Prue wasn’t entirely sure why. It might have been for much the same reasons that the Orullians were leaving. Or perhaps he already had an inkling that the best use of his newly established responsibility as a bearer of the black staff meant discovering what was out there instead of trying to imitate his predecessors. Whatever his thinking, he was unwittingly fulfilling the destiny that the King of the Silver River had said would be his.

They reached the western edge of the village, and as they did so Tasha and Tenerife stepped out of the trees. “Late again,” the former chided Pan. “You’ll have to do better if you intend to travel with us.”

They hugged, all of them sharing a warm greeting, even Aislinne, and then stood awkwardly, looking for a way to avoid what was coming next.

“You look well enough for someone who fought and killed a demon,” Tenerife observed, mostly to Pan, but taking in Prue and Aislinne with a sideways glance.

“We’re hardy folk down here in the valley,” Pan replied. “Are you both healed, as well?”

The brothers shared a shrug and an exchange of glances. “Mostly. On the outside, at least. I think we’re still a little bruised in here.” Tenerife touched his heart. “When we think of Phryne.”

Pan felt a sudden tightening in his throat, and he had to fight to hold himself steady so that no more tears would be shed when so many already had been. “We all miss her,” he said.

It was all he could manage. It didn’t begin to express what he was really feeling, the intense pain her loss had caused him, the dark emotions he was keeping closed away. But Phryne was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. In truth, he didn’t think there ever had been anything.

“Did they ever catch the Queen?” Prue asked.

“Neither her nor her consort. Both disappeared without a trace.”

“But they’ll be found sooner or later,” Tasha insisted.

The way he said it told her more than he had intended. Prue could read things into the way people spoke, her instincts telling her what wasn’t said as surely as what was. Tasha was telling them what they wanted to hear. She wondered what that meant about the fate of Isoeld Severine.

Aislinne cleared her throat. “Have the Elves chosen a new leader yet?”

Tasha shook his head. “They debate endlessly, each faction trying to persuade the other of the rightness of their own choice. All are suitable, if your standards are minimal. None is outstanding. I think the discussion will go on awhile longer.”

“In the meantime, the High Council rules the Kingdom and no one seems entirely displeased that this is so. Perhaps the days of a monarchy are coming to a close.”

Tasha gave him a look. “Well, we’ll know soon enough on our return. Are you ready, Panterra Qu?”