“If I were to have one wish granted, that would be mine, too,” she replied, her cheek resting against the velvet of his tunic. “He told me once that it was his own dearest wish to see the two people he loved most find happiness with each other—”

She would have said more, but a familiar perfume wreathed around her, and she gasped.

“What’s wrong? Did you hurt something?” Dirk asked anxiously.

“There—on the bed—”

Lying on the coverlet, in the middle and heart-high, was a spray of the little flowers known as Maiden’s Hope. Dirk set her down on the bed and she picked it up with trembling hands.

“Did you put this here?” she asked in a voice that shook.

“No.”

“And no one else has been here since we left—” In hushed tones she continued: “When Kris gave me this ring, it was around a Midsummer bouquet of those flowers. I’d never smelled anything like them before—and he promised he’d find some for my wedding garland if he had to grow them himself—but I’ve never seen them anywhere around here—”

“There’s more to it than that, little bird,” Dirk said, taking the flowers from her and regarding them with wondering eyes. “This flower only blooms for the week before and after Midsummer. We’re well into fall. They can’t be grown in hothouses. People have tried. To find even one bloom, much less as many as this, would take a miracle. No human could do it.”

They looked from the flowers to each other—and slowly began to smile; smiles that, for the first time in weeks, had no underlying hint of sadness.

Dirk took her into his arms, with the flowers held between them. “We’ve had our wish—shall we give him his?”

She carefully reached behind her, and inserted the blossoms into the vase on her nightstand.

“Yes,” she breathed, turning back to him, and beginning to touch him with her rapport even as she touched her lips to his, “I think we should.”

APPENDIX

Songs of Valdemar

HER FATHER’S EYES

Lyrics: Mercedes Lackey

Music: Kristoph Klover

(Selenay: Arrows of the Queen)

How tenuous the boundary between love and hate—

How easy to mistake the first, and learn the truth too late—

How hard to bear what brings to mind mistakes that we despise—

And when I look into her face, I see her father’s eyes.

He tried to steal away my throne—he tried to rule my life—

And I am not made to forgive, a cowed and coward wife!

My love became my enemy who sought his Queen’s demise—

And when I look into her face, I see her father’s eyes.

Poor child, we battled over her as two dogs with a bone—

I should not see his treachery in temper-tantrums thrown—

I should not see betrayal where there’s naught but childish lies—