North, the first shadings of twilight crept into the heights of the mountains that ringed her valley home, spilling over the rocky cliff edges to begin their downward slide toward the foothills and the mouth of Aphalion Pass. She could neither see nor hear the battle being fought there, but she knew from the vision shown her by the Elfstones that its outcome hung in the balance. She urged the dragon on by force of will, the pressure of her legs against its scaly neck, and judicious use of the Elfstone magic that directed her toward her destination. Torn between emotions, riddled with guilt and need, she knew one thing and one thing only.

She had to reach the Elves in time to save them.

She had to fulfill the task she had set herself so that all she had gone through and all she had risked would mean something.

The dragon flew on, his efforts swift and steady, and the mountains began to come into sharper focus. Phryne worried that the beast would lose interest in chasing after the Elfstone magic, and to prevent that from happening she shifted the blue light just enough to make sure she was keeping his attention. Once or twice, she even maneuvered the light close enough for the long tongue to lick out and touch it. Maybe that helped, or maybe the dragon just liked the idea of the pursuit. Whatever the case, he showed no signs of becoming distracted. Nothing else seemed to be competing for his attention. He was content just to sail along, tracking what amounted to little more than colored air.

Still, she reminded herself, it was Elven magic; it would have properties of its own, ones that Phryne could neither see nor understand, yet perhaps the dragon could.

She thought of Panterra often, remembering the night she had given herself to him. Why had she done that? It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, made when her emotional pain demanded that comfort of some sort be found. It was difficult to explain. She didn’t love him. Or maybe she did love him, in her own way; certainly he was in love with her. But what was the point? Even if she had wanted something more with him, she couldn’t have it. Everything prevented it: from her father’s murder and Isoeld’s treachery to the invading Drouj and their efforts to overcome the Elven defenses to the possibility that she might soon become Queen of the Elves. And Pan’s own situation was no less difficult. Pursued by a demon, saddled with the responsibilities of a black staff bearer, searching once again for Prue, and trying to help keep Glensk Wood and its people safe from the Drouj—it all stood in the way of anything that either Pan or she might wish would happen.