mained behind with Aurin Striate and Triss, apparently untrou-
bled that he was not going with her, comfortable with their
separation even knowing Wren was clearly not. She caught Gay-
ilan staring after her, saw him smile and wink and then disappear
another way, a sprite gone back to other amusing games. She
liked him instinctively, just as she had the Owl, but not in the
same way. She wasn’t really sure yet what the difference was,
too confused at the moment by everything happening to be able
to sort it out. She liked him because he made her feel good, and
that was enough for now.
Despite the queen’s admonishment to the others about want-
ing to speak with Wren alone, the red-haired woman trailed
after them, a wraith white faced against the shadows. Wren
glanced back at her once or twice, at the strangely intense,
distant face, at the huge green eyes that seemed lost in other
worlds, at the flutter of slender hands against a plain, soft gown.
Ellenroh did not seem to notice she was there, hastening along
the darkened corridors of the palace to her chosen destination,
forgoing light of any sort save the moon’s as it flooded through
long, glassed windows in silver shafts. They passed down one
hallway and turned into another, still on the second floor, and
finally approached a set of double doors at the hall’s end. Wren
started at a hint of movement in the darkness to one side-one
that another would not have seen but did not escape her. She
slowed deliberately, letting her eyes adjust. An Elf stood deep
in the shadows against the wall, still now, watchful.
“It is only Cort,” the queen softly said. “He serves the Home
Guard.” Her hand brushed Wren’s cheek. “You have our Elf
eyes, child.”
The doors led into the queen’s bedchamber, a large room
with a domed ceiling, latticed windows curved in a bank along
the far wall, a canopied bed with the sheets still rumpled, chairs
and couches and tables in small clusters, a writing desk, and a
door leading off to a wash chamber.
“Sit here, Wren,” the queen directed, leading her to a small
couch. “Eowen will wash and dress your cuts.”
She looked over at the red-haired woman, who was already
pouring water from a pitcher into a basin and gathering together
some clean cloths. A minute later she was back, kneeling beside
Wren, her hands surprisingly strong as she loosened the girl’s
clothes and began to bathe her. She worked wordlessly while
the queen watched, then finished by applying bandages where
they were needed and supplying a loose-fitting sleeping gown that
Wren gratefully accepted and slipped into-the first clean clothes
she had enjoyed in weeks. The red-haired woman crossed the
room and returned with a cup of something warm and soothing.
Wren sniffed at it tentatively, discovered traces of ale and tea
and something more, and drank it without comment.
Ellenroh Elessedil eased down on the couch beside her and
took her hand. “Now, Wren, we shall talk. Are you hungry?
Would you like something to eat first?” Wren shook her head,
too tired to eat, too anxious to discover what the queen had to
tell her. “Good, then.” The queen sighed. “Where shall we be-
gin?”
Wren was suddenly conscious of the red-haired woman
moving over to sit down across from them. She glanced at the
woman doubtfully-Eowen, the queen had called her. She had
assumed that Eowen was the queen’s personal attendant and had
been brought along solely for the purpose of seeing to their
comfort and would then be dismissed as the others had. But the
queen had not dismissed her, appearing barely aware of her
presence in fact, and Eowen gave no indication that she thought
she was expected to leave. The more Wren thought about it the
less Eowen seemed simply an attendant. There was something
about the way she carried herself, the way she reacted to what
the queen said and did. She was quick enough to help when
asked, but she did not show the deference to Ellenroh Elessedil
that the others did.
The queen saw where Wren was looking and smiled. “I’m