“The second time? Until I found bones,” Amrothlin said. “You do not understand. The first time—when he was taken—I found his mother’s—my sister’s—body. We never found his—we thought animals had scattered—we did not know he was taken.” He shuddered. “The second time—I found the bones of a child perhaps twelve or thirteen, clearly mangled by animals. I know now they were not his. At the time … I thought they were. A half-year, perhaps, later, someone reported a waif taken in by the Halverics. The Lady sent an elf to visit. He was not sure; there was no memory, no sign that this boy was certainly the prince. The boy was thriving in Halveric hands. Later still … from the description, it was clear who he was, but all reports had him too broken to be worthy of a throne.”

“And yet he is,” Arian said. Amrothlin bowed assent.

She started to ask again about her own father but stopped short. If her father had been his father’s heir, had inherited the ability to form an elvenhome, could he have transferred that to his half-elf children? To … to her? No, certainly not. On reflection, an elvenlord would not have sent his only heir so far away and forbidden him to mate with elven women. He had mated with human women precisely to prevent fathering a child who could receive the Lady’s elvenhome gift and continue the Lady’s domain. He—or his elvenlord father—had wanted it to fail.

She asked instead about the length of time the other elves might be gone before returning to Chaya. What seemed to her like a simple question resulted in another half-glass explanation for uncertainty—and soon he took his leave, saying he would be back in the morning to talk to the king. When Kieri rode in shortly before dark, she told him what Amrothlin had said.

“Elves!” Kieri said, stripping off his gloves and tossing them on the table. “Why can’t they just tell us straight out? Why is everything so … so complicated?” Then he looked thoughtful. “Orlith … could that be why he was murdered?”

“Because if you had such ability, he might know it? That suggests someone else already knew. Unless he found out and told someone else—” Arian frowned.

“Orlith’s wounds could have been made by elven arrows. And we never heard more from the Lady about his death.”

Arian stared at him, and he stared back. “If he told her—”

“Or any elf. Any elf who was against us—against me—a traitor—” Kieri’s voice darkened. “My mother—”