Tanaros sat opposite Cerelinde and beheld that which made the Midlander tremble. He pitied the lad, for a wish granted was a dangerous thing; and yet. Ah, Shapers, the glory of her! It was a light, a light that shone from within—it was Haomane’s love, shining like a kiss upon her brow. It was present in every part of her; bred into the very fineness of her bones, the soaring architecture of the flesh. All at once, it enhanced and shamed its surroundings.

And she was pleased.

In all his prolonged years, he had never seen such a thing. One of the Ellyl; pleased. Her heart gladdened by what Tanaros had done. It was reflected in the gentle curve of her lips. It was reflected in her eyes, in the limitless depths of her pupils, in the pleated luminosity of her irises, those subtle colors like a rainbow after rain. And although her mood had not yet passed, it would. The thought filled him with a prescient nostalgia. Already he longed to see it once more; yearned to be, in word and deed, a Man as would gladden the heart of the Lady of the Ellylon and coax forth this brightness within her. Who would not wish to be such a Man?

“Cerelinde.” He hoisted his goblet to her.

“Tanaros.” Her smile deepened. “Thank you.”

“Kaugh!”

Tanaros startled at the sound, then laughed. He extended an arm. In a flurry of black wings, Fetch launched himself from a nearby branch, alighting on Tanaros’ forearm. “This,” he said fondly, “is who I wanted you to meet.” He glanced at Speros, feeling an obscure guilt. “Or what, I should say.”

The Lady of the Ellylon and the bedraggled raven regarded one another.

“His name is Fetch,” Tanaros said. “He was a late-born fledgling. Six years ago, I found him in his Lordship’s moon-garden, half-frozen, and took him into my quarters.” He stroked the raven’s iridescent black feathers. “He made a fearful mess of them,” he added with a smile. “But he saved my life in the Unknown Desert; mine, and Speros’, too. We are at quits now.”

“Greetings, Fetch,” Cerelinde said gravely. “Well met.”

Deep in his throat, the raven gave an uneasy chuckle. He sidled away from her, his sharp claws pricking at Tanaros’ velvet sleeve.

“My apologies.” Tanaros cleared his throat in embarrassment as Fetch scrambled to his shoulder, clinging to the collar of his doublet and ducking beneath his hair to peer out at Cerelinde. “It seems he is shy of you, Lady.”