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so realistic that stone blossoms and fruit could be glimpsed in the branches.
    The leaders of her fey’ri legion awaited her in the hall. Each of the dozen demon-elves was the leader of one of the fey’ri Houses. Some, like Reithel, were ancient Houses from Siluvanede that were strong and numerous, having been imprisoned in the Nameless Dungeon for fifty centuries. Others, like Aelorothi, were survivor Houses, families of daemonfey who had passed their demonic heritage down through twenty generations from the time of Sarya’s ancient realm to her revival only five years ago. The descendant houses were smaller and less numerous than ancient houses such as Reithel, but they were made up of fey’ri who had grown up in the world Sarya and her ancient legion had suddenly found themselves in. They were comfortable with the new world in a way that Sarya and the other ancient prisoners could never be.
    Not for the first time, Sarya found herself wondering what had become of Nurthel Floshin. He was from one of the descendant Houses, and had served as an able spymaster and lieutenant. But he had not returned from the expedition she had dispatched to recover the Nightstar, and she could only assume that he was dead.
    She turned her attention to the proud, cruel lords and ladies gathered before her. “Look around you,” she began. “This will be our home, the founding-stone on which we will build our new realm. Before I and my family came to
    Siluvanede, we dwelled here in Cormanthyr. It is only fitting that this is the place where we begin to rebuild.”
    Sarya leaped down from the steps on which she stood, flaring her wings to alight in front of the fey’ri lords. She did not look forward to what must be said next.
    “You all know that this is not what I planned when I broke open Nar Kerymhoarth three months ago,” she began. “I intended to erase the realms of the High Forest and Evereska from the map, and claim vengeance for the destruction of Siluvanede five thousand years ago.”
    She paused, holding the eyes of her minions, and said, “That, however, was a mistake.
    “Perhaps events might have fallen out differently if Evermeet had not responded with so much force, or if Nurthel Floshin had not failed to recover the Nightstar, or even if the fortunes of battle had favored us against Evermeet’s army. But these things did not happen. I underestimated our enemies’ strength and resolve, or overestimated our own strength, or did not plan to overcome ill fortune—it does not really matter. The consequence of my mistake was that we had to abandon our stronghold at Myth Glaurach and leave our work in Evereska and the High Forest undone.”
    The daemonfey queen turned away from her fey’ri, deliberately putting her back to them as she paced. She hated the idea of introducing her own fallibility into her follower’s minds, but it had to be there already, didn’t it? Still, she did not want to let the fey’ri lords consider that last thought for long. She looked back over her shoulder at her captains and lords.
    “It would be foolish of me to pretend that I am incapable of making mistakes,” she said. “What I intend to do now is to learn from our mistakes. Before we take the field again or challenge the usurpers who have stolen our lands and treasures, we must grow much stronger. We will hide here in Myth Drannor, protected by the ancient power of its mythal. Within these ruined walls our enemies cannot divine our existence or scry out our strength. We will grow strong in secret, until the time is right for us to return.”
    “What of the baatezu?” Alysir Ursequarra asked. “When do we destroy them?”
    “They are not our enemies,” Sarya said firmly. “You are to strike no blow against the devils in this city unless I tell you to.” The fey’ri lords shifted uneasily, some risking quick glances at their fellows. Sarya turned back to face her followers. “The devils that were summoned here decades ago were