She is very careful with what she says and how she says it. You saw as much.
He paused. She may be frightened for you, Wren.
“Because my mother was killed by coming back here, and
now I am at risk as well? But I was supposed to return according
to Eowen’s vision. They have been expecting me. And what do
you make of this vision anyway? How am I supposed to save
the Elves, Garth? Doesn’t that seem silly to you? After all, it
was all we could do just to stay alive long enough to reach the
city. I don’t see what difference my being here can make.”
Garth shrugged. Keep your eyes and ears open, Rover girl. That’s
how you learn things.
He smiled, and Wren smiled in return.
He left her then so that she could dress. As he closed the
door separating their rooms, she stood staring after him for a
moment. It occurred to her suddenly that there were enormous
inconsistencies in the stories told by her grandmother and Garth
concerning her parents. Admittedly, Garth’s version was sec-
ondhand and the queen’s based entirely on events that had taken
place before the departure from Arborlon, so perhaps inconsis-
tencies were to be expected. Still, neither had commented on
what each must have viewed as the other’s obvious mis-
takes. There was no mention of Wing Riders by Garth. There
was no mention of Rovers by the queen. There was nothing
from either about why her parents had not traveled first to
Shady Vale and the Ohmsfords but had gone instead to the
Westland.
She wondered if she should say anything about it to Garth.
Given the importance of her other concerns, she wondered if
this one really mattered.
She found clothing set out for her to wear, garments that fit
better than Garth’s-pants, a tunic, stockings, a belt, and a pair
of fine-worked leather ankle boots. She slipped the clothing on,
going over in her mind as she did so the revelations of the night
before, considering anew what she had learned. The queen
seemed decided on the importance of Wren’s arrival in Arbor-
Ion, certain in her own mind at least that Eowen’s vision would
prove accurate. Aurin Striate, too, had mentioned that they had
been waiting for her. Yet no one had said why, if, in fact, any-
one knew. There hadn’t been any mention in the dream of what
it was that Wren’s presence was supposed to accomplish. Maybe
it would take another vision to find out.
She grinned at her own impudence and was pulling on her
boots when the grin abruptly faded.
What if the importance of her return was that she carried
with her the Elfstones? What if she was expected to use the
Stones as a weapon against the demons?
She went cold with the thought, remembering anew how
she had been forced to use them twice now despite her reluc-
tance to do so, remembering the feeling of power as the magic
coursed through her, liquid fire that burned and exhilarated at
the same time. She was aware of their addictive effect on her,
of the bonding that took place each time they were employed,
and of how they seemed so much a part of her. She kept saying
she would not use them, then found herself forced to do so
anyway-or persuaded, perhaps. She shook her head. The
choice of words didn’t matter; the results were the same. Each
time she used the magic, she drifted a little farther from who
and what she was and a little closer to being someone she didn’t
know. She lost power over herself by using the power of the
magic.
She jammed her feet into the boots and stood up. Her think-
ing was wrong. It couldn’t be the Elfstones that were important.
Otherwise, why hadn’t Ellenroh simply kept them here instead
of giving them to Alleyne? Why hadn’t the Stones been used
against the demons long ago if they could really make a differ-
ence?
She hesitated, then reached over to her sleeping gown and
extracted the Elfstones from the pocket in which she had placed
them the night before. They lay glittering in her hand, their