[And then there is a voice... a real voice. Not from Jugdral, but from here. Ethlyn grasps at it like a drowning sailor might grasp for a rope. Marianne. Marianne is here.

She won't have to face this all alone.]

I... it's... [She shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts enough for a coherent answer.] Grannvale. My home.

[She forces herself to look at the boy with the cruel face. There is something in his eyes--it is like what she sees in Sigurd's eyes, and Quan's, and Altena's--the blessing of the gods, shining faintly from within. But it isn't like theirs. It isn't light in his eyes.]

I can't place that mark on his forehead--or those children--but that's Grannvale's throne--and--it must mean that we failed.