Acacian army by issuing a summons. The Auldek are not easily killed. You saw Devoth take that arrow through his heart. He pulled it out and chopped off the leagueman's head. They could have shot him full of arrows. He would have risen again and again. You've never seen the Auldek fight."

"I've seen Numrek."

Skylene conceded that was something by cocking her head, then righting it. "The Numrek were always lesser fighters among the Auldek. Some say acknowledgment of that is what drove them to their crime in the first place."

"But with the Lothan Aklun gone," Dariel said, "the Auldek can't steal more souls. They have only so many lives, right? So if they are attacked they'll be weakened. They could be beaten eventually."

"Those slaying those spirit souls would suffer. Would you volunteer to die so that the twentieth warrior behind you might finally slay the Auldek you died killing?" She let the question sit just long enough for Dariel to think he would have to answer it, and then she went on. "And even that is only assuming the soul catcher will not be used again. It's out there you, know, still on Lithram Len."

"You think it's a thing? A thing to be used?"

"It is a tool of their sorcery. I do not say it would be easy for anyone to master it, but neither can I say it's impossible."

"Who would use it? Would the Auldek?"

"They know where it is. The Lothan Aklun made them travel to the island to get their souls. It's a short trip, but it was punishment of sorts, since the Auldek hate to be at sea."

"Just like the Numrek," Dariel said. "Why is that? They are fearless about so many things. Why this terror of water?"

"Because," a different voice said. They all started, surprised, as the wooden door swung open and Mor swept in, suddenly changing the atmosphere, crowding the room with her presence. "Because the Auldek, no matter how strong, cannot swim. They've tried, but the same density of muscle and bone that makes them warriors also makes them dead weight in the water. They sink." She folded her arms and stood, defiant, as if expecting to be refuted.

Dariel was not about to. "Ah, all right-"

"That's why they never voyage across the Gray Slopes themselves," Skylene added. "And it's why the Auldek were so shocked that the Numrek did. It could only mean they had something important to tell them." The last words came out hesitantly, her eyes on Mor the entire time.

"You've said that before," Dariel said. He let the statement hang, inflected at the end like a question, one obviously meant for Mor.

She did not answer it, but she did say, "Here is something we haven't told you. It's not just the Auldek who cannot bear young. The same is true of the People. We live and die, but we do not continue ourselves. That's another curse you Akarans arranged for us."

Mor's eyes cut toward Skylene, but then snapped back. "You've learned enough for just now. I have a task for you. Accomplish it, and we will hold nothing back from you."

Dariel was still facing the enormity of the revelation Mor had just made. It explained so much, and seemed awful in a way that he could not take in all at once. He wanted to. It felt important to do so, but Mor had asked him a question. She likely thought he was hesitating because he was considering the answer. In truth, he did not need to consider it at all. He had been waiting, listening, hiding long enough.

Dariel said, "Tell me."

C HAPTER

Corinn had never run so fast in her life. She had never felt more frustrated and frantic, filled with an awful urgency that made her want to burst out of her skin and fly. She held the skirt of her gown in both hands, pulled high so that her legs were free to move. Marah crowded her on all sides. They would have preferred to have held still in a defensive circle around her, a human wall with halberds and swords jutting out like the spines of a porcupine. It took all the queen's effort to keep them in motion. She propelled them against their will by shoving them forward and spewing curses and threats at them. Aaden was in danger. Aaden might be dead.

She had stepped out of the secret room into an office strewn with bodies, blood, and organs-both human and Numrek. Though Sire Dagon begged her not to go, she strode away. She had to find Aaden. Hopeful one second; near tears the next; boiling with white-hot anger just after, when interrupted by scenes of violence, people confused, stunned, getting in her way. She hated when they got in her way! Standing about stupid-faced, gaping. Nobles or peasants, old or young: it did not matter. They worked their jaws in meaningless chatter. She had never hated them more. Several times she roared at them, and each time they peeled away before her, like sheep before a wolf, terrified. If they prevented her from reaching Aaden in time, she would kill them.

Coming off a ramp and up a short flight of steps, she trod on the hem of her gown and fell against the men in front of her. Arms pulled her back up. Hands touched her with an intimacy that would have doomed the owner of them an hour ago. One guard whispered respectfully that perhaps they should turn back, get her to safety in the upper palace. His voice trembled and she recognized him as one of her Marah, alive after the battle with her Numrek guards in her offices. "We'll keep you safe there, Your Majesty, until-"

In answer she reached for his waist and pulled free the slim dagger sheathed there. "Are you a coward?" she asked. Judging by the way the man's face froze, he must have thought she was about to slit his throat. She let him think so for a second, and then sawed at the skirts of her gown. The razor-sharp blade ribboned the light layers of fabric. She tore it all free by the fistful. She moved so viciously that she cut the flesh of her thigh. She did not notice until a few seconds afterward, when the warmth of her blood filled the gash and overflowed.

By the time she reached the tunnel that led into the Carmelia, dashed through it, and came out in the open air midway up the stadium's ranks, she was as sweaty, bloodstained, and panting as if she had been at the butchery of battle herself. She froze as the view rose up before her, her eyes searching for her son even as she saw Mena and Melio and clusters of Marah soldiers, all fighting a few Numrek. There were many dead Marah already, and three of the Numrek lay as broken corpses on the field. The remaining three were bellowing whirlwinds. Their curved swords scorched the air around them, long hair flying as they wrenched their heads around from one foe to another.

Where was Aaden? She didn't see Aaden. He had to be here. He had to be-and then she spotted a child's small form lying facedown on the grass. Her breath left her in one long ahhh. He was so tiny. Like a doll.

Oh, Aaden.

As she said his name in her head she knew it was not right. The name did not fit the body. It was not Aaden. The figure was a little longer of limb than Aaden. Dark haired while Aaden was fair. It was Devlyn.

She shouted, "Find the prince! Find him, now!" The command came from something tapped into the urgency of life, something far greater than she.

As the guards dashed down the stairs and ran to either side, calling for the prince, searching for him among the rows of seats, Corinn turned her gaze to the ongoing battle. Her sister was there, tiny beside the Numrek she faced-Greduc, who had so often walked behind her. Greduc, who had once held his arm out, Aaden dangling from it, standing as tall and still as a tree, grinning as the boy's legs kicked in the air. Corinn pressed her palm to her chest, realizing she was frightened now from all the moments Greduc had had her and Aaden in his power. At any time he could have killed them both.