her knees and lost herself in the darkness behind her eyes.
Later that night, she was never sure when, she was roused
by the rough scrape of a boot on rock as someone approached.
She lifted her head slightly, peering out from the shelter of the
blanket. The night was black and thick with vog, the haze
creeping down the mountainside and settling onto the ledge like
a snake at hunt. A figure appeared out of the gloom, crouched
low, movements quick and furtive.
Wren’s hand slowly reached for the handle of her knife.
“Wren,” the figure said quietly, calling her name.
It was Eowen. Wren lifted her head in recognition and
watched the other creep forward and settle down before her.
Eowen was wrapped in her hooded cloak, her red hair wild and
tossed, her face flushed, and her eyes wide and staring as if she
had just witnessed something terrifying. Her mouth tightened as
she started to speak, and then she began to cry. Wren reached
out to her and pulled her close, surprised at the other’s vulner-
ability, a softening of strength that until the queen’s death had
never once been in evidence.
Eowen stiffened, brushed at her eyes, and breathed deeply
of the night air in an effort to compose herself. “I cannot seem
to stop,” she whispered. “Every time I think of her, every time
I remember, I start to grieve anew.”
“She loved you very much,” Wren told her, trying to lend
some comfort, remembering her own love as she did so.
The seer nodded, lowered her eyes momentarily, and then
looked up again. “I have come to tell you the truth about the
Elves, Wren.”
Wren stayed perfectly still, saying nothing, waiting. She felt
a cold, fathomless pit open within.
Eowen glanced back at the misty night, at the nothingness
that currounded them, and sighed. “I had a vision once, long
ago now, in which I saw myself with Ellenroh. She was alive
and vibrant, all aglow against a pale background that looked like
dusk in winter. I was her shadow, attached to her, bound to
her. Whatever she did, I did as well-moved as she did, spoke
when she spoke, felt her happiness and her pain. We were joined
as one. But then she began to fade, to disappear, her color to
wash, her lines to blur. She disappeared-yet I remained, a
shadow still, alone now, in search of a body to which I might
attach myself. Then you appeared-I didn’t know you then, but
I knew who you were, Alleyne’s daughter, Ellenroh’s grandchild.
You faced me, and I approached. As I did, the air about me
went dark and forbidding. A mist fell across my eyes, and I
could see only red, a brilliant scarlet haze. I was cold to the
bone, and there was no life left within me.”
She shook her head slowly. “The vision ended then, but I
took its meaning. The queen would die, and when she did I
would die as well. You would be there to witness it-perhaps
to partake in it.”
“Eowen.” Wren breathed the seer’s name softly, appalled.
The seer turned back quickly and the green eyes clouded.
“I am not frightened, Wren. A seer’s visions are both gift and
Curse, but always the rule of her life. I have learned neither to
fear nor deny what I am shown, only to accept. I accept now
that my time in this world is almost gone, and I would not die
without telling you the truth that you are so desperate to know.”
She hugged the cloak to her shoulders. “The queen could
not do so, you know. She could not bring herself to speak. She
wanted to. Perhaps in time she would have. But it was the horror
of her life that the magic of the Elves had done so much harm
and caused so much hurt. I was loyal to Ellenroh in life, but I
am released now by her death-in this at least. You must know,
Wren. You must know and judge as you will, for you are indeed
your mother’s daughter and meant to be Queen of the Elves.
The Elessedil blood marks you plainly, and while you question