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Rowan stares at the grave of Derrick Millward, trying to fit the bits together. How do you channel it? A face gazed back, eyes impossibly bright in the darkness, and a grin dangerous in its recklessness.Shan? Are they all right? Are my family there? Of course he did. There could be no other explanation for that reaction. And he did. Gods help him he did. He would have to do what he should have done all along, what he had intended to do from the very first. He would do it now. Without telling her, without giving her a chance to stop him. He had to, no matter what it did to her, no matter what happened to him. Gilliad of River Holt had to die and Shan had long ago sworn that it would be by his own hand. For all he had done to Falinar. Maps and papers spilled over the rugs laid on the pavilions floor and his servants scurried to catch them, but Vertigern paid no attention at all. He was taller than she remembered, broader in the shoulders too, a man who had grown from the skinny boy she had only met a handful of times. His black hair hung to his shoulders, framing a strong and handsome face. They were nearing the river itself when messages came in from the Ariah, borne by the swift wings of totem birds. Jeren watched them enviously and a lump of stone weighed her down, where her heart should be. Kiah would never fly to her again. Kiah was gone. Later, after the laughs and the questions and the futile attempts to legibly sign a half dozen books with his seeping fingers, Rowan is able to make his way back to Serendipity and Snowdrop for what he expects to be a more candid assessment of how the gig has gone. Theyre waiting for him in the shadow of some exotic-looking tree. Fairy-lights wind their way around the armadillo-shell trunk. Better than what? asks Violet, intrigued. One more thing, sir. Well, actually two. She opens her eyes into the large, round face of Rev Marlish. He is smoothing back her hair, whispering her name, saying the same thing over and over, like a spell. Samara stepped deeper into the bedroom, her body casting a long shadow across the carpet and across her sleeping parents, long and distorted. Pausing at the foot of the bed, she raised the art knife, swaying the triangular blade back and forth. Her father was clearly the more physical of the two, yet his afternoon at the pub would have dulled him. His discovery had surely driven him back to his remaining cans of cold beer. They almost made it. Gabriel continued through the dining room to the kitchen.As long as we both know where we stand. Shan stood in a small hollow out of sight of the camp and its patrols. In the moonlight he might have been a statue, so pale and finely sculpted did he appear. Jerens throat made a small whimper and she ran, tearing across the space between them in a mad dash. A Feyna warrior rose from his hiding place. His braided white hair was longer than Shans and, though broader across the chest, he stood a little shorter. But he wore the same grey hand-stitched leathers, and in his features Jeren could see many similarities. There was a ghost of Shans smile, the way the skin crinkled around the silvery eyes. There is no Freya, says Pearl, quietly. Then someone else will take my place. This is the way it must be. Im not going to argue this with you again. Ive made my decision..