Inside the Tower there was celebration as well, but it was a bit muted. The Tower had lost fifty-three katzh-dashi in the battle, fifty-three out of five hundred and nine. That was one out of ten, killed in the battle. The cost to the katzh-dashi had been very high, but it had been a price they willingly paid, given the alternative. The Council had survived, but Jinna Brent, the Water seat, and Darrian Goldaxe, the Earth seat, had both been wounded in the fight. They were in their rooms, recuperating from the ordeal of being healed, and so were not present at the grand feast held in honor of their victory. The feast was attended by all the kazth-dashi, as well as the visitors and generals that had called the Tower home since arriving to help repel the ki'zadun. Many of the Arakite military command structure was present, as well as all the surviving Aeradalla. A large complement of Selani were present, as well as the new leader of the Centaurs, after their former one was killed during the fighting. Sathon was present, wearing a splendid white robe, as was Audrey the Were-wolf.

But all of them stared at the large table of empty seats near the table of the Council. That was where the Were-cats were to sit, as well as the core of the people close to Tarrin. Those seats were empty, and nobody had seen any of them since they had returned to the Tower.

But they were in the Tower. The Were-cats were gathered in Triana's rooms, where she still recovered from using her magic during the battle. Jesmind and Jasana were there with the others, but Tarrin was not with them. Sarraya was attending Triana, acting as nurse and healer to the Were-cat matron and speeding her recovery along. Keritanima was recuperating in her bed, with Allia, Miranda, Azakar, Dar, Szath, and Dolanna in close attendance. Jenna was resting comfortably in the apartments claimed by his parents, who watched over her in her convalescence. Phandebrass had forgotten about the feast, and was happily scraping up the residue of the destroyed Demons that had been defeated when they penetrated the fence, fully intent to study the horrific substance to better understand how Demonic physiology functioned. Camara Tal was sitting quietly with Jula, who was still unconscious after her own part in the battle, a part that was unknown to the others yet just as important as anything else that had happened.

Tarrin was in the courtyard, a courtyard whose hedges were mysteriously, magically restored from where the Demons had flattened them trying to reach the Goddess' icon. After everything that had happened, he realized he needed a little time alone, quiet, time to think and reflect on it all. He sat on the edge of the fountain, chin in his paw, looking down at the red bricks laid into the ground that surrounded the happily bubbling, gurgling fountain, and he fretted. So much had went on. Almost too much. And he'd only seen about half of the battle. From what he'd heard from others, the fight between Jenna's Circle and the Wizards and Priest of the ki'zadun had been spectacular, more than just invisible strokes and counterstrokes within the Weave. They had traded magical spells on more than one occasion, and some of the effects had been quite explosive. He'd pieced together the chronology of the battle from the stories that the others told him, and realized that they'd only just barely managed to eke out a victory. Had just one thing not happened when it happened, they'd probably still be fighting.

But there was more to it than just the battle. Tarrin was a bit chagrined, in a way, and the reason for it, he was sure, would seem a bit silly to the others. But it was serious to him, because it had caused him to break an oath. He had sworn an oath not to reveal the name of the Goddess, and yet he had done so. The use of the spell of banishment required that the name of the god enacting the banishment be voiced, and Tarrin had been forced to speak the Goddess' name in the middle of an army. He was absolutely sure they'd heard it. It bothered him that he'd broken his word, bothered him a great deal, even though it seemed a trivial worry, or it had been necessary. He still felt very foolish for not thinking of that first, that his incompetence had delayed him from getting rid of the Demoness, and that men had died on her swords because of it. Had he been thinking and realized that he could do the same thing to her that he did to the others, those men would still be alive. It was even more blood on his paws, and was just as bright and glaring as all the other blood.

But, in his own defense, he still found it hard to believe that he could use Priest magic. It seemed… alien. Sorcery came from the Weave, but partially came from within, and Druidic power from the land. Those were close things, intimate things, things that didn't seem so distant or unusual. But Priest magic came directly from the Goddess, and it required him to chant magical words just like a Wizard. That seemed so inefficient, so clumsy compared to the art of weaving spells, or the simplicity of Druidic magic.

Magic. The Firestaff had revealed itself to the world, just as the Goddess had said it would. It was out there right now, waiting for someone to find it, to pick it up. And he was positive that the seas were already populated with a large number of ships sailing off towards the direction of the Firestaff. He had taken too long to get the Book of Ages, he had dawdled too long in the desert. He had gotten himself shot like some untrained fool in Shoran's Fork, which delayed him even more. The Goddess was disappointed that he wasn't closer to it when it revealed itself, and Tarrin took that to mean that she was disappointed in him. He had blundered three times that day, just another three in a long series of mistakes, mishaps, and downright disobedient standoffs that had put him far behind where the Goddess wanted him to be. He felt that he'd failed her, and that left him feeling humiliated and deeply ashamed.

Shame or not, he wasn't about to quit, however. He would find the Firestaff first, and he'd keep it. He'd protect it from being used, and he'd make the Goddess proud of him again.

"Kitten, sometimes you amaze me in how badly you see everything you do," a voice came from behind him, an audible, physical voice. He turned to look, and saw that it emanated from the center of the fountain. But there was no marble statue of a nude woman there. This was a flesh and blood person, a real being, but her features were absolutely identical to the features of the statue that had been there when he came in. The woman was nude, as the statue had been, but a mere gesture caused a garment of iridescent, shimmering material to garb the figure, almost like stars spun into silk. It twinkled and shone every time she moved, stepping out onto the surface of the water as if it were solid ground. The physical face of the Goddess was just as beautiful as the statue, but now the alabaster granite was replaced by a young, rosy-cheeked face, her complexion light, and her hair a strange mixture of the seven colors of the Weave, hair seemingly made of a rainbow, long and thick and luxurious as it swayed with her movements and the wind. Her eyes were not real eyes, more like pools of amber energy, without whites or irises or pupils, like how Tarrin's eyes glowed green when he was angry, hers glowed with that amber radiance. She looked human, but there were features, like the eyes, that told any who looked upon her that she was much more than a mere human.

Tarrin stared at this flesh-and-blood woman in awe for a long moment, even as she waited imperiously at the edge of the fountain, tapping her foot on the surface of the water impatiently. He finally snapped out of staring at her and offered her his paw, which she took with a smile and stepped down onto the brick. Her hand felt like human flesh, but there was a heat within it that was not normal for a human, and her skin's contact with his pads made his pads burn and throb, but not in pain. More like an awareness of great power, like a tingling he sometimes got from the Weave or Druidic magic. She was shorter than him, about Allia's height, and that seemed so intolerably wrong to him. So he knelt down before her in awe and adulation, staring up at her with both love and reluctance.