Only her Ward Commander and his lieutenants were taken into custody; the rest of her wardsmen were confined to barracks under the eye of Regent Martinek's forces. Members of her household staff were pardoned in exchange for a pledge of loyalty to the Southeastern Pelmaran Regent. A few wept, but what of it? It was only a few. Most helped them search the fortress, scouring it from top to bottom, lest it transpire that the Lady Cerelinde was housed there after all. Haomane's Allies were thorough.
These things, Lilias had expected. The vast numbness that filled her, the void in her heart left by Calandor's death and the Soumanië's loss, insulated her. And in truth, she could not blame her people. She had lied. She had erred. She had failed to protect them. Left to her own devices, she would have begged leave to retire to her chambers, to turn her back upon the world and eschew all sustenance, letting her newly mortal flesh dwindle until Oronin's Horn made good its claim on her spirit. What else was left for her? At least on the far side of death, she might find Calandor's spirit awaiting her.
But Aracus Altorus did not leave her to her own devices.
He didn't know how to use the Soumanië, and there was no one else to tell him. Even the Ellylon shook their heads, saying it was a thing only Ingolin the Wise might know. It afforded her a grim amusement. They were fools to think the Soumanië would be so easily claimed. And so, far from letting her retire in solitude and turn her face to the wall, Aracus kept her at his side, and Lilias kept her silence. He sought to woo her with sweet reason, he bullied her, he chivvied her, he offered her bargains she refused. He would not stoop to torture—there was that much, at least, to be said for Haomane's Allies—but neither would he let her out of his sight. He dragged her into the Cavern of the Marasoumië beneath Beshtanag Mountain, where he made an ill-guided attempt to use the gem to summon Malthus the Counselor.
Even if he had known its secret, he would have failed that day.
Lilias had laughed, close to hysteria, as the foundations of the world shifted and the node-point of the Marasoumië turned dull and inert, a dead hunk of grey granite. The bundled fibers of light that had traced the Ways went dead, leaving empty tunnels through solid rock. Aracus had cried aloud in pain, scrabbling at his forehead, removing the fillet from his brow and clutching it in his hand. As the Soumanië shone like a red star in his grasp, answering to the distant power of Godslayer, she knew what it was that the Sunderer had done, and that the Counselor was trapped within the Ways.
"Tell me how to reach him!" Aracus had raged. "Tell me how to use this!"
Lilias had shrugged. "Give me the Soumanië."
He didn't, of course; he wasn't a fool. He had merely glared at her, while the Ellylon spoke to him in hushed tones of what had transpired, explaining that not even one of the Soumanië could undo Godslayer's work. If they could not tap the Soumanië's power themselves, still, there were things they knew; things they understood, Haomane's Children. A death at the heart of Urulat was one such. They explained it to the would-be King of the West, their perfect faces strained and bone-white. The Ellylon did not love the deep places of the earth.
In the end, they trooped back to her warchamber, where Lilias was not allowed to leave. She was a piece of excess baggage, but one too valuable to discard. Dignity, along with privacy, was a thing from another life. She sat in the corner, covering her face with both hands, while Haomane's Allies spoke in portentous tones of assailing Darkhaven. They let her hear their plans, so little did they fear her. A bitter irony, that.
"My lady," a voice whispered. "Is there aught I can bring you?"
Lilias gazed upward through the lank curtain of her hair. "Pietre!" It was appalling, the gratitude in her acknowledgment. Tears welled in her eyes. "Are you well? Have they treated you kindly?"
"Aye, my lady, well enough. It is as you said, they show us mercy." Stooping on one knee, Pietre offered the tray he held; a silver salver from her own cupboards, laden with cheese and dark Pelmaran bread. There was concern in his gaze. "Will you not eat? A bit of bread, at least? I can ask the cooks to sop it in wine, make a posset…"
"No," Lilias began, then paused. "Would you do this for me?"
"Anything."
She told him, whispering, her lips close to his ear. Pietre shook his head vehemently, his brown hair brushing her cheek. Only when one of the Ellylon glanced over in idle curiosity did he relent. Even then, his willingness was fitful. "Are you sure?" he asked, begging her with his eyes to say no.
"Yes." Lilias almost smiled. "I am sure."