The next day he began again. At times the pairings did seem playful—like a game—but at other times he found himself thrust deep into his own history and heart. He kept on, but for a rest in midday, and by evening had worked his way through all the tiles. The meanings of all were now clear to him, as was his past life. Choices he had made and where they had led. What lay behind those choices. He saw the choices before him more clearly than he had before. He looked at the tiles, took them into his hands, and put them into the box again.

“We will return to Chaya tomorrow,” he said to his Squires. Their eyes held curiosity, but they did not ask.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Kieri woke at the turn of night; the ring on his heart-thumb glowed faintly. He had no idea what had wakened him—he felt no alarm—but he was too alert to return to sleep. Quietly, without waking his Squires, he dressed himself, belted on his sword, and eased out of the tent.

Stars burned in the clear sky, giving more light than he expected in a forested place. Every leaf was edged in silver. Dew frosted the grass, the violets. The scents of violet and fern, rich damp earth, and mossy bark came to him. The same melody he had heard before ran through his mind, and he hummed it. He walked down to the shrine, knelt as usual, and waited. In spite of all he had been told—had even experienced with the Lady’s death—he was sure he felt a presence that must, he thought, be his mother’s.

Silence and peace held the glade, deepening as he knelt there. No breeze stirred the leaves, no creature made the slightest noise. The sense of presence, of someone somewhere near, increased. He looked around, expecting nothing but layer upon layer of silver and darkness.

Deep among the trees, something moved—pale—a glow of silvery light. He stared, his body prickling suddenly as if dipped in snow. What—surely it could not be a wraith of his mother? Elves vanished utterly at death, leaving nothing … but the shape was tall, slender, comely—a woman in raiment of the purest white, bathed in the silvery glow of elf-light, her face indistinct as she wandered nearer, turning here and there among the trees as if searching. And who else—

“I am here,” he said, scarcely louder than a breath.

For an instant the shape turned toward him, enough to show the elven bones, the gleam of eyes, but not close enough, in that light, to reveal the face he had long struggled to recall. Then she beckoned, and turned to one side, passing behind another tree, emerging just a little farther away.