Wren smiled anew. “Thank you, Gavilan.”
“It is the truth.” The other paused. “I hope you will think of
me as your friend rather than simply your cousin. I want you
to know that if you ever need anything, or want to know any-
thing, please come to me. I will be happy to help if I can.”
Wren hesitated. “Gavilan, could you describe my mother
for me? Could you tell me what she looked like?
Her cousin shrugged. “Easily done. Alleyne was small like
you. Her hair was colored the same. And her voice . . .” He
trailed off. “Hard to describe. It was musical. She was quick-
witted and she laughed a lot. But I suppose I remember her eyes
best. They were just like yours. When she looked at you, you
felt as if there wasn’t anyone or anything more important in all
the world.”
Wren was thinking of the dream, the one in which her
mother was bending close to her, looking very much as Gavilan
had described her, saying Remember me. Remember me. It no longer
seemed just a dream to her now. She felt that once, long ago,
it must have really happened.
“Wren?”
She realized that she was staring off into space. She looked
back at Gavilan, wondering all at once if she should ask him
about the Elfstones and the demons. He seemed willing enough
to talk with her, and she was drawn to him in a way that sur-
prised her. But she didn’t really know him yet, and her Rover
training made her cautious.
“These are difficult times for the Elves,” Gavilan offered sud-
denly, bending close. Wren felt his hands come up to take her
shoulders. “There are secrets of the magic that-”
“Good day, Wren,” Eowen Cerise greeted, appearing at the
head of the stairs behind her. Gavilan went still. “Did you enjoy
your walk about the city?”
Wren turned, feeling Gavilan’s hands drop away. “I did. The
Owl was an excellent guide.”
Eowen approached, her green eyes shifting to fix Gavilan.
“How do you find your cousin, Gavilan?”
The Elf smiled. “Charming, strong-minded-her mother’s
daughter.” He glanced at Wren. “I have to be on my way. Lots
to do before dinner. I will talk with you then.”
He gave a short nod and walked away, loose, confident, a
bit jaunty. Wren watched him go, thinking that he masked a lot
with his well-met attitude, but that what lay beneath was rather
sweet.
Eowen met her gaze as she turned back. “Gavilan makes us
all feel like young girls again.” Her flaming red hair was tucked
within a netting, and she was wearing a loose, flower-
embroidered shift. Her smile was warm, but her eyes, as always,
seemed cool and distant. I think we are all in love with him.
Wren flushed. “I don’t even know him.”
Eowen nodded. “Well, tell me about your walk. What have
you learned of the city, Wren? What did Aurin Striate tell you
about it?”
They began to walk the length of the hallway toward Wren’s
bedchamber. Wren told Eowen what the Owl had said, hoping
secretly that the seer would reveal something in return. But
Eowen simply listened, nodded encouragingly, and said nothing.
She seemed preoccupied with other things, although she paid
close enough attention to what Wren was saying that she did
not lose the threads of the conversation. Wren finished her nar-
rative as they reached the door to her sleeping room and turned
so that they were facing each other.
A smile flickered on Eowen’s solemn face. “You have learned
a great deal for someone who has been in the city less than a
day, Wren.”
Not nearly as much as I would like to learn, Wren thought. “Eowen,
why is it that no one will tell me where the demons come from?”
she asked, throwing caution to the winds.
The smile disappeared, replaced by a palpable sadness. “The
Elves don’t like to think about the demons, much less talk about
them,” she said. “The demons came out of the magic, Wren-
out of misunderstanding and misuse. They are a fear and a shame
and a promise.” She paused, saw the disappointment and frus-