He began to whistle a quiet tune, not waking the slumbering old man. Gossamyr could picture the soul shepherd sitting with a youngling on his knee, tending her curls. And the lightness returned.

She lifted one foot from the floor and pointed her toes, stretching out her muscles. Closing her eyes, she held out her right arm and tilted up her palm to wiggle her fingers.

"Feeling better?"

Stirred from her lull, Gossamyr reached for the aleberry wine. She swallowed back the wine and swiped her forearm across her lips. Lifting her right foot to fold across her left thigh, the brown wool rode up to her knees. She guessed her exposed legs were not seemly and stomped her foot back down.

Soft fingers strode along the surface of her scalp, following the wake of the comb. A prinkle fluttered along her neck. Ulrich weaved lovelocks into her hair. A mortal prince imprinting his favor with every twist of his fingers.

Would her future husband ever be so gentle? Could Desideriel open his heart to a wife that could never be what he wanted?

"So, Faery Not, tell me about your family. There is your father and mother. You left behind no... other? A... fee man you cared for?"

"Mayhap."

Gossamyr again closed her eyes...

Three suns and three consecutive moons witnessed her heartbreak. Tears flowed from her eyes, trailing warm streams down her cheeks and into her clothing. When her fine arachnagoss gown had saturated, the bed linens took on the sad liquid.

When on the third day Shinn finally entered his daughter's bedchamber, tears dripped from the bedframe and into a puddle upon the blue marble floor. No shimmer sparkled in the pool. When Shinn's toe brushed the edge of the liquid a mournful cry echoed up from the floor.

Her tears flowed without effort; mayhap she could no longer stop them. She did not know; she did not care.

"Please, child of mine, cease your mournful tears."

Gossamyr lowered her head and studied the pool that had begun to spill across the floor. So much then she had loved? Yes love, not the false love faeries know.

"I now know how you felt when Veridienne left," she said.

"Nay, you do not." Shinn's weight settled beside her and Gossamyr allowed him to lift her hand into his.

"I loved h-him."A choking sob pushed out a rapid purl of teardrops. "You will never understand."

"It is done. I...reacted," Shinn said. "I should have first listened to you."

"And then banish my lover?"

"Gossamyr." He pressed his forehead to the back of her hand.

Tentatively Gossamyr touched her father's head, trailing a finger over the short horn and around it as she had done so many times when she was younger, curious and fanciful.

Fancy had been murdered three days earlier by her father's ruthless lack of regard. The attribute that had made him a lauded warrior and commander of the now-defunct Glamoursiege troops also made him a devastating foe to his own daughter's heart.

"We are both alone now," she said finally, resolute in her courage.

Unwilling to forgive him, yet feeling in her heart the need to keep her family close, Gossamyr tilted Shinn's face up to look at him. "Perhaps love is not so favorable after all."

"Gossamyr? Mon Dieu, I wager Faery Not did leave behind a lover. Oh, Gossamyr?"

She blinked out of her state and homed in on the singsong tone of Ulrich's voice. He stood close. "Too close," she said and stood up and pressed her combed hair from her eyes.

"You left a lover?" He tipped the comb to his lips in thought. A nod confirmed some knowledge she could not know. "Mayhap that is what has hardened you so."

"What mean you?"

"Well, you are a warrior. Emotionless. Set on your course and ready for fight."

"One must dampen emotion to retain battle instincts."

"I see. Yet, so young and pretty to become a warrior. Pity." He patted the bench before him. "Sit and allow me to braid your hair. Just one braid down the back, yes?"

His hand, flat on the bench, asked so much of her. To sit. To place herself in his hands. To trust.

"So long as 'tis out of my face, it is bone." She did trust him, and so sat with her back to him, both legs to one side of the bench, as she deemed proper for a lady in a gown.

He started at the back of her head. "Tell me of this abandoned lover."

"He is-" swallowing at the sudden dryness at the back of her throat, Gossamyr pressed a palm along the cut on her jaw "-the pin man."

"What? You mean..."

"Yes, the man with the pins and the unnatural hair."

"But-truly? He is a faery?"

"Yes. Shinn found us together and banished him."

"For having relations with his daughter?"

There was a hint of tease in his voice. That he should ask such a bold question! "We were not...having relations. But close. Shinn had refused Avenall's request to court me."

"Why?"

"Because he is a Rougethorn."

"Your father doesn't like Rougethorns?"

"It is like your Armagnacs and Burgundians. Of the same race but with differing beliefs. It is known they dabble in magic. After the Netherdreds, the Rougethorns are the most scorned tribe in Faery."

"I see. And yet, you continued to see Avenall?"

"Of course! He did not dabble. Avenall had come to Glamoursiege with his family when he was very young. 'Twas merely a fact of his birthplace that my father claimed him unfit to court me. Such ignorance!"

Ulrich tugged gently on her half braid, bringing her eyes back to stare up at him. "If you were my daughter I would have locked you up and tossed out the key."

"I would have screamed."

"Of course, Shinn could not deny you a thing, my spoiled faery princess -and I mean that in the kindest manner. So, to remove his one sore spot Shinn had no choice but to send away your lover."

"My father claims not to believe in romantic love. But I do."

"Is love such a unique concept to one from Faery? Do not the fee love? Or do they simply mate and exist?"

"I have told you they seek their life mate, and live together ever after. I feel sure love is mortal. How can it not be? But it is different for royalty and the upper caste-our mates are often chosen for us. And yet..." She thought of her father's choice. "Shinn chose Veridienne to wed."

"So he must know romantic love. To sacrifice for the love of a mortal? Was he not looked upon sorely for such a choice?"

"I had never noticed such when I was younger. It would not be wise to question the lord of Glamoursiege's actions."

Ulrich's fingers stopped, his palms resting upon her shoulder. "And yet your father is alone now?"

"Indeed."

"Perhaps a punishment for his loving a mortal woman?"

"I...had never thought of it that way." Had her father sacrificed for his love? He'd never implied that Veridienne's leave had been required, or forced. No more so than the resistance of the mortal pa.s.sion made it a forced leave.

That this mortal man could conjure her to question her beliefs startled more than a little. So much he did claim to know of love. And to have it stolen from him.

Ulrich's touch called to her in a manner that did not trouble so much as intrigue. The light steps of his fingers working the braid down her back made her pause, counting each twist. Faster than her heartbeats; he had mastered the skill most impressively. Best not to pay attention to such a call.

"Think you there is a stable close by that will sell me a fine mount?"

"Just around the corner. Your faery coin still shiny?"

"It is."

"That's bone. And I am finished. Pluck that leather cord from the saddlebag and I'll secure it to keep you from spilling these luscious tresses."

Gossamyr smiled. The man should watch his words and the breathy tone with which he p.r.o.nounced them. On the other hand, his comfort and lack of discretion around her made him real. No falseness to this man.

She twisted to draw out the leather cord, but Ulrich laid a hand over hers and settled onto the bench beside her. He still held her braid, and laid that hand upon her shoulder. "I don't know that this will matter at all to you." He clasped his fingers about hers and pressed it over his chest. Soft brows straightened and he bowed his head so close to hers, he might nudge her with his nose if he moved too quickly. "You have become the world to me, Gossamyr. You have been my companion for mere days, you have stood boldly and faced danger, and you seek a n.o.ble goal without veering from your path. For as confusing as you faeries make love to be, I love the woman that you are. It is a mortal love, mayhap more companion-like than romantic. As it should be."

"Ulrich."

"But...it could become romantic, should you allow." He kissed the back of her hand and with a sigh, stood and began to gather his things into the saddlebag. "Hungry?"

"Yes." Tracing a finger around the warm portion on the back of her hand where he had kissed her, she kept her silence. There was nothing to say. Her Faery heart protested his easy mortal confession.

But her mortal blood verily ached for the pa.s.sion that had led her to journey to the Otherside.

After finishing a trencher of morning sops offered by the old man with wisdom spotting his face, Gossamyr pushed the empty wood bowl to the center of the table and, clasping her hands, bowed and rested her forehead there. She drew in a deep breath. Wine and burnt bread. Her mind aswim, she could not think to hold conversation with Monsieur Armand, for thoughts of her confession to Ulrich still haunted.

Never before had it occurred to her that Shinn might have sacrificed Veridienne for the crime of loving a mortal. Not a real crime, a punishable offense. But certainly those who did take a mortal mate were shunned. Unless, the fee was a great lord, wise and n.o.ble, who commanded respect no matter his liaisons. Shinn had loved. Deeply.

Of course the fee knew love! Gossamyr had loved. She had been loved. She was still loved.

It could become romantic, should you allow.

So the man did favor her? And why had she not immediately set him to right last night? Tell him there was not an inkling of interest in him on her part.

Could she Be here in the Otherside? If you Believe you will Belong. Surrounded by this air! Falling into the nuzzling warmth of the hearth fire. Holding hands with a mortal man...

No time! The Red Lady lurks and gains more power with each moment that she won from Time.

Peering at the top of her hand, Gossamyr traced the area where Ulrich had kissed her. Mortal touched. So fine. The voice that had initially bothered her now whispered inside her thoughts, deep and gentling-ever present. The weight of her braid, trailing down the center of her back, reminded of his careful attention. She would keep it so.

"You wish more, my lady?"

The old man held out a splayed hand. He sat at the end of the table. Ulrich was not to be seen yet this day. Bone. For she wasn't certain what reaction she would make to seeing his pale blue eyes, offering promises of romance.

"I've had enough, thank you, Monsieur Armand."

"Ulrich tells me you are in dire need of proper attire." He gestured to a chest near the hearth, where a soft yellow gown had been lain across the curved lid.

"Oh, but I couldn't," Gossamyr said, even as she stepped over for a look.

The fabric slid smoothly under her brushing fingers. Some sort of silk, though it did not possess the iridescence of arachnagoss. The neckline and bell sleeves were trimmed in a thin swath of brown fur. She could not guess at the animal, but sleek gold highlights glinted as she petted the softness.

"It is old," Armand offered. "My wife's. She pa.s.sed decades ago."

"It is gorgeous. But-" Far from practical for the fight that yet waited her.

"Please, you must wear it for an old man's memory. I thought to sell it at the Monday market, but those greedy hawkers would never pay the coin it is worth. Ulrich tells me you would wear it well." He stroked the soft white hair of his beard. "I will take it as an affront if you do not accept."

Already holding the gown before her and checking its fit-the shoulders looked to span exactly to match hers-Gossamyr stepped over to Armand, gown held to her chest, and leaned in to kiss him on the forehead. "I accept. On one condition."

"Anything."

"I require braies, as well."

Armand chuckled. "Yes, Ulrich did mention your penchant to fight. He placed braies aside for you, but I'm afraid you'll still require the gown."

She thought of the saddlebag, where her purse yet rested. To give this man her mutable faery coin would be worse than his receiving an unfair price at market.

"Help him," Armand said.

"What?"

"My nephew. Help him to move on, is all I ask in repayment."

"To move on...where?"

"You know he has suffered. And now he seeks. You can help him find that solace."

I hope you discover the solace to the ache that has been your nemesis.

It could become romantic, should you allow.