shadows crept close.
“I am Ellenroh Elessedil,” the woman said, hands tightening,
“Queen of Arborlon and the Westland Elves. Child, I barely
know what to say to you, even now, even after so much antic-
ipation.” She sighed. “Here, what am I thinking? Your wounds
must be washed and treated. And those of your friend as well.
You must have something to eat. Then we can talk all night if
we need to. Aurin Striate.” She turned to the Owl. “I am in your
debt once again. Thank you, with all my heart. By bringing
Wren safely into the city, you give me fresh hope. Please stay
the night.”
“I will stay, my Lady,” the Owl replied softly.
“Triss, see that our good friend is well looked after.
And Wren’s companion.” She looked at him. “What is your
name?”
“Garth,” Wren answered at once, suddenly frightened by the
speed with which everything was happening. “He doesn’t speak.”
She straightened defensively. “Garth stays with me.”
The sound of boots in the hail brought them all about once
again. A new Elf appeared, dark-haired, square-faced, and rather
tall, a man whose smile was as ready and effortless as that of the
queen’s. He came into the room without slowing, self-assured
and controlled. “What’s all this? Can’t we enjoy a few hours’
sleep without some new crisis? Ah, Aurin Striate is here, I see,
come in from the fire. Well met, Owl. And Triss is up and about
as well?”
He stopped, seeing Wren for the first time. There was an
instant’s disbelief mirrored on his face, and then it disappeared.
His gaze shifted to the queen. “She has returned after all, hasn’t
she?” The gaze shifted back to Wren. “And as pretty as her
mother.”
Wren flushed, conscious of the fact that she was doing so,
embarrassed by it, but unable to help herself. The Elf’s smile
broadened, unnerving her further. He crossed quickly and put
his arm protectively about her. “No, no, please, it is true. You
are every bit your mother.” He gave her a companionable
squeeze. “If a bit dusty and tattered about the edges.”
His smile drew her in, warming her and putting her instantly
at ease. There might not have been anyone else in the room. “It
was a rather rough journey up from the beach,” she managed,
and was gratified by his quick laugh.
“Rough indeed. Very few others would have made it. I am
Gavilan Elessedil,” he told her, “the queen’s nephew and your
cousin.” He cut himself short when he saw her bewildered look.
“Ah, but you don’t know about that yet, do you?”
“Gavilan, take yourself off to sleep,” Ellenroh interrupted,
smiling at him. “Time enough to introduce yourself later. Wren
and I need to talk now, just the two of us.”
“What, without me?” Gavilan assumed an injured look. “I
should think you would want to include me, Aunt Eli. Who was
closer to Wren’s mother than I?”
The queen’s gaze was steady as it fixed on him. “I was.” She
turned again to Wren, moving Gavilan aside, placing herself
next to the girl. Her arms came about Wren’s shoulders. “This
night should be for you and I alone, Wren. Garth will be waiting
for you when we are done. But I would like it if we spoke first,
just the two of us.”
Wren hesitated. She was reminded of the Owl telling her
that she must say nothing of the Elfstones except to the queen.
She glanced over at him, but he was looking away. The red-
haired woman, on the other hand, was looking intently at Gay-
ilan, her face unreadable.
Garth caught her attention, signing, Do as she asks.
Still Wren did not reply. She was on the verge of learning
the truth about her mother, about her past. She was about to
discover the answers she had come seeking. And suddenly she
did not want to be alone when it happened.
Everyone was waiting. Garth signed again. Do it. Rough, un-
compromising Garth, harborer of secrets.
Wren forced a smile. “We’ll speak alone,” she said.
THEY LEFT THE ENTRYWAY and went down the hall and up a set
of winding stairs to the second floor of the palace. Garth re-