The Lady made her way alone across the city in the small hours after even bars and clubs had closed; a shadow traveling alleyways and backstreets by starlight. She’d left her chancellor wading through the inexplicable confessions of Matthew Rhymer, having read enough of them herself to know a visit with the River King could be delayed no longer. Though it seemed Rain might have nipped this dark bud off in time, there was no sure way of knowing who else had seen the document—or who the boy might still choose to share it with, for reasons she could not begin to fathom. It was crucial now that both the River King and the Archivist, at least, be offered some proper frame through which to receive such news, should it still surface somehow.

The question was how to construct and deliver such a frame when the greater powers had so clearly forbidden her to breathe a word of the truth to anyone. She wondered, for the millionth time, why they had done that to her—or to any of them, even Matthew Rhymer? What was any of it for—except to destroy everything she’d spent centuries trying to achieve—as slowly and unaddressably as possible? If she had ever in her long, long life done something to offend such powers this deeply, she still had no idea what it might have been.

Not that there weren’t innumerable things of which she had no idea. That was the other thing that Rhymer’s inscrutable manuscript had left her sorting out. His descriptions of what had happened, of Piper, Rain, and herself, of their very world and way of life, had been so utterly foreign to any of her own recollections or assumptions. His memoir had already revealed events which none of them had guessed at. Rain had skipped quickly to the last few pages, of course, hoping to learn how and why Rhymer had vanished, and where he’d gone. But, naturally, the boy had pulled up short of telling that to his friends. Tired of hiding, was he? Then why not just come out of hiding? Why this…lunatic fan dance just to leave himself as hidden as before?

Such a lengthy and elaborate record had clearly taken far more time to manufacture than the few weeks since her summons had gone out, but had their letter somehow inspired his decision to share this horrific tell-all with his friends? Even supposing they believed a word of it, what could Rhymer possibly have thought to gain except to place his own safety—the safety of all his people in this city—in jeopardy? If that had been his aim—by reason of whatever madness—why not just send it straight to Anselm?

The thought made her shudder, though surely they would know by now if he had done so. Anselm was rarely slow to crow, and would never have had better cause. Yet, if not to ruin The Lady and her household for some reason, what was Rhymer’s game? There had to be one. She just couldn’t see what it was—or could be. Reduced to such confusion by a lad nearly as young as Piper—younger in most ways, actually—and Andinol at that! Who could have imagined it?

Arriving at last at the estate’s imposing gateway, she cast a glance behind her, then let her cloak of shadow dissolve as she began considering how best to present herself. Her appearance must, of course, convey power. Nearly as old and as skilled as herself, her sometimes-consort was the only one of their kind here qualified or entitled to call himself her equal. There must be no hint of ‘petition’ in her manner or her costume—which was what all clothing was, of course, for people like themselves, at least. But some element of seductive flirtation would be useful, and in keeping with their pleasant history. Theirs had never been merely political liaisons. He was, by any standard, an impressive and charming man. Something that conveyed substantial presence and sufficient gravity then, but…left her shoulders bare, perhaps. She smiled as the voluminous dark dress began to flow and swell around her, white linen peeking out at hem, bosom and shoulders, suited to project an aura of presence, trust, and affection—in that order.

The River King’s keep covered acres of beautifully landscaped waterfront just east of the city and, like so many of their kind’s other holdings, lay sprawled in plain sight, disguised by very little but entirely misleading stories offered the Andinalloi about what and whose all this really was. Only The Lady’s own compound was concealed completely underground, more to protect her privacy and safety from others of her own kind than from the Andinalloi. Two-thirds of the River King’s keep rose above the water table into open air like any other building. The river folk were less aquatic than amphibious; as skillfully at home beneath the surface as any otter, but just as dependant on air. The River King’s suite of private rooms was not in the mansion’s submerged basement, but on its highest floor, looking out across impressive views of the river where his people spent most of their waking lives. She was pleased to see light shining, as expected, from his windows. She’d have run much greater risk of disturbing his sleep with a daytime visit. He had always been nocturnal.

And if the River King was awake, then his chancellor should be too. She reached into the pocket of her robe and touched the message ring there.

My Lady? came the palpably surprised response. Is…all well?

Awake, and attentive to his devices, even at this hour, she noted with approval. ‘Yes, Chancellor. I regret having taken you and your lord by surprise for a second time today, but I am just paces from the entrance to your library, and hoping to share a few very private words with the River King, if he is amenable.’

You are…here, my Lady? Now?

‘Just crossing the south garden, yes, and wanting to be sure that as few people as possible become aware of this visit.’

His pause was all but undetectable. Of course, my Lady. I will inform him and be there to greet you in a trice.

‘Thank you, Chancellor.’

She let go of the ring and continued across the lovely, starlit garden toward a wall of ornate French doors that opened onto the library’s broad flagstone patio.

As she drew nearer, a single candle flared behind the patio’s central doorway. She was pleased with his discretion—until she came close enough to recognize Piper’s younger brother, Kobahl, the River King’s heir, standing at the chancellor’s side.

“I apologize, my Lady,” the chancellor whispered as he pulled the door open for her. “The Azhon was with me when your summons arrived, and would not be dissuaded from greeting you as well.”

“Surely your secrets are safe with me, Mother,” said the boy. “It’s been far too long since you graced our house. How was I to ignore such an occasion?”

The Lady smiled, though now there would be one more to recall that she had been here, and wonder what she’d come so secretly to tell the River King. “No chance to greet my son will ever require apology, Chancellor,” she said, bending to kiss Kobahl’s cheek.

The boy took her hand and brushed his lips against the back of it in very courtly fashion. Older and more stately every time she saw him, which—as he had just so tactfully observed—had been far too seldom for some time.

“I hear such praise of you, Kobahl, from every corner,” she said warmly. “All agree you are the pearl in your father’s crown.”

“I hear much the same of Piper,” he replied, smiling back at her without a trace of insincerity. She nodded, still smiling despite the sadness it caused her to see how well her younger child had already learned to lie in service of diplomacy. From all she’d heard, this lithe boy, with his father’s night-black, liquid gaze and strong dark coloring, was rapidly becoming everything in terms of statecraft that Piper seemed destined not to be. Yet The Lady’s sadness was entirely for Kobahl, not his older sister. He would be a formidable ruler someday—and had clearly not begun to guess what else such achievement might make of him. Though, who could say what price Piper would pay for remaining so aloof from such lessons? No matter how one parsed the challenge, there was no good fortune in being born to power.

“Father has been wondering when you might show up,” Kobahl said, not quite managing to hide his pleasure at seeming ‘in the know.’

“I don’t doubt it,” said The Lady, glancing back up at the chancellor. “It seems the River King and I have more to discuss with each passing hour—which, sadly, means that I must cut this sweet reunion short, my son.” The fleeting hint of disappointment on Kobahl’s face told her he’d been hoping for an invitation to join their meeting. But that was not an option this time, even for her son and likely future ruler of the river folk. Neither he nor Piper should be brought any further into this than could be helped—for their own safety should things go awry.

“He awaits you upstairs, my Lady,” said the chancellor. “In his chambers. Would you like me to escort you?”

“Thank you, no, Chancellor. I recall the way quite clearly.” She gave the man a smile that made Kobahl grin, and the chancellor blush. Turning back to her son, she said, “You are right, dear. I have seen far too little of you for too long now. A lengthy visit with you at my home would bring me such great pleasure. Have I permission to arrange one with your father?”

“Of course,” he said, eagerly. “Nothing would delight me more.”

“Then I will hope to have the pleasure of your company there soon.” She bent to kiss his cheek again. “Good night, dear.” She straightened, gave the chancellor a nod of thanks, and swept past them to go find the boy’s father.

She was unlikely to forget any of the ways through this building, but she had forgotten how…oversized and ostentatious it was. No rustic forest charm here. The ground floor was all towering spaces, porphyry and alabaster columns rising from polished marble floors, and, in the grand foyer, a wide and sweeping staircase that would take her to the house’s more practical second floor, then up farther to the River King’s private chambers—of which she had so many wistful memories from less complicated times.

He was waiting for her, halfway up the final flight of steps, tall and lean as ever, his gleaming skin as dark as polished walnut. “Welcome back, my Lady,” he said, surveying her costume with a half-concealed smirk. “I had assumed this was a business meeting, but…I am not un-amenable to surprises.”

“Thank you for agreeing to see me with so little warning, my Lord.” She offered him a pretty curtsy, meant as much in jest as his remark had surely been.

“I’d have come to you before much longer,” he said soberly. “The times grow stranger at far too fast a pace.”

“Like the rush of water toward a fall,” she agreed as he turned to climb the last few steps beside her. “Where to, my Lord?”

“My study, sadly,” he replied, casting one more glance at her attire.

His study, for all its lavish woodwork, lush red upholstery, and cut glass ornament, still managed to convey a sense of comfortable intimacy as they settled into spacious, gilded chairs before one of the room’s imposing floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The River King was very fond of books—seeming to regard them as one of the dry world’s most beautiful and exotic artifacts.

He sat in silence for a while, still gazing at her with undisguised appreciation. “It has been far too long, my Lady.”

“Our son said just the same.”

“Indeed. He misses you. As do I. We both envy Piper your proximity.”

“I am sorry for it.” And she was. “The times of late leave so little space, it seems, for…more enjoyable pursuits.”

He nodded. “Kobahl understands that—as do I.” He straightened, sitting higher in his chair, and leaned toward her. “So, what news requires such solitary stealth, my Lady? Have you discovered where those geist-stones might have come from? Or does this concern today’s kidnap—and the mysterious ‘documents’ I’m hearing of, destroyed, it seems, by someone clearly of our kind?”

She gave him a rueful smile. “I see that no news travels slowly anymore.”

“Anyone keeping a close eye on the Clarke boy and his family—and who isn’t suddenly—will have known as much for hours by now. Do you know what was in these vanished documents?”

She sighed, and nodded. “As it happens, I bear news of all that and more, and dare hope you might have news for me as well?” Power did not surrender information without exchange.

“Ah.” He looked down. “The missing Ashilm.”

“Our stolen Ashilm, yes. Have you discovered anything more about how it might have vanished under your guards’ noses?”

“I have learned…a thing or two.”

She nodded. “Well then, if you show me yours, I will show you mine.”

He chuckled. “Very well.” The humor left his face as quickly as it had arrived. “It is…extremely disturbing news—which I am still struggling to interpret, or you’d have heard from me already. It turns out that your Ashilm was not the only thing we lost that night. Two of my guard died as well.”

“Oh!” The Lady gasped, a hand flown to her mouth before she could master her shock. “I…am so very sorry! How can I have heard nothing of such a loss?”

Her distress was mirrored in his face now too. “I’ve taken pains to suppress the fact.”

“Why?”

“Because their own detachment failed to register either guard’s absence—all that night, and for nearly two days afterward.”

The Lady stared at him, no longer attempting to conceal her dismay. “How is that…possible?”

“As best we can surmise, whomever, or whatever, had been posing in their place did not vanish until their decaying bodies were discovered when the water had receded.”

The hand at her mouth was lowered to her heart.

He nodded, gravely. “Dark water indeed, my Lady, and deep. I’m still attempting to determine whether my guard was infiltrated by persons in disguise, or by illusion alone, but of one thing I am certain: those two guardsmen didn’t merely drown.” He leaned back into his chair. “I want whoever is behind this left as uncertain about what I know and what I’m doing in response as I still am about…the rest. I have commanded the cohort to silence, and told no one else until this moment—not even Kobahl. I and a few of the victims’ cohort are investigating this in utmost secrecy.”

The Lady shook her head, wondering how many more dreadful surprises a single day could hold. “Can Anselm have stooped to murdering our own kind now? I…cannot believe it. For all his dreadful choices, he reveres the Tree at least as much as—”

“I don’t believe he had them killed,” the River King interjected.

“What? …Then who?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it—and why I want this kept in silence. Forgive me, Lady, but for the moment, I would ask that you say nothing of this even to your daughter or your chancellor. In all honesty, I’d not have told even you yet, were I able to sit face to face here and not feel like a liar in pretending nothing to report.”

“Surely you do not think my chancellor, much less our own daughter, had anything to do with this! Why not Anselm, or one of his misguided henchmen? Who else has any motive?”

“Who else indeed, my Lady? Someone threw three stones bearing my own personal sigil into the water that night. If my own close household is not beyond suspicion, how can I be sure of yours?” The question made her cringe, of course, which she’d clearly failed to conceal, because he held his hands up in a gesture of placation. “I’ve no suspicion whatsoever that Rain or Piper are involved. But someone has managed a great deal of extremely powerful song here in the past few weeks, and most of those with such capacity are attached either to my household, or yours. Who can say yet which of our most trusted confidants is double faced?”

“I still can’t see why you’re looking so far afield,” she insisted. “Anselm has both means and motive. He has all but taken credit for that storm; why not the theft of our Ashilm as well—to replenish the excessive store of resource such a stunt must have required?”

The River King nodded. “That does seem the obvious conclusion. Much too obvious, don’t you think? Can you believe that Anselm would have ordered or condoned anything so clearly pointed right back at himself?” He shook his head. “Those deaths could just as well have been made to look like some kind of tragic accident—even if concealed until just after the theft. Though my people don’t drown easily, they can—especially in chaotic circumstances like the ones we faced that night. But allowing us to find their bodies so clearly dead for days before they’d last been seen… It’s as if whoever did this wanted to eliminate any possibility of misunderstanding on our part. Not just murder, but complex intrigue and extremely sophisticated use of power. To whom is anyone more likely to look than Anselm? But whatever else he may have become across the years, stupid is no part of it.”

“Then what alternative do you suggest?”

“I fear, my Lady, that some third party is at work here.”

“Third party? With this level of resource—of whom neither you nor I have ever heard? Come from where? After what—besides a minor warehouse of Ashilm?”

“My questions precisely, Lady. Not one of them answered yet. You mentioned news about those geist-stones. That might prove a very helpful clue.”

Damn, damn, damn! She’d walked right into it. Stupid to have announced it so hastily, but there was no help for that now. “Well, in light of what you’ve told me, this may all look rather worse, I fear, but I have learned where those geist-stones came from, and I don’t think the culprit you are seeking will be found there.” She drew a deep breath, and plunged in. “The answer appears to involve this Andinol boy Anselm’s been hollering about for so many years.”

“Does it, now?” The River King leaned further forward, keenly.

“Though we have strenuously insisted otherwise—for unimpeachable reasons—I’ve little choice now but to concede, in strictest confidence, I trust, that such a boy was, in fact, briefly given shelter in my keep ten years ago.”

“Well, well, well…”

“But any resemblance between Anselm’s scandalous assertions and the truth of it ends there. His obnoxious charges are nothing but inventions of his own lurid imagination.”

“Then why all this concealment?” pressed the River King. “Would it not have been far simpler just to tell the real story openly, and lay Anselm’s fantasies to rest?”

“Not while I give a fig for that poor boy’s safety,” she replied.

“Ah…” He leaned back into his chair. “So then, what is this story no one knows?”

Now she could only hope that what she had constructed was tight enough to hold a great deal more water than she had anticipated. “His tale is not unlike that of my poor Jordan.”

“Your page,” the River King said, clearly dubious. “A sad tale, that one—made known to everyone right from the start. Why the need of subterfuge this second time around?”

“Jordan was left incapable of surviving in the world on his own, and, by the same stroke, manageable as a permanent addition to my household. Though also left with nothing and no one in the world, this second boy was fourteen years of age, and his wits left largely intact.”

The River King’s brows rose slightly. “Which, it seems to me, just makes him—”

“—a threat to whichever of Anselm’s creatures wronged him,” she said preemptively, “and, by extension, to Anselm himself—with little more ability to protect against such enemies alone out in the world than Jordan has.”

“So…what then?” asked the River King. “You have been hiding this lad in your keep somehow? I still don’t see what such secrecy has gained you, though its costs are clear enough.”

She shook her head. “He was there for less than two days. My keep cannot become an orphanage for every tragic by-blow of Anselm’s reckless predation. I could not condemn this boy to an entire lifetime cut off from his own kind and their world, any more than we could allow Andinol boarders leave to come and go from my keep.”

“Then…what was done with him?”

“A whole new life and identity were created for him, in which he was…carefully installed.”

The River King’s brows climbed another notch. “A new life…where?”

“Here in the city.”

“As…what?”

“As no one of interest—to anyone.”

The River King gazed at her…in clear anticipation of something more. “All of which has what, exactly, to do with those geist-stones thrown into the flood?”

“Well, yes… During the boy’s brief stay with us, ten years ago, our daughter was assigned to keep him company and steer him clear of trouble.”

The River King chuckled. “An interesting assignment, I must say, given her own proclivity for getting into it.”

“More right than you know, I fear. She was much younger then, of course, over-earnest and impulsive, as young people are.”

“That I understand.” He gave her a commiserating smile. “You’re just lucky that your heir is a girl.”

“If your heir were a girl, you’d know better than to think so,” she parried. “But I appreciate the empathy, and thank all the fates that you and I were never young.”

“Indeed. So…something went amiss, I take it?”

She nodded. “It seems she became…overly moved by his plight, and, in an excess of concern for his safety, gave the three of your geist-stones in her possession to him, and explained their use.”

The River King grew very still, his eyes wide.

“We sent the boy off, literally moments later, to begin his new life elsewhere, entirely unaware of what she’d done until two weeks ago, just after your guard captain’s visit.”

“I hardly know where to begin,” the River King said quietly. “You’ve kept this information to yourselves for two weeks why?”

“For reasons not unlike your own in concealing the deaths of those guardsmen,” she answered. “Learning what she’d done ten years ago told us nothing certain about who had used them now, or even that these were, in certainty, the same three stones. There seemed too many questions still unanswered to be rushing answers off to—”

“I withheld information which I did not yet understand,” he cut in sharply. “I still do not know what exactly happened, much less what it means. You’ve known and understood something very clearly for weeks that you must have realized I’d want to know as well.” He shook his head, looking both angry and wounded. “It pains me deeply to say it, my Lady, but I cannot keep from wondering if your prime concern here was not just making sure your lovely regal ass—or that of our famously reckless daughter—was sufficiently covered. May I ask what else you have determined it’s too soon to tell me?”

Now she was wounded too. They had never spoken this way to each other. Or imagined doing so, as far as she knew. This had all gone far more badly than she’d ever have imagined possible. But what didn’t these days? Perhaps she should simply surrender her throne now, and save Anselm further trouble. No one was likely to find more relief in that development than she would. “I had no idea of your loss,” she said quietly. “Until this meeting—which I initiated in order to volunteer this information to you, please remember—I thought little was at stake in this regard but the disappearance of our Ashilm, and the mysterious rescue of one incidental Andinol young man. Had I known the rest, I would, of course, have brought all this to your attention immediately.”

He considered her in silence, then looked down, seeming to deflate. “I apologize, my Lady. There is…so much faceless threat a-swirl around me suddenly. I had expected…very different things from this evening’s conversation, but I should not have spoken so.”

“Understood…old friend. I too am very, very sorry to have…disappointed you. And, regrettably, there is more to tell—none of it likely to please you better.”

“Am I surprised?” He looked up at her bleakly. “By all means then…what else?”  

“Our main hope in waiting to inform you of Piper’s indiscretion was to find the boy himself, and make certain it had really been those stones, and him who used them.”

“And did you?”

She shook her head.

The River King looked alarmed. “He has vanished?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “Just over seven years ago.”

“What?”

She shrugged wearily. “That was the plan all along: that he disappear so completely, neither Anselm nor even we would ever find him. It seemed the only way to guarantee his safety—from our kind, anyway.”

“So, anyone could have tossed those stones into the flood that night.”

“We are fairly sure it was the boy in question.”

“How, if he cannot be found?”

“Dustin Clarke was his closest friend before he disappeared.” Anselm clearly knew as much by now. Why should the River King alone be left blind?

“So, this rogue Andinol boy used my geist-stones and my authority to summon my guardsmen to his old friend’s aid that night—and cannot be found by anyone to answer for it?”

“He has no idea that our laws were broken—or even what they are. That onus, I fear, rests on our daughter, if you wish to prosecute her for it. I doubt she’d blame you. No one blames that girl more harshly for being what she is than she does.”

They gazed at one another silently, both knowing how much more there was to say on that subject—none of which would but further complicate the current situation.

“May I ask how any Andinol boy in this city manages to elude detection by such as you or Anselm, if they wish to find him? Are there not trails to follow? Traces somewhere—known to you, at least, and detectable to skills like ours?”

In for a penny, as they’d once liked to say… At this point, there was really only one thing that she absolutely could not tell him—or anyone. “He was trained to hide—from us.”

“Trained?” the River King asked—his voice gone ominously quiet again. “Trained how—by whom?”

“Trained in those of our skills which his kind can learn. As for by whom, in exchange for that person’s help, I made a promise to tell no one ever. How much more poorly would you think of me if I broke that promise now, just to appease you?”

The River King drew a long, slow breath. And then another. “This just gets…more and more disturbing.”

“Now you see why I’ve worked so fiercely to deny the boy’s existence. Imagine what use Anselm would make of this, if he should find it—though, as always, he and his set it all in motion.”

“I need only imagine what I might make of it, did I not know you as well as…I think I do,” he said cheerlessly. “So, does this cipher have a name that I’m allowed to know?”

“The name he left us with was Matthew Rhymer, though your guess is as good as mine what name he uses now.”

“Rhymer?” scoffed the River King. “Well, there’s a marvelously inconspicuous name to hide behind.”

“He invented it, not we, and announced it irrevocably before we could prevent him.”

“So…this poor, victimized Andinol boy was shown the inside of your keep, handed three geist-stones imbued with my sigil, trained in our arts, and released into the wild without so much as a backward glance…but a lasting grudge, perhaps, against Anselm…and who knows how many others of our kind that he might blame for costing him his former life? Does he blame us all, I wonder?” He chuckled, mirthlessly. “Is that everything, my Lady? Or is there even more?”

Oh, there was, of course. So much more. But only one last revelation was required to complete the job she’d come here to do—however much less gracefully than she had hoped to. “I fear there is, my Lord.”

“Ha!” The sound was more a bark of anger than a laugh. “I can scarcely wait to hear it.”

“We did make an effort to locate the boy, just as Anselm’s display of olden power was starting to announce itself. In strictest secrecy, we delivered copies of a meticulously cryptic letter to a few of the boy’s former acquaintances, including Dustin Clarke and his adoptive mother, with requests that it be delivered to their old friend if any of them knew where he might be. None of those letters seem to have found their way to Rhymer, but one of them, through some treachery, found its way to Anselm. He too knows the boy’s name now, and that we’re looking for him, though he has no more actionable evidence that the letter came from us than we have yet of his responsibility for that storm. All the other copies have been retrieved, of course.”

The River King stared at her, then shook his head and looked away. “These letters would have been sent out before you learned of Piper’s lapse in judgment. Why should you have tried to find him now all of a sudden, after so many years of professed indifference?”

“You yourself just said that you could see the costs but not the benefits of keeping this secret. Sadly, it seems you are right. As Anselm’s lies continue gaining traction, we’d decided to ask Rhymer if he would be willing to come back and set the record straight—before arbiters. I could tell them the truth, of course, but after all this time and denial, would they believe me without the boy himself there to confirm my story? And, before you ask it, yes, we are the ones who destroyed those documents that everyone is speaking of today.”

“Goes without saying at this point,” he sighed. “Will you tell me what was in them?”

“Everything I’ve told you here tonight,” she said. “He sent copies of the tale to the Clarke boy and his mother, for what possible reason, I still have no idea.”

“May I see a copy?”

“There are none left to show you. The last one was destroyed as soon as we had read it, for all the reasons you’d have done just so in such a situation.” It was the first and only overt lie she had told him that night, discounting those of omission, of course. And it would soon be made true anyway—would have been already if the damn thing weren’t so long.

He gazed at her, still clearly unconvinced, but she could offer him nothing further.

“I have handed you my head here,” she said at last. “I trust you will consider that while deciding what to make of this—and me.”

“Of you?” he asked sadly. “You, my Lady, are the mother of my son and heir, as I am your daughter’s father. Tonight, that seems extremely fortunate. For you, at least.” He sighed and rose, going to stand beside one of the study’s ceiling-high leaded windows, gazing out at the river. “So, having told me all of this,” he mused, “can you still think me mad for suggesting that some third party may be at work behind some if not all of our recent woes?”

It took her a moment to make sense of this sudden turn, but when she had, it was she who felt astonished. “You can’t think that Matthew Rhymer is your mastermind!”

“Can’t I?” He turned from the view to look at her. “I have been wondering who might want to ensnare Anselm this badly—and yet go about it so…clumsily.”

“An Andinol boy? Capable of taking elite river guardsmen by surprise at all, much less of murdering them? And able to generate doppelgangers of sufficient quality to escape detection by our kind and skill for days? I did not, in fact, think you mad before. Now, however…”

“Where did you say he’s been, again, this past seven years?” he asked casually.

“I told you—”

“—that you have no idea; yes, you did. And, just out of curiosity, how long did this Andinol lad spend acquiring sufficient skill to hide from even you so effectively?”

She paused, seeing now where this was headed. “I…can’t say precisely. His actual departure came…suddenly and unexpectedly, amidst some confusion.”

“Did it?” The River King gave her a pointed look. “And, again please, after how much training? A rough approximation will do.”

“A year, perhaps,” she said softly. “Give or take.”

“A year! That’s all? He sounds quite precocious for a fourteen-year-old boy.”

“That he was…” she said, not liking at all where her own mind was heading now.

“So, what else do you suppose such a precocious lad might have been able to learn over seven more years, while his resentment—of Anselm, at least, if not others of our kind as well—continued to ferment?”

“From whom?” she demanded. “He had teachers here—among the best of us. He could hardly have just gone out on his own and found—”

“Not with any normal Andinol boy’s knowledge of where to look or what for, no.” The River King came back to stand in front of her. “But after…what, two years among us? Exposed daily to us and our ways, being trained in our arts? Such a boy might very well have known where and how to look for more such instruction. The question, it seems to me, is where did he look, and who did he find? Do you know something more than I about where he may have taken what you gave him, after his sudden and unexpected departure?”

She stared up at him, feeling herself pale. How much of that giant tome had any of them actually read yet? What might Rain have found while she’d been here? “I… The boy I knew…would never…” She stood up as well. “Perhaps you are right. I must think on this. But dawn is coming, and…we all have so much to attend to. You know as much as I can tell you now. I’m sorry that it’s tumbled out so…problematically. I had no idea…”

“Nor did I.” He surprised her with a brief, crooked smile. “I’d actually hoped, when I first saw you on the stairs tonight, that this conversation might end in some pleasant dalliance…for old time’s sake.”

Once, she might have offered to grant that wish—even after everything the evening had just put them through—confident of repairing in his bed at least some of what she’d broken in his study. But she hadn’t been that young in…centuries, at least, and knew far better than to add another misstep to the flock she had already committed here.

His smile faded like water into sand. “I feel sometimes, lately…as if maybe all the dalliances I am destined to know have already passed me by.”

What she saw behind his eyes—there and gone in seconds—broke her heart, as it had not been broken in…such a very long while. Composure had become a very difficult thing to manage here, suddenly. “I too,” she said, hoping he would see she meant it as clearly as she’d seen that he did. “Yet, I must go.”

He nodded, and headed for the door to see her out.

She had one foot in the hallway before recalling her promise to Kobahl. “Oh dear.” She turned around to look back at him. “I told our son that you and I would discuss sending him for a visit with me at my home. He seemed to want that, rather badly.”

The River King’s expression became even sadder. “Perhaps we’d better see where…everything stands a month from now before making such plans. I’ll let him know you asked, of course, and provide some credible explanation about why we’re forced to put the question off. He knows enough about what is happening in the world to understand, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure he does.” Far too well, she imagined. “Thank you.”

“Fewer secrets between us though, please. May I count on that, my Lady?”

“I promise to be far less careless about keeping you informed than it seems I have become, my Lord. But I assure you, there was never any desire, much less attempt, to deceive you—about anything we’ve discussed.”

The look this won her was his saddest yet, driving in the fact that she really must cut her losses now, and go. This man had always known how to disarm her, in just a blink sometimes. But she would likely have more need of armor now than she’d had since the Andinol had started burning witches back in Europe. This sad affair had been valuable preparation for her encounter with the Archivist, at least. It would be crucial not to ball that conversation up as she had this one.