Chapter Eleven

The Last Betrayal

Galbatorix woke up early the next morning, and almost instantly remembered about the Surdans. He washed and dressed, muttering irritably to himself, had breakfast up on the dragon roost with Shruikan, and then went to work. Someone came to inform him that the delegation was within sight and would be at the city gates in less than an hour, and Galbatorix gave orders to the castle's servants to clean and decorate the dining hall appropriately, ready for the guests to have lunch there with him when they arrived. Once everything was in order, he put on his best robe and boots, and the crown, and waited around at a loose end until someone came to inform him that the Surdans had entered the city.

Galbatorix had the castle's gates thrown open and the captain of the castle guard organised a row of guardsmen in ceremonial armour to line the causeway leading from the outer gate to the doors leading into the castle. Galbatorix stood at the top of the steps, in the open doorway, looking down over the causeway below him and the gates beyond. Shruikan came to perch on the castle roof just over the doors, his huge presence looming over the causeway like a guardian. As the Surdans came up toward the castle, they would see the King of Alagaësia awaiting them beneath his dragon's talons. The impression would be grand and powerful, which was exactly how Galbatorix had judged it. It never hurt to remind people of his power and status.

He waited patiently, the light breeze ruffling his hair, and at last the Surdans came in sight. They were coming up through the city's widest street – a large group of at least twenty men and women, some on horseback. There was a small horse-drawn wagon at the centre of their group. No – more of a litter; its occupant hidden by fine white curtains. Shruikan shifted slightly. 'What's this?'

'I don't know…'

The delegation came up the causeway, moving slowly, and when they had nearly reached the bottom of the steps Galbatorix came down to meet them. The foremost of them, a man clad in leather armour and bearing a curved sword, knelt to him. 'Sire. I am Lord Owyn, brother to King Emeril of Surda. I come in peace.'

Galbatorix inclined his head. 'Welcome to my home, Lord Owyn. I am honoured to receive you. If you would direct your guard to the barracks, they will be given food and a place to rest, and your horses will be taken to the royal stable where they will be well looked-after. Yourself and those with you are invited to come into the castle and share a meal with myself and some of my court.'

Lord Owyn stood up. 'Thankyou, King Galbatorix. We shall be honoured.'

Two of the people attending the litter had pulled the curtain aside, and Galbatorix watched as they helped someone get out. A young woman, clad in fine silks, her face veiled. She came forward, helped by Lord Owyn, who presented her to Galbatorix, saying; 'This is my niece, the Princess Eluna.'

Galbatorix blinked. 'It is an honour to meet you, my Lady. Welcome to Urû'baen.'

Princess Eluna curtsied to him. 'King Galbatorix,' she said softly. 'The honour is mine.'

Galbatorix offered her his arm. 'Would you care to join me, my Lady?'

She took it, and walked beside him up the steps and into the castle. Lord Owyn and a group of other Surdan nobles who were among the delegation came too.

Galbatorix headed for the dining hall, walking slowly so as not to rush Eluna, whose silk gown looked like something of a burden. He couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable. No woman had touched him in a long time other than the one who looked after his fingernails.

When he reached the dining hall, he was glad to see it had been nicely decorated – the table was adorned with flowers, and brightly-coloured banners hung from the walls. Plenty of good food had been laid out, and the place was well-lit and smelt sweet.

Galbatorix sat down in his usual spot at the head of the table, and Eluna silently took a chair to his right, while her uncle sat opposite her. A number of Alagaësian nobles – Lord Walden and a few other lords, ladies and assorted hangers-on – had joined them along the way, and before long every seat at the table was occupied and the feast began.

Galbatorix wasn't particularly hungry. He nibbled at a dish of nuts and made sure Princess Eluna and Lord Owyn had everything they wanted. Owyn appeared quite relaxed, and gratefully accepted some fine Teirmish wine. Eluna, however, ate nothing at all. She seemed to want to look at Galbatorix, but she kept glancing at him and looking away again. She looked, he thought, extremely uncomfortable.

'So,' he said, hoping to put her at her ease. 'How was your journey, my Lady?'

Eluna looked up. 'It was… long, Sire.'

'But not unpleasant?'

'It was pleasant, Sire,' Eluna said at last. 'I have never seen Alagaësia before.'

'And did you like it, my Lady?'

'It's… different, Sire. Greener than Surda.'

'"Alagaësia" means "fertile land",' said Galbatorix. 'There is plenty of greenness to go around.' It was an extremely weak attempt at humour, but he had hoped it might raise a smile. It didn't.

'Tell me, Lord Owyn, how are affairs in Surda?' he said, deciding to leave her alone for the time being. 'I have not visited your country in a long time.'

'We are well, Sire,' said Owyn. 'My brother is a strong ruler. We have had a small problem with lack of rainfall, but this year's corn harvest was more than adequate.'

'I am glad to hear it. From what Lord Vander tells me, Surda is as prosperous as Alagaësia is.'

'Alas, not quite as prosperous as we would like, Sire,' said Owyn. 'But we hope, as you do, that our alliance may help us both.'

'As it always has,' said Galbatorix. 'I am sure it will continue to do so. But I must say I am a little surprised that you brought such a large delegation with you.'

'Many of our nobles wished to be here to witness the ceremony, Sire,' Lord Owyn explained. 'It will, after all, be very significant to us all in the years to come.'

Galbatorix paused. What in the world was the man going on about? He decided it would be rude to ask him outright, and said; 'Well, it is not a burden. All of you are welcome here.' He glanced at Eluna. She had evidently been listening. She was still wearing her veil. 'My Lady,' he said to her, trying to sound warm. 'Could I ask you to remove your veil? I would like to see your face, if I may.'

Eluna glanced at her uncle before she obeyed. Her face, when it was revealed, was round and young. She could be no older than nineteen. Her eyes were dark grey, and she had light brown hair, anointed with some kind of scented oil and strung with gold and copper beads.

Galbatorix regarded her. Somehow, the sight of her made him feel a strange sense of unease. Perhaps it was because she was Surdan, like his first love, Flell, mother of his murdered daughter. But she reminded him, too, of Kaelyn – one of the Forsworn. Like Tuomas and Gern, she had only been a half-trained apprentice rider when she fell in with him. Galbatorix had completed her training as well as he could, but during that time Kaelyn had fallen hopelessly in love with him. He had brushed her off at first – she was not his type, and besides, he had made a promise. But she had persisted, and just once, just for a moment, he had wavered on the edge of betraying the promise he had made. He had never forgiven himself for it, or for hurting Kaelyn in the process. Even though she had never tried to make any advances on him, she had continued to try and win his admiration. Her efforts had done nothing but cause trouble, and after he was nearly killed in an attempt to rescue her from captivity in Gil'ead, he had finally exerted his authority over her and forbidden her from speaking to him again except for purely formal reasons. The rift between them had never healed after that, and she had been one of those who died in Ilirea.

But she too had had grey eyes and light brown hair, just as Flell had done, and now Galbatorix saw both of them in Princess Eluna's pale young face.

He forced a smile. 'So this is Princess Eluna of Surda. The tales I heard did not do justice to your beauty, my Lady.'

'Thankyou, Sire.'

'So, Sire,' said Lord Owyn. 'If I may ask…'

Galbatorix turned to him. 'Yes, Lord Owyn?'

Owyn put down his goblet and wiped his mouth before he spoke. 'I was wondering what arrangements you had made for the betrothal, Sire.'

Galbatorix stared at him, his mind racing. He must have forgotten something. 'Did you have any particular preference, my Lord?' he said eventually, hoping to buy some time.

'We are in no hurry, Sire,' said Owyn. 'But if I may say so, I see no reason to delay the matter. I must return to Surda within a month, to resume my duties there.'

'I understand. I assume you will be attending?'

'But of course, Sire. Along with our entire delegation. I trust we will be holding it here?'

'Yes,' Galbatorix guessed.

'Have you selected a day?' said Owyn.

Galbatorix gave up. 'I am terribly sorry, Lord Owyn, and please forgive me for my lapse, but… what betrothal are we discussing?'

Lord Owyn looked nonplussed. 'Why, yours, of course, Sire. There are no others that I am aware of.'

Galbatorix went cold. 'I beg your pardon?'

'The Alagaësian alliance must be sealed quickly, Sire,' said Owyn. 'We have brought your bride to you, and we would prefer to see the betrothal carried out as soon as possible. The wedding itself can wait a little while.'

'I see,' said Galbatorix, his stomach lurching.

'Your ambassador led me to believe you would have the ceremony organised in time for our arrival, Sire,' Lord Owyn went on. 'Has there been some problem I am not aware of?'

Galbatorix was silent for a long time. 'Now is not the time for this discussion,' he said at last – a non-answer that had served him well in the past. 'You are tired from your journey. Eat, my Lord. I have had rooms prepared for yourself and your companions. We can discuss the betrothal tonight, when you have rested.'

Lord Owyn paused. 'Very well, Sire,' he said, and returned to his food.

Galbatorix stared into the distance. His head was spinning. How could this have happened?

The answer came to him quickly enough. His fists clenched. 'Vander.'

So that was why Vander had stopped answering the letters sent to him. He had not been in Feinster to receive them. He had been in Surda, talking to King Emeril. The gods alone knew how long he had been planning this. He'd gone behind Galbatorix's back.

Galbatorix glanced at Princess Eluna, and knew he was trapped. Everything had been signed and sealed. The betrothal itself was a mere formality. This poor girl had been sent here to marry him, almost certainly against her will, and he was faced with an impossible decision. If he sent her back to Surda, it would be a grave insult to her father. So grave, in fact, that it would almost certainly sour the relationship between the two countries for good. And this was exactly what Vander had wanted. He had known that if he arranged Galbatorix's marriage without consulting him, it would put him into a corner. He would be forced to go through with it whether he wanted to or not.

He closed his eyes and let the conversation wash over him.

'Galbatorix?' Shruikan's voice intruded. 'What's going on?'

'Oh, nothing much,' said Galbatorix. 'I've just been married off without realising it, that's all.'

'What?'

Galbatorix filled him in on the details.

'Vander!' Shruikan exclaimed. 'What in the gods' names does he think he's playing at?'

'I don't know. But when I get to him, he's going to have a lot of explaining to do.'

In his private workroom in the small sandstone fortress of Feinster, Vander took a dried sprig of thint leaves from a small leather pouch and dropped it into a stone bowl. He added two other herbs, picked up a pestle and began methodically grinding them down. The scrape of stone and the faint crunch of the desiccated plants made the only sound in the room, and he sighed and felt it relax him as it always did. His work in Feinster was tough and demanding – more so than he had ever admitted to Galbatorix, or to anyone else – and he liked to retreat into his workroom in the evenings and pursue his own interests. He had been fascinated by herbs ever since his boyhood, and had already begun an apprenticeship as a healer when he had gone to the trials and become a rider. Even now he was still learning more about the properties of different plants, and as a rider he had made a special study of the different healing spells. There were few injuries or diseases that he could not treat, and, thanks to his efforts, Feinster had one of the healthiest populations anywhere in Alagaësia.

By the time he put down the pestle, the herbs had been ground into a fine powder. He picked up a tiny, long-handled silver spoon and scooped some of it into a glass flask. Moving quickly and efficiently, he added two drops of red liquid from a tiny stone bottle and a pinch of a light grey powder. He stirred it with a clay rod, and then selected a number of thin dried roots to grind down. Once they had been shredded, he tipped them in as well, and left the mixture to stand. There was a letter on the table, its ink still wet. Vander picked up his quill, paused to re-read it, and added the last line. …I will return to Urû'baen soon, and when we meet I hope you can forgive me. It has always been my honour to serve you. Vander Zynthad of Feinster.

He signed the letter with his titles, and then put down the quill and returned to the mixture in the flask. It had finished soaking by now, so he jammed a cork into the flask and shook it vigorously, pausing to examine it every so often. He'd judged the amounts perfectly, and, sure enough, the potion slowly turned the dark reddish-brown of old blood.

'Perfect.'

'What are you making?' said Ymazu.

'Just a sleeping potion.'

'Ah.' Ymazu's voice was knowing. Vander had been sleeping poorly for the last few weeks. Stress didn't agree with him. Unlike Morzan, he had never been much of a fighter. His skills as a tactician and healer had been the most valuable contribution he had made to the Forsworn, and now, in peacetime, Galbatorix had wisely seen fit to give him a position that was almost purely diplomatic. Negotiating trade agreements and keeping the Surdans happy had become his life's work. And he had found it rewarding, too. He had come to love Surda; its hot, dry climate suited him perfectly, and he liked its people and its customs. And they, too, seemed to like him. At first they had received him with suspicion, perhaps fearing that, as one of the Forsworn, he would be treacherous and power-hungry. But he had won their trust, bit by bit, and in the end the little country had become like a second home to him.

The potion was finished. Vander boiled it with a quick spell, and cooled it again with another before he stowed it away in his tunic. He checked the letter – the ink had dried by now, and he carefully folded and sealed it and put it into his pocket. It was getting on for sunset, so he tidied up his workroom and locked the doors. The fortress was very different than the castles at Urû'baen, Teirm, Dras-Leona or Gil'ead. It had been built by Surdan settlers, centuries ago, when they had begun to spread into Alagaësia. The riders of old had quickly reclaimed the land and driven the Surdans back into their homeland, but some of the larger buildings they had built had remained behind as a testament. The fortress of Feinster was made of rough yellow sandstone, and its roofs were domed. The stonework had been coated with clay that had been in turn painted with simple but attractive designs and patterns in various shades of red and orange. The interiors were well-lit, and the rooms and corridors had pleasing curves and arched ceilings and doorways, all well-lit by carefully-placed skylights. This was a dry part of the country, and most of the water supply came from the nearby Jiet River. As Vander passed a window, he could hear the shouts of the fishermen down in the bay, and the cries of the traders in the marketplace below. It was a sound he loved.

His own room was simple and sparse, just as he liked it; the walls were decorated with drapes of brightly-coloured cloth, and his bed was a knee-high wooden frame that held a woven grass mat. Vander opened a small cupboard and put on a clean white shirt and a sleeveless purple and yellow vest decorated with gold thread. Once he had finished doing up the fastenings, he checked himself in the polished silver mirror. He looked tired and a little worn – the last few months had taken their toll on him. There were a few more white hairs scattered over his head, but the thin moustache and small beard he had grown were still black and neatly trimmed and oiled, as the Surdan fashion dictated. He smiled a little sadly at his reflection, and turned away. It would be sunset soon, and he picked up a pair of large earthenware jars sealed with wax and carried them with him up to the roof. There was a massive balcony up there, which had once been used to allow a Surdan noble to look down on the city. Now it served as a roost for Ymazu.

The old dragon, her scales a rich golden brown and her wings dark yellow, was basking in the sun, her head resting on the stone railing at the edge of the balcony. As a plains dragon, Ymazu was much smaller than Shruikan and his kind. She had stopped growing at twenty years of age, and never become any larger than an elephant. But she was more than big enough to carry the small, thin Vander. She was stockier and more compact than a mountain dragon, and the vanes of her wings were spiked, like the branches of a tough desert plant.

When Vander appeared, she growled softly at him and moved her tail to give him room beside her. He put down the two jars, and took his knife from his belt. 'Something for us to drink,' he said. He cut through the wax seal of one jar, and poured the contents into a huge stone dish left on the balcony near to Ymazu.

She sniffed at it. 'What is it? It smells… odd.'

'Just water. I added some herbs to make it taste sweeter.'

Ymazu tasted it thoughtfully. 'It's good.'

Vander smiled and began to remove the seal on the other jar. 'I brought some wine for myself.'

He'd left a cup on the balcony, and he poured some of the wine into it and sat on the guardrail to drink it, heedless of the extreme height.

Ymazu rested her head beside him. 'What's the occasion?'

'The realisation of our dream, of course. What else?'

'You mean the possible realisation of our dream,' Ymazu corrected.

Vander drank deeply. 'I have no doubts any more, Ymazu. The time for that has passed. Galbatorix won't let us down.'

'How can you be sure?' said Ymazu.

'He won't,' Vander repeated. 'Not now.'

'He'll be angry with you,' said Ymazu. 'He could banish us for this.'

'I'm not afraid,' said Vander. 'I did what I did for the good of the country. Galbatorix is a great ruler, Ymazu. Greater than anyone will ever admit. The Mad King! They call him that after a hundred years of peace and stability. I hate to think what they would call him if he were not such a good ruler. They don't even seem to realise how much better things have become since Vrael was overthrown. No… greatness is greatness even if it goes unrecognised. Even he refuses to acknowledge it. But everything he does is for the good of the Empire. He sacrificed everything he had for it. What I did was for the good of the Empire as well, and he knows that. No matter how much he dislikes it, he will see the need to put his own feelings aside. The alternative would be disastrous.'

'Even so,' said Ymazu. 'What you did amounts to treason. Even if Galbatorix goes through with it, he will still punish you. You know how much he hates to be manipulated. Forcing him to do anything …' she broke off and yawned.

Vander emptied his cup. 'Yes, yes, I know. It was a calculated risk.'

'More than a risk. A certainty.'

'Eluna will be at Urû'baen by now,' said Vander, ignoring her. 'I think Galbatorix will like her. And once she gets to know him…' he sighed and refilled his cup.

Ymazu drank deeply from her dish of water. 'Every King needs a Queen,' she admitted at last. 'You're right, Vander. Eventually he'll thank you.'

'I feel like a traitor,' said Vander. 'But the plan will work. No matter what happens, I am the only one in danger. If it comes out that I lied, Galbatorix and Emeril will turn on me, not each other. I will fully admit that Galbatorix knew nothing about what I was doing. I wrote it out in the ancient language and entered it into the records here as well, and in my journal. There will be no doubts in the matter.'

Ymazu sighed. 'You're a courageous man, Vander.'

Vander chuckled and drank some more wine. 'No I'm not. I've always been a coward. I never distinguished myself in the war, and never led any of the attacks. Galbatorix knew I wasn't much of a fighter. That's why he sent us here. Because he knows that a weak man always has to rely on his ability to negotiate. Cowards make the best strategists and diplomats, and always have done.'

'Don't, Vander,' Ymazu said gently.

'It doesn't bother me,' said Vander. 'I didn't intend to sound bitter. I accept my limitations, just as we should all do. And I accept my talents. I know I'm a better diplomat than Galbatorix will ever be. He doesn't have the patience. He's too solitary and independent-minded, and too inflexible. And I know I'm a better healer and herbalist than any of the others ever were, even Roland.'

'And you were the best plainsman the Forsworn ever had,' Ymazu added, chuckling.

'Oh, and that too,' said Vander. He took another mouthful of wine. 'Ahh… this is a good vintage. I can taste the cactus-fruit in it.'

'May I try some?' said Ymazu.

'All right, if you'd like to.'

The light brown dragon opened her mouth, and Vander poured some wine on her tongue. She closed her mouth and swallowed, then shuddered and bared her teeth in disgust. 'Ugh! It's horrible! How can you stand to drink it?'

'Quite easily,' said Vander, grinning. He emptied his cup, and reached for the jar again.

'Don't drink too much,' said Ymazu. 'You're making me-,' she yawned again.

Vander poured himself a third cup of wine, and looked out over Feinster, holding it in his hand. The sun was dipping below the horizon in a blaze of dark orange and gold, and the sea below it sparkled blue and white. They could see the sails of the small vessels heading out for an evening of fishing. Around the shore people were gathering shellfish in grass baskets slung on their shoulders, and further inland the covered market was closing down for the night. They could hear the voices drifting up toward them, mingling many different languages and accents – Surdan and Alagaësian alike. But all those people, Vander knew, lived their lives under his shadow. He and Ymazu would sit together on the balcony every evening and watch over the city as they were doing now. Vander often wondered if, when people looked up toward the fort and saw him there, they thought of him as a guardian and protector, or as something more menacing – a constant reminder of the rule of the Empire, and of Galbatorix's power over their lives. Did they hate him or love him? He knew he would never know.

'You did not want her to go,' Ymazu said softly.

Vander stirred himself. 'Of course I did.'

'But part of you wanted her to stay.'

'Yes,' said Vander. 'But what does it matter? It's behind me. Like so many other things.' He sighed and drank deeply. 'I'm tired, Ymazu. So tired. I've been tired for so many years. I never wanted to be immortal.'

'A hundred and thirty years is a long time for any man,' Ymazu admitted.

'Too long,' said Vander. 'I kept myself occupied for a long time, but… now it feels like I've finished everything I had to do.'

'There'll be other things, Vander,' said Ymazu.

'Perhaps.' Vander was silent for a long time. 'Do you remember how we first met?'

'Of course I do,' said Ymazu. She shared a feeling of deep love. 'I remember the first time I saw you. I wobbled out of my egg like a half-drowned rat – I couldn't see properly, or stand up under my own power. I fell over, and the next thing I knew something big and warm was lifting me up. I didn't know what it was, but I liked it. And then…'

'Then the bond was forged,' said Vander. 'I remember that very well. I nearly panicked. I thought I was dying.'

'And afterwards I could feel you in my head,' said Ymazu. 'I was confused, but I felt so… safe. And I looked up and saw a boy looking down at me, with his hair all hanging into his eyes, and I thought… well, I was too young to think. But the moment I saw you, I knew.'

'Knew what?' said Vander.

'Knew I was safe,' Ymazu said simply. 'Knew I had found what I had looked for for so long. Hundreds of people had touched my egg, but none of them were right. I knew I was a plains dragon even then. I still remembered hearing my mother die on the day they stole me from her. I rejected everyone. But then you came. A plainsman for a plains dragon. And I hatched. It was fate.'

Vander touched her snout, his heart bursting with love for her. 'Sometimes I regret the fact that I never married. But I could never say I spent my life alone. I had you. Ymazu… you were the greatest joy in my life. You made me happier than anyone else ever could have. I could never imagine us being apart, and we never will be. I love you, Ymazu. With all my heart.'

Ymazu smiled with her eyes and crooned deep in her chest. 'And I love you, Vander. I always have. You are a great man. The day I chose you to be the other half of my heart was the greatest day of my life.'

'So you have no regrets?'

'No, Vander. None. For as long as we are together, I will always be certain, and no pain or challenge would be too great for me. I am…' her voice faltered. She tried to raise her head, but sighed and let it slump down again. 'Oh, I'm so tired…'

Vander stroked her head. 'It's all right, Ymazu. You can rest now. Sleep. I'll watch over you.'

Ymazu yawned. 'Will you?'

'Yes. I won't leave you. I would never leave you.'

The plains dragon half-raised one wing, and then let it fall limply back into place, hanging down over her flank. Vander got down from the guard rails and embraced her, laying his head against the side of her neck. 'It's all right,' he whispered. 'It's all right, Ymazu. I'm here. I've got you. We're safe. We're all right.'

Ymazu's golden eyes closed slowly. 'Good night, Vander.'

Vander stayed with her until she was asleep, and kissed her scales. 'It's all right,' he said again. 'Sleep, Ymazu.'

He put down his cup of wine and sat down, huddling into the warm space between Ymazu's forelegs with his back to her chest. He could feel her great heart beating steadily, like a drum, and he looked out over the city once more. It was dusk by now, and the stars were out. Soon the people would begin returning to their homes, to eat and sleep. The ending of another day, warm and still from the Surdan sun.

Vander checked that the letter was still in his pocket. It was there, and he took it out and tucked it into one of the small slit-pockets in his vest, where it would be easily found. He finished off the last of the wine, and rather unsteadily put the cup down on the stone beside him. Ymazu's sleeping mind was adding drowsiness to that already caused by the wine, and he could see the ghostly images of her dreams darting in front of his eyes. She was dreaming of their youth together, when they had chased each other through a sunny glade, laughing and teasing each other.

Vander smiled sadly. He took the bottle of potion from his pocket, and removed the cork. For a moment he held onto it, watching the dark red liquid swirl gently inside its glass prison. He wondered if he would dream.

'A weak man,' he murmured, and drank the potion in one long swallow.

It went down easily. The dried roots he'd added had sweetened it, but couldn't quite take off the bitter edge. He set the empty bottle down next to his wine cup, and sat back, folding his hands in his lap.

The potion took effect almost instantly. His vision started to go grey, and tiredness pressed down on his brain. For a moment he felt a little stab of fear, but it quickly died away. He sighed – a long, deep sigh, full of a weariness that he had carried inside him for decades but never been able to release until now. His eyes closed, as if the lids were being dragged downward by a great weight, and the world around him vanished.

At first he saw nothing but blackness, but then, slowly, it opened up and he saw a place appear before his eyes. It was a great plain, stretching far into the distance like a dry sea. Grass swayed and rippled in the wind, brown like Ymazu's scales. He could smell its rich, spicy scent, and hear the click and buzz of insects in the heat haze that lay over the land. Somewhere in the distance a mighty river wove its way between the small foothills that rose out of the plain, and he could see a herd of wild horses drinking from it. Dragons flew overhead – small, stocky dragons with rich brown scales, filling the air with hoots and roars as they chased each other here and there, swooping low over the plains and rising back into the sky with absolute and natural grace. He looked upward, and saw Ymazu among them, her voice calling for him to come to her.

On the balcony high above Feinster, Vander's mouth twitched gently and formed into a soft, peaceful smile.

The expression faded a few moments later, and his hands, still clasped together in his lap, relaxed and fell to his sides. Vander's face went slack, and his head slumped sideways, sliding down Ymazu's flank until it came to rest on her foreleg.

The sun had finished setting, and night was coming. Below, in the city, people were sharing the evening meal in their homes, and warm firelight spilled out of the windows and onto the streets. After a while, a yellow crescent moon rose high over the ocean.

But Vander never saw it.