Chapter 40: All That Might Harm You

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"I heard a call from a mortal boy," Ico tells Auberon as she emerges from the waters of the ancient fae's domain, "He believes I can rescue his grandfather."

"The prayers of the mortals have become a clamor of late," Auberon muses, "They plead for safety, for mercy and most of all for protection. Something is happening in their world, and they are all afraid of what is come. But why you, Ico? You have never made yourself known to the mortals."

"The boy called to me from the small pond where I spoke to Sterren while we were planning Morvyn's rescue. It's possible he saw me while we were speaking. I don't know why he chose to call on me and not you, I only know he was desperate and terrified. He fears for his grandfather's life, but I could not no clear understanding of the source of the danger. I don' know what aid I could give him."

"Perhaps his fears are just part of whatever this unease the mortals are experiencing," Auberon says, "But perhaps it's something more. And I am interested in discovering why he thought to call to you, Ico. I could send Tania into his mind..."

"Or Jennicor," Ico  suggests.

Auberon's lips press together in an amused smile, "Of course, Winterdream is more suited to the task. I'll send her to the boy, and perhaps she can learn what troubles him, what is troubling them all."

"Gaelle took ill the morning after we were nearly attacked by wolves," Treveur explains while Sterren examines the trembling young woman, "I thought it was just the terror of the night's events, but the illness has persisted."

"This illness has a different cause," Sterren says, keeping her voice level as she speaks the lines she and Gaelle composed together for this performance, "You are with child, Gaelle."

Gaelle feigns surprise, gasping, "Oh, Treveur!" as she runs into his arms.

"A scare such as you have suffered could have ill effects on the child," Sterren continues, glad that Treveur's eyes are closed as he comforts his betrothed, so the he cannot look into her eyes as she tells this lie, "The fright could have disturbed the child and you may deliver early than is normal." The fright the couple had experienced had been real enough, but could of course could have no such effect on Gaelle's pregnancy. But the women had between them concocted this story as a better explanation for why GAelle's child would be born earlier than Treveur would be expecting.

"Truly?" Treveur asks, "With our farm being so close to the edge of the forests, my family has been no stranger to the occasional wolf attack. My mother never had any problems with her pregnancies."

"Your mother was strong, and long accustomed to these dangers. Gaelle has lived a more sheltered life, and the fright has affected her more deeply," Sterren explains, surprised by how easily the lie came to her when it was needed.

"We should marry as soon as possible," Gaelle interrupts, hoping to distract her betrothed from further questions, "Before the whole village can see my condition."

Her ruse works, as Treveur turns to her with an affectionate smile.

"I am ready to officiate at your wedding, whenever you like," Sterren says, smiling as she thinks of her own impending nuptials.

After leaving her shop in the village, Sterren goes straight to Taran's house, not officially her home until she is his wife, but where she's been unofficially living since they became lovers in truth. Finding her betrothed in his garden, she leads him out to the sheltered grove behind the barn, where an ancient statue still stands, the last remains of the place where her family had venerated the Lady in generations long past.

"I would like for us to be married here," Sterren says, taking Taran's hands, "Rather than in sacred grove in the village."

"That will be perfect," Taran agrees, "Have you heard any word from the Penguilly priestess?" There can be no marriage until they have someone to officiate, otherwise Tarn would take his vows right now and finally call Sterren his wife.

Sterren nods, "She should be here in a matter of days."

Something in her voice, in the wrinkle of her brow and the turn of her lips worries him. 

"What is bothering you, my love?" he asks gently.

"Nothing I would burden you with," Sterren tries to dismiss his concern.

"Sterren, please, I would share in your worries as well as your joy," Taran insists.

"I've become party to a deception, and I'm keeping a secret for someone," Sterren answers, "That is why I cannot tell you.

"Do you not trust me?"

Sterren sighs unhappily. Keeping Gaelle's secret from Treveur is bad enough, letting Gaelle's situation come between herself and Taran is another matter. "I trust you more than anyone," she says.

Sterren leads Taran over to the nearby benches, and tells him of Gaelle's affair with the wilder, and her pregnancy, and the sorry part she herself had played in tricking Treveur into believing the child was his. Taran holds her hand in his throughout her long confession, gently caressing it in support.

"Poor Brannon," Taran sympathizes with the deceived lover when Sterren's tale is done, "But what you did is for the best. For the sake of the child. If Brannon knew he wasn't the father, even his love for Gaelle might not be enough for him to raise the child as his own."

Sterren frowns, conscious of the similarity of Taran's situation to Treveur's. "Do you think it would have been better for me to lie to you about the child I carry?" she asks.

"Are you comparing Brannon's situation to mine?" Taran asks, genuinely surprised.

"You are both marrying women who are carrying another man's child, and you'll both be raising them as your own," Sterren says, pointing out the obvious.

"Brannon loves a woman who deceived him, taking another lover while accepting his courtship, and then she lied to him again when she seduced him and then told him the child was his," Taran says, "Our situation is not the same at all. You have never lied to me. I knew you were pregnant, and by whom, before I asked for your hand."

Taran rises, pulling Sterren up with him in a tight embrace, "And I will not be raising another man's child, my love. This child you carry is and will always be ours."

Jean ran all the way home, to his father's smithy. Instead of the usual noises of hammer on anvil, the boy hears only the soft sobbing of his mother as he stops outside the shop door.

"The Landgraabs have completely outlawed all worship of the Lady," Melisenet sobs, her tears falling on her husband's neck, "The word is they mean to make an example of my father, force him to forswear the Lady or burn."

"I've heard that your father's friend, the priestess from Avendale, summoned a demon, right in the Watcher's church, and that is was a demon who killed the Lord Diedericx. Now all who follow the Lady are suspect, your father most of all, as he is her priest."

"But that's foolish. My father cannot summon demons!" Melisenet protests.

"I know that, my love," Gillis says, stroking her hair, "But the Landgraabs aren't looking for the truth so much as they are looking for someone to blame. Perhaps they could make a show toward your father if he repudiated the Lady..."

"You know he will never do that!"

"I know," Gillis' whisper is resigned. "If he does not, my love, for the sake of our son..." The young smith lets his sentence go unfinished, as the drop in his wife's shoulders tells him she understands his meaning.

"Yes, I know," she murmurs, "We can't let this suspicion hang over Jean all his life. We will join the Landgraab's church, and renounce all ties to the Lady. I wish my father would do so as well."

As she puts Jean to bed that night, Melisenet wears a cheerful face to hide her fears, but her son is not so easily soothed.

"I asked the fairy lady who lives in Papa's pond to help," Jean says, struggling to hold in his tears, "But she didn't come."

Melisenet's lips tremble and frown at her son's words, "There is no fairy in Papa's pond," she says harshly. Her son was always prone to these flights of fancy, taking his grandfather's stories too literally, and much too close to his heart. It was an endearing trait before, but now his careless words could bring real danger to their family.

"But I saw---"

"You didn't see," Melisenet insists, wishing she didn't have to scold the boy, "You imagined. And you must never, ever speak of such things. Do you understand? Not to anyone."

"Yes, Mother," Jean says, agreeing just to stop the scolding.

Melisenet smiles gently and kisses her son's forehead as she tucks him in for the night. "Sleep well, my darling boy," she whispers, and rushes away before he can see her tears.

Jean dreams he's in his grandfather's yard, playing when he's visited by a sparkling, giggling pixie who chases and teases him.

"I want to see you," he says.

"Here I am," Jennicor says, appearing before him.

"You aren't the pond fairy," Jean says, surprised.

"I am Winterdream," Jennicor introduces herself, "And you are dreaming that I'm here."

"You aren't real?" the boy asks, his disappointment obvious in his voice.

Jennicor chuckles, "I'm real, child, and I am part of your dream. But it doesn't truly matter, since you will remember none of this." Unbeknownst to the child, as she converses with him she also delves into his recent memories, watches through his eyes the arrest of his grandfather and the conversation between his parents.

"Hold out your hands," she instructs the boy, and Jean reaches out to her with cupped  hands.

"Fairy dust," she tells him as the sparkling dust pours from her fingers to his hand, "It won't protect you from all that you fear, or all that might harm you, but it never hurts to have a little magic at your disposal."

After hearing Jennicor's report about what she learned from the child's memory, Auberon goes right to Ico with the news. "I made a grave mistake, appearing as I did when I rescued Sterren from her captor," he tells her, "All who serve in Uvie's name are being persecuted, and that is why this boy's grandfather was taken."

"Will you help him?" Ico asks.

"I can think of no way to do without making the situation worse for the boy's family," Auberon answers, "Those who saw me believe I am a demon, and If the old man is rescued through magical means, their fear and enmity will only grow."

"What about Sterren?" Ico suggests, "She helped rescue Morvyn."

"Ico," Aymeri speaks just her name, but the low growl in his tone says so much more. She left him alone after Talfryn's death to help rescue Morvyn. Now she's carrying his child, and has new fears and worries for her safety.

"I won't go this time," she whispers a promise to him.

"The mortals blame us for the dragon's release now, too," Auberon informs them.

Morvyn, tending the flame fruits nearby, listens to their conversation, which ends with no decision. He doesn't know this old man who has been taken prisoner, but he was somehow involved in his rescue. It's only right that he try to help him, if the fairies won't. When he's done in the garden, he quietly slips off to find Moth, to have the fairy deliver a message for him.

"At least let me come with you," Taran pleas as Sterren tries to take her leave, "The roads aren't safe at night, especially now, with war brewing."

"The wilders are shy about meeting our kind," Sterren explains, "You might scare him off if I brought you. And you don't need to worry, Moth will be with me."

Taran glances at the moth fluttering around her head, and tries to accept that it has enough magic to protect his beloved from bandits or worse.

"I have my dagger as well," Sterren adds with a slight smile.

"Don't worry about me, my love," Sterren gives him a soothing caress on the cheek, "I have long been accustomed to walking to the stones alone, even at night. I'll be home by evenfall."

"I will be waiting," Taran promises, letting her go on her mission with a goodbye kiss. He knows she cannot be deterred, so he can only let her go on her way now so that she might be back before it is too dark.

The wilder that Moth told her wished to meet with her is waiting for her in the circle of stones when she arrives.

"I never thanked you," he says, "For rescuing me. Or for speaking up for me when the dragon slayer took me captive."

Sterren takes note of the way he calls Reinier 'dragon slayer'. Many people do, of course, since Reinier's reputation has been built on such feats. But she can't help but wonder if his suspicions are true, if these wilders don't have some connection to the dragons. "There's no need to thank me. I would not see a man unfairly taken prisoner. Whatever you might know about dragons, Reinier had no right to capture you or force you to speak," she says, hoping but not really expecting that the wilder will reveal to her the secrets Reinier had wanted to get from him.

"Well, he's dead now," Morvyn says grimly, "But his kind are still taking prisoners."

"Reinier is not dead," Sterren informs him, "Your...friends?...killed the wrong man, Reinier's brother."

"The dragon slayer still lives?" Morvyn asks, frowning as Sterren nods in answer. "Well, then it's the dragon slayer who holds your friend prisoner."

"My friend? What are you talking about."

Morvyn tells her what he knows about the old priest's captivity. "The fairies won't act," he concludes, "And I thought I owed it to you to offer my help, if you wanted to rescue him as you did me."

Sterren's immediate impulse is to run off and find a way to help her friend, imprisoned in part for his relationship to her. "I couldn't have freed you without the help of the fair folk," she says in dismay as she tries to formulate a plan, "And at that time, I had free access to the Keep. My family and Landgraabs were on friendly terms, and I was a welcome guest. Now, there is war brewing between us, and I could not be seen in Odet without being taken prisoner myself," Sterren says with frown, knowing that her words don't begin to convey the danger she'd be putting herself in if she stepped foot in Reinier's domain now.

Danger to herself would be worth the risk to save her friend, but she cannot do anything alone now, she thinks, unconsciously rubbing her hands in a protective gesture over her stomach as she thinks of the child she carries.

"You are with child," Morvyn notes, understanding her gesture.

Sterren nods, "I want to help Fransez," she says, "But, the danger..."

"I understand," Morvyn answers, "I'm sorry I couldn't help you more."

"I...I should go," Sterren murmurs, repressing the urge to tell this wilder the secret she keeps, that he is going to be a father himself soon. It's his right to know, she firmly believes that, but telling him could have so many repercussions she doesn't want to be responsible for, and all she can do is flee from his presence now before her sentimentality makes her say something she'll regret later.

"You were meeting with a mortal," Kelyn accuses, stopping Morvyn on his way back to the nest.

"She's not just any mortal," Morvyn explains, "Sterren is one of Auberron's charges. She rescued me from the dragon slayer's prison."

Kelyn scowls at him, angrier than she should be, he thinks. "I don't know what the humans are like where you're from," he says gently, trying to calm her wrath with his own calm, a healer's trick he learned from his father, "But here, they are not normally hostile. They keep to themselves as we keep to ourselves. We never had a dragon slayer until this Landgraab came from the north."

"Whatever they are, they are not our kind," Kelyn answers, "And our law is very clear about showing ourselves to them."

"I know the law, Kelyn," Morvyn says, "Sterren, like all the other mortals here, believe we are human, too. They call us wilders. They don't know what we are."

Kelyn shifts her weight, "The dragon slayer took you captive because he suspected what we are," she says.

He turns away from her then, holding himself like he carries a great sorrow. "He couldn't have captured me if I hadn't been betrayed," he whispers.

"Betrayed?" Kelyn asks, "By whom?"

Confessing his crime to Aymeri had done nothing to alleviate the guilt Morvyn felt, and still feels, for Talfryn's death. "There was a girl,  mortal girl," Morvyn begins his story, fully expecting Kelyn's wrath, and maybe still hoping for someone to punish him for what he did as he feels he deserves. "She was my lover. Talfryn knew, and he kept my secret. She betrayed me to the dragon slayer, telling him where we were to meet. After I'd been captured, Talfryn came for me alone instead of getting help, in order to keep my secret. I watched him die, Kelyn, and I could do nothing."

"You didn't kill Talfryn," Kelyn says, "The dragon slayer killed him. And he paid with his life, for all the deaths he's brought on us."

"Don't comfort me," Morvyn says, turning from her as she reaches a hand to caress him, "You of all dragons should know I don't deserve it."

Words don't come easy for Kelyn, especially when it comes to speaking about emotions. In this moment, all her feelings, her attraction, her jealousy, her sympathy, all drive her to action, and she throws her arms around his neck, meeting her lips to his in a passionate kiss.

If he had been paying attention, he might have seen this coming, but he's been too lost in his own thoughts to pay heed to anyone else. Taken by surprise, he takes her kiss and gives her his own, letting his tongue tease hers. 

"Wait," he whispers, pulling back from her, "Stop. We don't know each other well enough for this."

"How well did you need to know your mortal lover?" Kelyn asks, stung and bitter at his rejection. "How well did she know you?"

"That's different," Morvyn answers, "You're a dragon."

Kelyn breaks out of his grasp and runs, too embarrassed by her impulsive action to stay and listen to whatever excuse he's going to make up for rejecting her. She was a fool to think it would be any different for her than it was with any of the other females who'd sought his favor. 

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Auberon's Rock Garden is by Pet'ka Falcora.

Chapter 39: Night's Beginning and Day's End

"I hope everything in the manor is to your satisfaction," Marrec says, "I've left the position unfilled for so long, I'm afraid the house may not be in the best condition." Avendale has always been an easy village to run, and its lord has had little trouble managing his peasants or his estate. When his last reeve passed on, Marrec had meant to nominate a replacement, but some years had passed with the estate manager's house left empty.

"It's nothing that can't be set right with a little labor, my lord," Taran answers, "You do me a great honor, naming me reeve. I was not expecting, that is, I'm not marrying your niece in expectation of..." he adds, nervously, uncomfortable with the sudden social elevation that comes with his bride.

"Sterren told me you would accept no dowry. You love my niece, and that's all that matters in the end," Marrec says with an understanding nod as Sterren nestles beneath Taran's arm. Since they made their betrothal public, the couple has made public show of their affection, nothing ostentatious or unseemly, just enough so that all the village was convinced that they had truly been lovers long enough that when her pregnancy becomes obvious, none would suspect any other man to be the father. "And, the other peasants respect you. They've gone without a reeve to manage the land for too long. I am pleased to have you in my service," the lord continues, "I just came to see that you were happily settled in the house. And to tell you that the Penguillies have asked their priestess to officiate at your wedding, since your friend in Odet may not be allowed to travel into what will be enemy territory to marry you."

"Thank you, uncle," Sterren says, taking Marrec's hand in gratitude before he leaves, "I wouldn't want Fransez to risk the anger of his Landgraab lord by traveling here when war is imminent."

"Or, more importantly, his lord's suspicions," Marrec adds, thinking about his own war preparations. "All travel between our villages will have to banned from now on, anyway."

"Elara seems to have taken to the chickens," Sterren comments after Marrec takes his leave, Taran had kept no livestock on his small strip of land, so the chicken coops that came with the manor were a wonder for his daughter.

"Mmm," Taran nods in reply, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"My uncle is right, you know, you are very well respected, and no one will resent your elevation to the reeve position," Sterren says, trying to allay the concerns she knows he still harbors.

"They may respect me, but they'll all believe I married you for position and wealth. And our betrothal is the true reason behind this elevation, no matter how your uncle puts it," Taran says.

"It is true that my uncle would prefer to have me living in a manor rather than a peasant's cottage, but he wouldn't have given you this title if he believed you unworthy of the responsibility. Everyone in the village knows you, Taran, and none will question my uncle's choice for his reeve. And anyone that knows you knows also that you are too honorable to ever marry except for love," Sterren says, her earnest speech ending with a blush as she realizes that her last statement was not entirely accurate. "I mean, of course, I know you do not love me, but your motives..." she stammers, trying to correct herself.

Taran's hand moves to her waist, drawing her in closer as he leans forward, meeting her lips to his in a gentle kiss.

Surprised by his own boldness, he pulls back again quickly, but Sterren does not let him go, caressing his cheek as her mouth follows his, refusing to be parted after such a brief meeting.

Her lips find his again, her arms wrap around his chest, gripping his back to keep him from pulling away again. 

They do not speak a single word as they go up to his room, his bed, and make love. It is only after they've lain in silence, bodies wrapped around each other, that Taran finally speaks his mind, "I proposed marriage as your friend, to help you in your difficult situation. But if I am to be honest, I must admit that I did hope that it would become, in time, a true marriage of affection. Do you think that is possible, Sterren? Do you think you could love me?"

"Since we announced our betrothal, we've been putting on a show for the neighbors," Sterren answers, "But there are times that I'd forget our affection was pretense, because it felt real."

"I was never pretending," Taran admits, "But knowing you loved another, I would not impose myself on you."

"I loved a fantasy, an image of a man I never truly knew," Sterren whispers with a sigh, "But I know you, Taran. You are real, and this is real."

"I love you, Sterren," Taran whispers, "I wish I had spoken of my feelings to you before the Landgraab came."

Sterren caresses his hair as his lips move to her breast, and smiles. Before her affair with Reinier, she might not have been so disposed to falling in love with anyone, she thinks, and though it ended badly, she has some memories of their passionate romance that she would not willingly lose. "What matters is what we have now," she murmurs in response, "Let's have no regrets for what has come before."

"Is he everything you expected?' Ceyrth asks Kelyn with a teasing smile.

Kelyn frowns thoughtfully, taking his question more seriously than he'd meant. "I'm not sure what I was expecting, in truth," she answers. She had simply mentioned to Inira that she'd been thinking about the possibility of finally finding a mate and starting a nest and after that she could not have a conversation with her that didn't bring some mention of Morvyn and all his fine qualities. "I don't know him well enough yet to speak of such things."

"You don't have to come with me tonight," Ceyrth changes the subject away from a long discussion about the mating habits of his dragon friends. The alfar are not immortal like they are, yet even so, they are long lived enough to understand how time changes themselves and the world, and they generally do not engage in permanent relationships. Ceyrth himself has been in love more than once, and has had two mates in his lifetime who lived with him long enough to raise their children before moving on to new relationships. In her youth, Kelyn had seemed to be of the same mind as the alfar, and unwilling to take mates she would be paired with for an eternity, and Ceyrth understood that sentiment well enough; her sudden desire to conform to the standard dragon nest was a new thing, and while he would always support her choice, he would never understand it.

"Of course we're going with you," Kelyn says, "It's not safe for any one of us to go out into the human lands alone."

"Are you ready?" Morvyn asks, approaching the pair, "The villagers will all be long asleep by now."

The circle of stones on the ancient hilltop was constructed by mortal hands, but Ceyrth can feel some lingering magic vibrating here. It is an old place, long abandoned by the descendants of those that built it. Ico had told him only that that stones marked a tomb, and that the place was special to Auberon, and served as a portal to his realm, for those who possessed the knowledge to enter it.

Stand in the center of the circle, Ico had instructed him, face the tall stone with the writing carved on it, call Auberon's name, and ask for a door. He will be expecting your visit.

Ceyrth wasn't sure what sort of portal he expected, but when it appeared, it was obvious what it was. He hesitated for only a second before stepping into the glowing purple cloud he'd summoned.

When he stepped out of it again, Ceyrth was in a completely different place. And time, he realises, seeing the sun sinking into a distant horizon.

"I prefer the twilight hours," Auberon says, giving no introduction, "Dusk and dawn, night's beginning and day's end."

"Is this real, or a dream?" Ceyrth wonders aloud.

"Real or dream, it's all the same," Auberon answers, "Ico tells me you wished to ask me something?"

Just being here in this place that is not truly a place, a waking dream he entered with his body rather than with just his mind presents more questions than Ceyrth can form words for. "I wanted to learn of your history," he answers, falling back on the question that originally brought him here.

"My history," Auberon says, as though the word was spoken in an unfamiliar tongue, "Mortals have histories; I have only a story. I was, for a very long time, alone. Lying on the waters of time, I dreamt many dreams."

"And then I was awakened with a kiss. Summerdream, her name is Tania Summerdream, and she was the first to visit my realm. From her, I learned how to move as she does, through this world and yours, to exist here and there. And that is my story, young one."

Ceyrth waits patiently for the story to continue, but Auberon sits silently by him, finished. "It's a fascinating tale," Ceyrth finally says, "But I was hoping for the history of your kind. Where the fae come from, who created you."

Auberon remains silent for several minutes. "Who created me?" he asks, and thinks, as far back as his mind can go, "No, I don't believe I was created. I simply was, as I am, always."

"Ico told me she was born from the waters," Ceyrth continues, "That she has no parents."

"I remember that day," Auberon says with a nod, "I was watching the light play on the water, enjoying its beauty. And she was there, lovely Ico, lady of the waters."

"So, it was your thought that created Ico," Ceyrth surmises, a new story taking form in his mind.

Auberon doesn't answer, lost for a moment in the vastness of his memories. While he remains silent, Ceyrth tells him the story of the alfar, who were born from the creative desire of a spirit like Auberon himself.

"I feel that I have heard this story before," Auberon says, turning his glance to Ceyrth, "Or perhaps it is something I dreamed...?"

After Ceyrth disappeared in the portal, there was nothing for Morvyn and Kelyn to do but sit and wait for his return.

"You don't find it strange that this fairy would chose a human place to meet Ceyrth?" Kelyn asks.

"When I was coming of age, the humans would bury their dead in in a cave beneath this circle," Morvyn tell her, "One of those who lies buried here was Auberon's lover once. That was before my time, but I am friends with their daughter, a fae like her father." Thinking if Evenfall brings a heaviness; he has not seen her since Talfryn's death, and he knows how much she must be suffering.

"Lovers? With a mortal?" Kelyn asks, barely able to contain her disgust.

"They are not all dragonslayers," Morvyn says gently. Kelyn does not know of his own human lovers, Morvyn has kept them all secret from everyone save his closest friends, Talfryn and Ametair, until his recent confession to Aymeri. "We've had no real trouble from the humans here, until your dragonslayer came. What happened there, to create such enmity that the humans in the north hunt us?"

"I only know that men have hunted dragons since before I was born," Kelyn answers, "If there is a cause for their enmity toward us, no one has ever told it to me."

"We aren't so very different from them," Morvyn says, stretching to lie on the grass beneath the stones, "It's unfortunate that we should have so much mistrust for them. And them for us."

"How can you say that, when they killed your friend and took you captive?"

"That was one man, and his followers," Morvyn says, "They were strangers to this place. I suppose if I'd grown up as you did, hunted by them since birth, I'd feel differently. But I cannot hate these people for what foreigners to this place have done." He cannot even hate Gaelle for her betrayal, he thinks, for she never knew what he truly was, or what the dragonslayer wanted from him. He would like to know her reasons, but he will never be able to ask her.

"You are an elder," Kelyn says, changing the subject suddenly, pausing in the middle of her statement as though to carefully choose her next words.

"No one has ever called me an elder," Morvyn says with a laugh, not waiting for her to continue, "How old are you?"

"Only a few centuries," Kelyn answers.

"I suppose I am an elder then, compared to you. But here, I am the youngest of the nest, and the my elders are far far older than I am," Morvyn answers.

Whatever Kelyn had meant to ask him is interrupted when Ceyrth reappears jut minutes after he disappeared.

"He is a witch!" Father Loyset says, pointing his finger at Fransez in accusation.

"I am a servant of the Lady," Fransez defends himself nervously.

"Your kind are all witches!" the priest insists, "Summoners of demons, practicers of the black arts!"

"What do you know about my brother's assassination?" Reinier demands, "Are you in league with the wilders? With the old ones?"

"No, my lord," Fransez sputters, the questions coming fast and hard at him, like blows knocking him backward.

"Look, my lord," Jakob says, moving toward Fransez's implements, "These are the tools of wickedness, and the proof of his perfidy."

"They are simple curatives," Fransez explains, his voice shaking in fear.

"Lies and trickery! The people turn to this man and his false goddess when they are in need, rater than seeking solace in the Watcher."

"My brother was lenient with his people, allowing you to carry on with your beliefs. And he was murdered by a wilder in the company of an old one, a demon much like the one summoned by Sterren of Avendale, defiling the Church of the Watcher with  her foul magic," Reinier says.

At the mention of Sterren's name, Fransez sighs and closes his eyes. "She did not summon a demon, my lord," he says, voice quavering, "She does not have that power, none of us do. The old ones do as they please."

"You would deny what I saw with my own eyes, witch?" Reinier demands, "Understand this, I will not sit by and allow you to continue your false worship, while conspiring with demons against me. Take him to the Tower," he ends with a command to his men.

Reinier's soldiers close in around the old man, defenseless against them.

"Take everything," Reinier now orders his priest, "The books, the scrolls, the potions, and burn it all."

"As my lord commands."

Jean watches through the window as the soldiers take his grandfather away, take all his things, his wonderful books and mysterious potions, leaving nothing behind.

His grandfather was a kind man, gentle and good. Even when Jean misbehaved, his grandfather's reprimands were delivered with kindness. Jean cannot imagine why the soldiers would take him away, and he wishes he could do something to stop them.

He's only a child, he has no weapons, no magic, that can save his grandfather. On impulse, he kneels before the small pond in his grandfather's yard, where he once saw the most beautiful creature, one of the fairies he's read about in his grandfather' story books. Desperate, with nowhere else to turn, Jean sinks his hands into the water and calls to its lady, begging for her intercession.

Aymeri and Ico make love in the water, as they did on the day they met, joining together in the element they share.

Ico stands suddenly with a gasp.

"What is it, my love?" Aymeri asks, holding her face in his hand.

"Someone calls to me, through the water," she says, her brow knitting in confusion. "A mortal child."

"How? They don't know you."

Ico shakes her head, "Only once has one of their kind called to me like this. That was Uvie, who knew me," she says, remembering, "Auberon has told me that the humans call to Uvie still, and that hears and answers their prayers. I must speak with him about this."