“Is she here, Owain?” Ross asked finally, coming forward to the very edge of the rock shelf on which he stood. “Is the Lady here?”

The fisherman gave a barely perceptible nod. “She is.”

“Good. Because I couldn’t feel her, couldn’t feel anything of the magic when I walked down.” Ross groped for the words he needed. “I suppose it’s because I’ve been away for so long. But … it doesn’t feel right.” He hesitated. “Maybe it’s because I’m here in the daylight, instead of at night. You told me, the first day we met, that if it was magic I was looking for, if I wanted to see the fairies, it was best to come at night. I’d almost forgotten about that. I don’t know what I was thinking I’ll come back tonight—”

“John.” Owain’s soft voice stopped him midsentence. “Don’t come back. She won’t appear for you.”

John Ross stared. “The Lady? She won’t? Why not?” The fisherman took a long time before answering. “Because the choice isn’t yours to make.”

Ross shook his head, confused. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. Which choice? The one for her to appear or the one for me to stop being a Knight of the Word?”

The other man worked his pole and line without looking up. “Do you know why you can’t feel the magic, John? You can’t feel it because you don’t admit that it’s inside yourself anymore. Magic doesn’t just happen. It doesn’t just appear. You have to believe in it.”

He looked over at Ross. “You’ve stopped believing.”

Ross flushed. “I’ve stopped believing in its usefulness. I’ve stopped wanting it to rule my life. That’s not the same thing.”

“When you become a Knight of the Word, you give yourself over to a life of service to the Word.” Owain Glyndwr ran his big, gnarled hands smoothly along the pole and line. Shadows from passing clouds darkened his features. “If it was an easy thing to do, anyone would be suitable to the task. Most aren’t.”

“Perhaps I’m one of them,” Ross argued, anxious to find a way to get his foot in the door the Lady had apparently closed on him. “Perhaps the Word made a mistake with me.”

He paused, waiting for a response. There was none. This was stupid, he thought, arguing with a ghost. Pointless. He closed his eyes, remembering San Sobel. “Listen to me, Owain. I can’t go through it anymore. I can’t live with it another day. The dreams and the killing and the monsters and the hate and fear and all of it endless and purposeless and stupid! I can’t do it. I don’t know how you did it.”

The big man turned to face him again, taking up the pole and line, looking away from the stream. “I did it because I had to, John. Because I was there. Because maybe there was no one else. Because I was needed to do it. Like you.”

Ross clenched his hands on the walnut staff. “I just want to return the staff,” he said quietly. “Why don’t I give it to you?”