Elspeth had encountered Orthallen during one of her rare moments of leisure; she was dawdling a bit on her way back to her suite in the Palace to dress for dinner with the Court. She took dinner with the Court once a week—“to remind everyone” (in her own wry words) “that they still have an Heir.”

She was standing before an open second-story window; some of the gardens were directly below her. She was wearing a rather wistful expression and hadn’t realized there was anyone else in the corridor with her until Orthallen touched her elbow.

She jumped and started back (one hand brushing a hidden dagger) when she realized who it was and relaxed.

“Havens, Lord-Un—Lord Orthallen, you startled me out of a year’s life!”

“I most sincerely hope not,” he replied, “But I do wish you would continue to call me ‘Lord-Uncle’ as you started to. Surely now that you’re nearly through your studies you aren’t going to become formal with me!”

“All right, Lord-Uncle, since you ask it. Just remember to defend me for my impudence when Mother takes me to task for it!” Elspeth grinned, and leaned back on the window-frame a little.

“Now what is it that you were watching with such a long face?” he asked lightly, coming close enough to look out of the window himself.

Below the window were some of the Palace gardens; in the gardens a half-dozen couples—children of courtiers or courtiers themselves—ranging from Elspeth’s age upward to twenty or so. They were involved in the usual sorts of activities that might be expected from a group of adolescents in a sunny garden in the spring. One couple was engaged in a mock-game of “tag,” one girl was embroidering while her gallant read to her, two maids were giggling and gasping at the antics of two lads balancing on the basin of a fountain, one young gentleman was peacefully asleep with his head in the lap of his chosen lady, two couples were simply strolling hand in hand.

Elspeth sighed.

“And why aren’t you down there, my lady?” Orthallen asked quietly.

“Havens, Lord-Uncle, where would I get the time?” Elspeth’s reply was impatient and a touch self-pitying. “Between my classes and everything else—besides, I don’t know any boys, at least not well. Well, there’s Skif, but he’s busy chasing Nerissa. Besides, he’s even older than Talia.”

“You don’t know any young men—when half the swains of the Court are near dying just to speak to you?” Orthallen’s expression of incredulity held as much of bitter as playful mockery, though Elspeth was so used to his manners that she hardly noted it.

“Well if they’re near-dying, nobody told me about it, and nobody’s bothered to introduce us.”