"Praise the gods above!" came Rhys's familiar rough voice from below. The rogue approached through the wreckage half-carrying Velkan, both men were bloodied but grinning like schoolboys.

Amara nearly sobbed relief into her hand. They had survived this nightmare trial. Velkan gave her a weary salute despite his own exhaustion. "You turned the tide, sister! Father will laud you a hero."

Perhaps it was battle fever, but Amara felt only a pang at the thought of more accolades. She shook her head mutely. The only real heroes lay cold beneath the mud. If this was victory, she wanted no more of it. But peace still beckoned however battered and imperfect. She must cling to that hope.

Steeling herself, she turned to the rebel commander kneeling below. "On my authority, you are pardoned. Now let us bind up wounds in common cause." Her tired voice carried the ring of command now. The people of Pelian would look to her, she realized with slow wonder. And with the Hallow Skull's power at her disposal, none could challenge her rule now.

The realization was both heady and sobering. Amara felt the skull's oppressive weight on her spirit as deeply as against her hand. However justly invoked, its powers came at a cost. She tucked the carven bone safely away, mouthing another prayer for wisdom. The next victory must be won with words alone.

Watery sunlight came through smoke and sea haze as the Pelian fortress came slowly back to life. All through that long night the work of recovery went on—gathering shattered dead, succouring wounded, clearing debris for funeral pyres whose smoke yet lingered in the air. Amara moved tirelessly among the survivors, stooping to offer what aid or comfort she could. Here healing a gash, there kindling hope with a gentle touch or word. The people's trauma ran deeper than mere cuts and bruises.

When at last she staggered, Rhys was there to lift and carry her to brief rest. Velkan organized detachments of the able-bodied to continue the work until she recovered some little strength. Her loyal hound and valiant brother both, Amara thought hazily, pillowed against Rhys' broad chest. Without them as her hands in this strange land, all was lost. Tears of gratitude wet her filthy cheeks before she slipped into unconsciousness.

She woke to worried faces hovering over her cot. "Praise the stars you're mended, sister!" Velkan helped her sit and pressed a flask to her lips. The hot spiced wine burned away the last cobwebs. Amara managed a wan smile. There was still much to do and discover here.

Supported by the two men, Amara walked slowly out onto the upper parapets as the sun sank toward distant waves. The courtyard was transformed. Pelian fighters and Cerulean marines laboured side by side to raise a massive pyre for their commingled dead. Amara murmured a traditional prayer for lost souls, noting how many voices joined hers. Common grief was already uniting long-time rivals. Perhaps this tragedy could plant seeds of understanding if carefully tended going forward.

As the last sparks from the funeral blaze rose into the darkening sky, Amara took her leave. There was one crucial conversation yet before this day's last page turned. Ushered by her guards, she descended to the governor's private council chamber deep within the fortress. Night's shadows could not obscure the deeper stains here.

The portly Governor Gormand rose from his ornate chair to offer courtesies, but Amara went straight to the heart of things. "Your people suffered and died today needlessly. I would know why." She kept her voice cool but not accusing. She gummed up truth without rancour, or the wounds would never truly heal.

The governor sought refuge in manners, dabbing his moist brow with a kerchief. "My lady, the rebels whipped the mob into lawless frenzy. I am blameless before heaven." His reedy voice rang hollow. Amara regarded him sternly.

"I will have the full truth, sir. No more sophistry and denial."

The governor wrung his kerchief, glancing miserably to the silent guards flanking the door. Finally his shoulders slumped. "Very well. But the shame is more than I can bear." He seemed to age a decade as the weight of artifice fell away.

"In truth the mob had some right to resentment. When bad seasons brought famine, I...kept sell-swords in my household and let granaries empty. We redirected harvests from peasants to our central stores." He twitched under Amara's merciless gaze. "Desperate times make beasts of frail men."

Amara kept her outward poise, though anger threatened to crack her studied calm. How often had the meek suffered to feed this coward's vanity and fear? She longed to scourge him with words for such craven abuse. But wise authority consisted foremost in self-restraint. This Regional Lord dared not defy her openly now. The deeper victory must be won another way.

"The past is engraved in stone," she said at last, echoing her words to Rhys so long ago. "But the future's page remains unwritten." She held the governor's eye, willing her compassion to soften her judgment's edge. "All here shall rebuild together, lord and commoner alike. None will be abandoned again. This is my sworn oath."

The governor searched her face as one granted undeserved grace. He sank slowly to his knees before her. "Your wisdom humbles me, Princess. I've been a fool, not a leader. Mould me into what the realms require." His pained admission marked a turning point. He confirmed her authority over him and his ability to change. There was hope for even corrupt souls if pride bowed to compassion.

Amara touched his shoulder lightly. "Tomorrow's trials will judge us all, my lord. Tonight, rest and reflect." She turned to go, her own fatigue creeping close again. But pauses at the door to glance back once more.

"The lives lost today can never be reclaimed. But building real and lasting peace is the only fit memorial. Remember that together."

She left the chastised governor kneeling in the blood-darkened gloom to reckon with his private ghosts. The wider reckoning of mending a divided people lay before them all. But for this night, she had done enough.