Never one to daydream or meditate, she studied her environment, her eyes darting and weaving among the other travelers. In addition to the Instarya elves, there were also a large number of passengers of mixed elven and human heritage, known by humans as myr. In the elvish language, myr simply meant of, as in Jarab of Dimhollow, or Alan son of Amsefort. In the post-war era, those of mixed race struggled for social position and set great store by their lineage. Paternal family names became a badge of honor. In formal circles, Farilane was referred to as the Princess Farilane myr Nyphron, or in even more formal circles where first names were inappropriate, simply the Imperial Princess myr Nyphron. Hearing these introductions, but not understanding the usage, humans believed all mixed heritage elves were called myr. The expression took hold and became a common term. That there were so many elves and myr on the barge was not unusual, since the ferry was the first leg in any trip to Merredydd, originally one of the four elven fortresses, where the Instarya elves who refused to live with humans settled. In time, the isolated enclave became a major city, and the peninsula on which it sat became the Imperial Province of Instarya.

Movement caught her eye. Kile came closer, standing shoulder to shoulder with her. He turned to speak.

This was it. He’s now going to—

“Is it true,” Kile asked, “that this used to be called the Urum River? And that the Bern is on the east side of the peninsula, and while they do eventually join into one, most of their lives are spent entirely separate? If so, I think it is sad that such significant waterways have been reduced to sharing one name.”

Farilane stared. She was at a loss for words. Then she smiled.

He smiled back.

I can’t see him yet, but he sees me. He sees me very well.

The princess found herself bookended by two compelling mysteries: Sheldon, who claimed he knew she was escaping to Dibben because a god had warned Proust—an absurdity she rejected but had no solution for—and Kile, who knew she was leaving on a trip before she did. Rather than feel frightened, Farilane was delighted. She loved mysteries, and these two riddles had embraced her with affectionate hugs.

She felt it then with a sudden clarity equal to seeing dawn’s first light. There will be no argument, no demand for information when we arrive. We will march off without a word, not because these two unlikely companions don’t care what’s happening or why, but because . . . they both know more than I do. Farilane smiled again. This is going to be more fun than I thought.

Chapter 8: The Mystic Wood

Chapter Eight
The Mystic Wood