My faint caffeine headache was finally easing, and I grabbed my to-go cup for the last swallows. It had gone cold, and tossing the empty cup in the trash barrel, I came out blinking into the sun, Molly clopping behind me. Seeing Quen already there with Lucy waiting for us, I smiled.

Quen was standing sideways with Lucy on his hip, making a striking statement in his black-and-green riding clothes. A big gray horse hung his huge head over Quen’s shoulder, snuffing at Lucy’s bonnet. The little girl was sweet in her white riding outfit, the picture of privilege as her chubby hands reached up to the unfamiliar brim. Her expression was pinched in annoyance as she tried to pull it off so as to see it. The little girl had Trent’s looks and Ellasbeth’s attitude, and when the curious horse blew out his breath, the little girl squealed, reaching for his floppy lips.

“You need your hat today, Lucy,” Quen said, moving before Lucy could get a grip on the horse. “We don’t want to have to ask Aunt Rachel to spell your sunburn away.”

Aunt Rachel. I liked that, and squinting despite my hat, I ambled forward with Molly. “I would, you know,” I said, touching Lucy’s soft-soled shoe and beaming at the little girl now shouting out nonsense, just to hear herself talk. “Even if it took a curse to do it.” My gaze lifted to Quen’s. “Shouldn’t they be back by now?”

Quen peered at the height of the sun. “Give or take a few. Here,” he said, holding Lucy out to me. “Your cinch is loose.”

“I know,” I said, then dropped Molly’s reins as I found myself suddenly holding a squishy, surprisingly heavy small person. She smelled like snickerdoodles, and I laughed when she wiggled, almost jumping in my arms. “I was going to walk her to get her to exhale first,” I said, scrambling to get my hat’s strap out of Lucy’s mouth.

“She let go already.” Head lowered, Quen eased the cinch up a notch. Molly flicked an ear, sighing. He gave her a pat and reached for Lucy, now patting my neck where my tattoo was. Realizing she was trying to say flower, I grinned. She was only a year old, but elves grew up fast. Not like witches, who Jenks swore were not able to be on their own until they were thirty. Ahem.

“They’re just over the hill,” Quen said as he took her back, his smile making his few wrinkles fold in and hide his pox scars. “Evaluating the three-year-olds practicing the gate.”

“Oh.” I didn’t really know exactly what he meant, but I could guess.