What would you give for the taig? Arian, he was sure, would have risked this and more. He knelt, feeling the heat pouring off the dragon’s tongue; it took all his courage to force his tongue from behind his teeth and touch it.

To his tongue it was hard, barely warm, and tasted of iron and spices. The tongue was withdrawn; as he lifted his head, the dragon winked at him. “You are a man of justice, whom anger no longer rules. Half-Song has chosen well. You will prosper.”

Kieri had just stumbled to his feet when the dragon said, “They are come.” Kieri turned and saw the silvery light of the elvenhome kingdom moving toward them down the road, within it the Lady and many other elves. The light washed out around him; he felt its effect on the taig where he stood, like cool salve on a burn.

Kieri wanted to demand of the Lady where she had been, but the look of grief on her face stopped him. She came and knelt to him, as she had not before. In a voice like liquid silver, she said, “Sir King, I am sorry. I should have been here, to know I was needed and be at your side. I am at your command.”

She looked up then, the beauty of her face astonishing even in that crisis; from her violet eyes a few tears spilled. Despite his anger at her absence, despite the warnings of his sister’s bones, Kieri felt pity for her, an immortal humbling herself before him. She too was a ruler; she was his elder in all things; whatever she had done, it was wrong for her to kneel like that. “Rise,” he said. She stood, graceful as ever, but her shoulders drooped just a little, like a scolded child’s.

She ignored, or did not see, the dragon still clear to Kieri’s eyes in the road. Kieri glanced at the dragon—that eye of flame seemed to mock him—or the Lady. Confusion held him for a moment—what did she mean? He looked from her to the other elves and back at her—at the other elves—before speaking again.

“You know best how to help the taig, which sorely needs your aid,” he said. “But I don’t understand why you didn’t come before.” All the times before, he meant.

“I went beyond the taig’s reach, and was trapped there,” the Lady said. “I was wrong to do so.” Was it really contrition in her voice, or a glamour? He wanted to believe her, but could such pride as he had seen her display before ever be truly humbled? “I would be there yet, ignorant of this attack, and helpless, if not for your betrothed.”

“My betrothed—”

“Unless you regret your choice,” Arian said, stepping out from between other elves. “For my flight that day—”

At the sight of her, Kieri forgot his concerns about the Lady. “Never,” he said. “I regret only the hours we were not together. When I saw your arrows—I thought you had died—” His voice caught; he did not know which of them had moved, but she stood near enough now he caught the scent of her hair.