tration mirrored in Wren’s eyes, and reached out to take her
hands. “The queen forbids me, Wren,” she whispered. “And per-
haps she is right. But I promise you this. Some day soon, if you
still wish it, I will tell you everything.”
Wren met her gaze, saw honesty reflected in her eyes, and
nodded. “I will hold you to that, Eowen. But I would like to
think my grandmother would choose to tell me first.”
“Yes, Wren. I would like to think so, too.” Eowen hesitated.
“We have been together a long time, she and I. Through child-
hood, first love, husbands, and children. All are gone. Alleyne
was the worst for both of us. I have never told your grand-
mother this-though I think she suspects-but I saw in my vi-
sion that Alleyne would try to return to Arborlon and that we
could not stop her. A seer is blessed and cursed with what she
sees. I know what will happen; I can do nothing to change it.”
Wren nodded, understanding. “Magic, Eowen. Like that of
the Elfstones I wish I could be shed of it. I don’t trust what it
does to me. Is it any different for you?”
Eowen tightened her grip, her green eyes locking on Wren’s
face. “We are given our destiny in life by something we can
neither understand nor control, and it binds us to our future as
surely as any magic.”
She released Wren’s hands and stepped away. “As we speak
the queen determines the fate of the Elves, Wren. It is your
coming that prompts this. You would know what difference your
being here makes? Tonight, I think, you shall.”
Wren started in sudden realization. “You have had a vision,
haven’t you, Eowen? You’ve seen what is to be.”
The seer brought up her hands as if not knowing whether
to ward the accusation off or to embrace it. “Always, child,” she
whispered. “Always.” Her face was anguished. “The visions never
leave.”
She turned away then and disappeared back down the hall.
Wren stood watching after her as she had watched after the
Owl, prophets wandering toward an uncertain future, visions
themselves of what the Elves were destined to be.
DINNER THAT NIGHT was a lengthy, awkward affair marked by
long periods of silence. Wren and Garth were summoned at
dusk and went down to find Eowen and the Owl already waiting.
Gavilan joined them a few minutes later. They were seated close
together at one end of the long oak table, an impressive array
of food was laid out before them, serving people were placed at
their beck and call, and the dining hail was brightly lit against
the coming night. They spoke little, working hard when they
did to avoid wandering into those areas that had already been
designated as swampy ground. Even Gavilan, who did most of
the talking, chose his topics carefully. Wren could not tell
whether her cousin was intimidated by the presence of Eowen
and the Owl or whether something else was bothering him. He
was as bright and cheerful as before, but he lacked any real
interest in the meal and seemed preoccupied. When they spoke,
it was mostly to discuss Wren’s childhood with the Rovers and
Gavilan’s memories of Alleyne. The meal passed tediously, and
there was an unmistakable sense of relief when it was finally
finished.
Although everyone kept looking for her, Ellenroh Elessedil
did not appear.
The five were rising and preparing to go their separate ways
when an anxious messenger burst into the room and held a hur-
ried conversation with the Owl.
The Owl dismissed him with a scowl and turned to the oth-
ers. “The demons have mounted an attack against the north wall.
Apparently they’ve succeeded in breaking through.”
They scattered quickly then, Eowen to find the queen, Gay-
ilan to arm himself, the Owl, Wren and Garth to discover for
themselves what was happening. The Owl led as the latter three
rushed through the palace, out the front gates, and down into
the city. Wren watched the ground fly beneath her feet as she
ran. The dusk had turned to darkness, and the Keel’s light flared