Alleyne’s daughter and you have the Elessedil blood. You have
courage and strength. You have done more already than anyone
had a right to expect from you.
“But, Wren, none of this is your problem. The Elves are not
your people or Arborlon your city. I know that. I know how
foreign it must all feel. And Ellenroh never understood that you
couldn’t ask people to accept responsibility for things when the
responsibility was never theirs to begin with. She never under-
stood that once she sent you away, she could never have you
back the same. That was how she lost Alleyne! Now, look. She
has given you the Ruhk Staff and the Loden, the Elves and
Arborlon, the whole of the future of a nation, and told you to
be queen. But you don’t really want any part of it, do you?”
“I didn’t,” she admitted. “Once.”
He missed her hesitation. “Then give it up! Be finished with
it! Let me take the Staff and the Stone and use them as they
should be used-to fight against the monsters that track us, to
destroy the ones that have turned Morrowindl into this night-
mare!”
“Which set of monsters?” she asked softly.
“What?”
“Which set? The demons or the Elves? Which do you
mean?”
He stared at her, uncomprehending, and she felt her heart
break apart inside. His eyes were clear and angry, his face in-
tense. He seemed so convinced. “The Elves,” she whispered, “are
the ones who destroyed Morrowindi.”
“No,” he answered instantly, without hesitation.
“They made the demons, Gavilan.”
He shook his head vehemently. “Old men made them in
another time. A mistake like that wouldn’t happen again. I
wouldn’t let it. The magic can be better used, Wren. You know
that to be true. Haven’t the Ohmsfords always found a way?
Haven’t the Druids? Let me try! I can stand against these things;
I can do what is needed! You don’t want the Staff; you said so
yourself! Give it to me!”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
Cavilan stiffened, and his hands drew away. “Why not,
Wren? Tell me why not.”
She couldn’t tell him, of course. She couldn’t find the words,
and even if she had been able to find the words, she wouldn’t
have been able to speak them.
“I have given my promise,” she said instead, wishing he would
let the matter die, that he would give up his demand, that he
would see how wrong it was for him to ask.
“Your promise?” he snapped. “To whom?”
“To the queen,” she insisted stubbornly.
“To the queen? Shades, Wren, what’s the worth of that? The
queen is dead!”
She hit him then, struck him hard across the face, a blow
that rocked his head back. He remained turned away for a mo-
ment and then straightened. “You can hit me again if it will make
you feel any better.”
“It makes me feel terrible,” she whispered, curling up inside,
turning to ice. “But that was a wrong thing to say, Gavilan.”
He regarded her bitterly for a moment, and she found her-
self wishing that she could have him back as he was when they
were still in Arborlon, when he was charming and kind, the
friend she needed, when he had kissed her outside the High
Council, when he had cared for her.
The handsome face tightened with determination. “You have
to let me use the Loden’s magic, Wren.”
She shook her head firmly. “No.”
He thrust forward aggressively, almost as if to attack her. “If
you don’t, we won’t survive. We can’t. You haven’t the-”
“Don’t, Gavilan!” she interjected, her hand flying to cover
his mouth. “Don’t say it! Don’t say anything more!”
The sudden gesture froze them both momentarily, and the
wind that blew past them in a sudden gust caused Wren to
shiver. Slowly she took her hand away. “Go to sleep,” she urged,
fighting to keep her voice from breaking. “You’re tired.”
He rocked back slightly, a small motion only, one that
moved him just inches away from her-yet she could feel the
severing of ties between them as surely as if they were ropes
cut with a knife.