"She is the Lady of the Ladysforest," the elf said gravely. "She has great power-greater than mine, in many ways, but not in all. I honor her, but she resents that the taig tells me more than it tells her."

"If you know the taig so well, you know it rejoiced when Arian and I came together."

The elf said nothing.

"I do not know your name," Kieri said. "She did not introduce us."

"She did not intend us to know each other," the elf said. "My name is long and difficult in human speech, but Dameroth will do."

"Well, Dameroth, why have you come to me? And against the Lady's wishes?" Kieri had not known any elf to cross the Lady before.

"I want you to understand my daughter. Of all my children-and all are half-elven, as I sired no full elves-one of the Lady's complaints-Arian inherited most my sensitivity to the taig. It was her taig-sense, that and her mother-"

"Her mother?"

"Her mother had a strong sense of duty, and brought her up to the same. Put those together-" Dameroth placed his long-fingered hands palm to palm, then interlaced his fingers. "-the taig-sense and the duty, and she could do no other than leave."

"She could have trusted me-" The pain and humiliation he'd felt when Arian turned and ran down the hill stabbed him again.

"It was not lack of trust in you you, Sir King," Dameroth said. "I know her well; I knew her as a child-and a stubborn little fireball she was, too. She befriended the taig early, and as a ranger bent her whole attention on the taig. She cannot ignore its distress any more than she could ignore a splinter in her eye. The taig and this realm have been her whole life. Her love for you has grown out of that, root and leaf and flower, and to live and flourish must remain so. She cannot sever that connection; the flower would wither and fade."

Kieri frowned. Of all the reasons he'd thought of, in his furious pursuit, this had not occurred to him.

"I have more experience of humans than the Lady," Dameroth said. "And in this matter, though I am partial, I am not blinded by anger. I saw true love in you, when you stood with her."

"Yes," Kieri said. "And I swear to you we felt the taig rejoice when we spoke together."

"Trust her," Dameroth said. "Her love for you is genuine; her sense of the taig is unerring; her loyalty to the realm is unbending. If she comes to feel that the taig truly rejoices in your marriage, she will come back. But for her, a half-elf, to place her taig-sense above that of the Lady whom we all revere and serve, to risk injury where she has been sworn to healing-that she could not do in an instant." Dameroth paused, but Kieri could think of nothing to say. Dameroth went on. "The Lady would tell you that I have no sense of duty, and I do not pretend that Arian inherited that from me-that is all her mother and her mother's teaching. But you should know that Arian will expect the king to do his his duty, whether she is there or not." duty, whether she is there or not."

"She is testing me?"

"No...not you. She is testing herself, her sense of the taig's need. But she will expect you to show the same diligence, the same loyalty, that she herself values and shows."

"You are not...putting a glamour on me..."

"No. I could, of course, but you are the king, and it would be discourteous." He paused, hummed, and then went on speaking. "That was to reset the boundary that let me come here without the Lady's knowledge. I hope. I want your kingship to succeed, and not only for Arian's sake. There are those who do not, even now. You are like a harrow that stirs the soil, bringing stones up...long-buried secrets will rise from the depths, and some will break on their hardness, elf and human, Earthfolk and folk of the air."

"Secrets?"

"Not mine to speak of. But you've already made changes in the relationship of elves and humans."

"They need to work together-"

"Of course. Most understand that, though they may not know how, or wish it were not necessary." He turned to look Kieri directly in the face. "I have said I want your kingship to succeed, and I do. I hope, as others hope, that it does not require too much of me. Can you understand that?"

"In a way," Kieri said.

"Your paladin-that yellow-haired girl-"

"Not my my paladin," Kieri said firmly. "She's Gird's, or the High Lord's. And her name is Paksenarrion." paladin," Kieri said firmly. "She's Gird's, or the High Lord's. And her name is Paksenarrion."

"I know. She meddled in forbidden things. Places. Unwitting, at the time, but she did. And it is in those things the great change began, both the change to this age and the change to come."

Kieri scowled. "I have no idea what you mean."

"No. And I do not know what, if anything, to tell you. If the G.o.ds are moving in this, it is not my place to interfere-something the Lady would agree with. But if they are asking me to speak, then I must. I dislike this uncertainty."

"I would prefer to know."

"I am sure you would, and yet knowledge given out of time can bring disaster."

"As can knowledge withheld," Kieri said. "In war, it is most commonly withholding knowledge that kills." Dameroth looked thoughtful but said nothing. Kieri went on. "Does Arian share your certainty about this change?"

"No. And I am not certain-it is the uncertainty that drives me to speak, but only partially. I will tell you this: what that paladin touched-in two places far apart-has begun the next great change. And I hear from elves in Tsaia that someone else you knew, your former Verrakai captain, has touched another, and the paladin with her."

"You can't leave it there," Kieri said. But Arian's father was already turning away; he vanished in a pulse of light. Another d.a.m.ned elf evading conflict, refusing to help...Kieri sat on the bench and stared at the water, thinking of everything Arian's father had said. Despite himself, he found his mind drifting to what hadn't been said. What had Paks done-or been involved in-that could bring about a great change-whatever that was? What places had she been? Kolobia? What else? It was easier, in a way, than thinking about Arian and why she had run away like that. Every time he thought of Arian, his anger rose again, and grief, and he could feel the taig react.

Where was Arian? Did even her father know? Was her father right about why she had left...and that she would return? What would the Lady do if she did?

He left the garden a little later, hardly noticing as the Squires on duty fell in behind him without speaking. He did not want to speak to anyone...he went down, and down again until he was in the chamber outside the ossuary. Sitting on the bench, taking off his boots and socks, he felt more numb and empty than he had before. Why had he come here? What could the dead tell him, that the living could not?

And yet...he went in and stood once more by his father, his father who had loved an elf and suffered her loss...suffered his son's loss.

"We both lost a loved wife," Kieri said, as if to that man. "We both lost a son, and I a daughter as well. I do not want to lose Arian. I don't know how-what to do-" He turned to his sister's bones and laid a hand on her skull. "As you were woman, sister, you may understand Arian better than I do. Help me understand, help me know what to do..."

Peace sifted down on him, flake by flake, it seemed. In the silence, in the freshness of the air, he felt calmer. Under his bare feet, the stone grew a little warmer; he felt moved to lie down, there in the aisle, having been invited. Under his back, the stone felt firm, warm through his clothes, almost as if shaped for him.

Rest. No outward voice, but an inward command. Why here? Why now? He closed his eyes, in spite of uncertainty. His thoughts wandered to the past, as far back as his arrival at Aliam's...as recent as the confrontation with the Lady...as distant as the coast of Aarenis and the king of Pargun...

And once again, his sister's presence, this time more clear than ever before. They lie. She lies. She did not send the sword They lie. She lies. She did not send the sword.

Kieri tried to hold the same stillness, to listen only.

She called mother. She called you. She did not protect. The image he'd seen before: the Lady's face. Then another image: two elves talking behind the Lady. They lie. They tell her lies. I saw. She bade me come. I refused. She hated me. A bad place. Evil They lie. They tell her lies. I saw. She bade me come. I refused. She hated me. A bad place. Evil.

No image for the "bad place." Kieri struggled with himself, not to press for answers, to listen only, but he had to know, and the question burst from him. Did she kill our mother? Did she kill our mother?

Silence. A sense of overwhelming grief, the grief of a child who does not understand the finality of death. Then: Betrayal. Danger. Judgment Betrayal. Danger. Judgment. And then, from more than one, unnamed and unnumbered: Peace. Rest now Peace. Rest now. He sank into that peace despite himself.

"Sir King?" The Seneschal's soft voice woke him.

Kieri opened his eyes. "I'm fine," he said. "They wanted to talk to me."

"Ah." The Seneschal's expression showed he understood who "they" were. "I can tell the others, if you like-if you need more time."

"No." He felt refreshed, though the ache of losing Arian-he hoped for only a time-still hurt, and the warnings his sister had given him rang in his mind like trumpets. "It was time to wake. I don't understand it all, but it's something I needed to do." The Seneschal, he knew, would ask no more questions and might even understand more than he did himself.

"There have been things said," the Seneschal said. "About the king's choice and some disturbance..." It was not quite a question, but permitted an answer.

"What did you hear?" Kieri asked.

"I hear many things," the Seneschal said. "I repeat none of them." Then his expression softened. "Although, for the king, I will say that many rejoiced when it seemed the king had found a mate. And were shocked and alarmed when the King's Squire rode away, and the king returned in a pa.s.sion. Only later did anyone hear, from the other Squires, something of what happened, though the details were uncertain. It was thought perhaps the taig had forbidden it-"

"The taig rejoiced with us," Kieri said. "The Lady my grandmother objected. I was angry at the reasons she gave, and she was angry at my choice and my defense of Arian. That disturbed the taig, as you can well imagine. Arian-left."

"I have no dislike of the Lady," the Seneschal said, frowning, "but she is not beyond error. To go against the taig's joy...that is not wise. Arian will return."

"So I hope," Kieri said. "I trust her courage, but her sense of duty to the taig is as strong. She will not damage it."

"It is not she who damages it, if you and the Lady quarrel," the Seneschal said. "Arian was not angry, was she?"

"No," Kieri said.

"Then the taig's disturbance was not her fault."

"There is more," Kieri said. "You remember what I told you of the bones' messages?"

"Yes."

"And that I spoke to others?"

"Yes, that too."

"I was never able to ask the elves, or the Lady-they evaded me again and again-even Arian's father," Kieri said. "I still find it hard to believe, even after what the Lady has done this past year. She acts so-so strangely. Coming to my aid before I even arrived, cordial at my coronation, then cold at Midsummer...refusing to come when I asked...then coming to my aid and the Halverics'...then disappearing again, only to come and show anger to the Pargunese king. If she were human and not elf, I would fear madness."

The Seneschal shook his head. "I do not know or understand elves, Sir King. In my life, I have had few conversations with an elf; they dislike the ossuary and do not make friends with palace staff. I cannot judge the Lady's character. But she is said to be great in power and wisdom. When she appears not to be, can we be sure we understand?"

"I understand my mother and sister are dead, and I spent years as a captive," Kieri said. He walked out of the ossuary and sat on the bench to put his socks and boots back on. "Should she not have known the taig's reaction?"

"That the taig rejoiced when you and Arian found each other? She must have, if she summoned you-why else?"

"Could I have been mistaken? Could it have been only my own joy?"

"No, Sir King. From all accounts your ability to read the taig is more than adequate to tell joy from distress. And so is Arian's. The Lady must have known, and yet she chose to ignore it...though none of us know why, and I am not asking what you do not choose to share."

"I will share it with you, who are guardian of the dead and can keep secrets," Kieri said. "I will burst if I do not. The Lady likes not Arian's father, a full elf, because she says he has fathered too many half-elf children against her will. She thinks-she said-that Arian must have inherited his irresponsible ways."

The Seneschal pursed his lips, then shook his head. "That is not what I heard of Arian after she came here, Sir King. As you must know, having had her as your Squire, by all accounts she is as bound to duty as you yourself. Yet the Lady has power with those of elven blood, even a little, and she may have planted doubt in Arian's heart by enchantment."

"The Lady lies...that is what my sister's bones tell me. Could she have lied to Arian?"

The Seneschal sighed, looking down. "It is not for me to say, Sir King. I am of old human stock, as you know-not even much magelord blood in me, and that is why I am guardian to the bones. We lived at peace with the elves long before the magelords came, and in our tales the Lady was always beauty and power combined. But not always what humans would call fair. It is that gift of enchantment, Sir King, by which they entangle our minds and hearts. Is that truth? Is it lies? We cannot tell."

Kieri had his socks and boots on by then; the Seneschal offered an arm, and he accepted it. "I thank you for your wisdom," he said. "I must go back to work now, but I will come again."

"And you are always welcome here, Sir King," the Seneschal said.

His Squires looked grave, but Kieri managed a smile. "It will be well," he said. "I cannot say what will happen, or exactly when, but it will be well in the end. I am certain of it."

He said the same to the Council.

"But will you marry her? And if not her, who?" Hammarrin again.

"You must trust me," Kieri said. "We have more than one thing to worry about-remember the Pargunese? One thing at a time, please." He looked at Orlith, sitting as usual in the far corner. "We must all all consider the taig in our decisions." He saw from Orlith's face that the elf had taken that subtle warning. consider the taig in our decisions." He saw from Orlith's face that the elf had taken that subtle warning.

With that, he insisted on the Council dealing with the other issues.

The day finally ended. Kieri lay long awake, staring into the darkness and wishing for some helpful vision, but none came. He was left to his own thoughts: his memory of joy, of anger, of grief...and where was Arian this night? Was she safe? Was she as unhappy as he was?

He finally slept, and woke with a headache that seemed to express all his frustration and confusion at once. In the salle that morning, no one referred to the day before, nor did Carlion say anything about his having missed an afternoon session. Kieri kept his attention firmly on the matter at hand, and no one withstood his blade.

Arian raced past Garris without even seeing him, running and leaping over roots and stones as if once more the girl she had been. She knew when Kieri turned to follow; she knew she had enough lead to get away if she did not stop for anything.

Her own horse, the mount she had brought with her back in the spring, had the end stall in the west-most wing of the stable, where the Squires' horses were kept. She slowed to a jog as she entered the stableyard, waved to the Master of Horse as she went by-a Squire on an errand, he would think. The tack room held travel packs as well as tack; she grabbed hers and went to her horse. As always, one mount was saddled for each Squire, in case of need; she laid her tabard over the stall door, lashed the travel pack to the saddle, tightened the girth, and bridled the long-legged bay, then led him through the yard to the narrow west gate, out of sight of the gate Kieri would enter.

The guard there waved. "Going far?" he asked.

"Later," Arian said. She mounted and legged the horse into a strong canter. Kieri would know which way she had gone, if he had her followed, but she hoped-she hoped he would not, and she hoped he would.

The bay, frisky in the cold weather after two days in the stall, kept her busy for the first half-gla.s.s-he shied at everything, buck-jumped twice, and tried to bolt. After that he settled, and Arian had all too much time to think as the forest closed around her.

Her father. The Lady. Kieri. Most of all, Kieri. I am not a child. I am not an adolescent. The realm matters more I am not a child. I am not an adolescent. The realm matters more. Her father could be-had been, her mother always said-self-indulgent and irresponsible, but she was not. For the sake of the taig she had served as ranger, for the sake of the king she had served as Squire, for the honor of Falk...she reached out to the taig, as she had so often, but it did not answer. Well. It was still upset because the king and the Lady quarreled. They would get over it. The taig would get over it.

Blackwood, fireoak, pickoak and holm, yellowwood, holly, ash and hornbeam...she recognized every tree by its bark, its pattern of branches; she knew every leafless bush, every fern's brown fronds, now winter-marked. She rode one of the ranger trails, heading west, not thinking yet whether to turn south toward her home vill or north toward the river. For now it was enough to be back in the forest...she slowed, since her mount was willing, and opened herself to the taig once more. Nothing. She told herself winter had not yet turned; they were resting and not minded to bestir themselves without a good reason. One half-elf ranger was not reason enough.

Down at the root level, where tree touched tree, Arian tried to feel along them, back toward Chaya, but could reach nothing...only cold reluctance. That bad, then. She listened: a little wind, the rattle of a falling leaf here and there, no birds nearby. The ground lifted into one of the low ridges of western Lyonya. Up, up...rock outcrops, splashed with brilliant lichens. Through the bare trees she saw only sky, clouds moving in, one shelf above another.

She was hungry but did not want to stop for a meal; cold finally forced a stop so she could pull a heavy cloak from the travel pack. If only for the warmth, she wished she'd not left her tabard back in Chaya. And it would be stupid to ignore hunger; she took one of the wedges of travel bread to eat in the saddle and rode on.

As clouds thickened, the day darkened and visibility drew in. On this trail, she should reach a ranger camp by dark or shortly after. There might be no one there, but she could use the shelter and whatever food and fuel they'd left. She smelled the woodsmoke before she saw the flames, bright against the darkening forest, and rode in to find rangers she knew: Forlin, Mards, and Cuvis, all half-elves like herself, all former comrades.

"Arian! Well met, King's Squire. Perhaps you know what sent the taig into dismay this morning-is that why you are here?"

"I can tell only part of what I know," Arian said, "being King's Squire."