“I enjoyed watching that,” Corinn said, “but you should go. I have matters to consider.”

“All right,” the boy said, and then he lowered his voice, went conspiratorial. “But show me something first. An animal. Make something I’ve never seen before. No! Make something that nobody has ever seen before.”

Glancing around, Corinn said, “Aaden, you know I don’t like to do such things here with so many eyes around.”

“But there’s nobody here,” Aaden said, incongruously leaning in and whispering.

“Wait until we’re back at Calfa Ven.”

“Mother! Just one thing and then I’ll go. It’s been ages since you’ve shown me something. We’re alone. Look.”

Corinn took a moment to verify that the room was empty, that no eyes watched, and no one was within hearing. She rarely indulged any living person anything not completely to her liking, but Aaden was difficult to refuse. Or, in truth, with him she did not want to refuse. Seeing pleasure on his face was a joy like none she’d known before.

She said, “Go make sure the door is pulled tight, then.”

Stepping from around her desk, she withdrew into the small alcove in the corner of the room, out of sight lest somebody barge in unannounced. Such an act was strictly forbidden, of course, but she still chose caution. Certain that they would not be disturbed—and with a portion of her senses able to detect the movement of persons in the hallways nearby—Corinn began to sing. She did so softly, as if she wished to push the words out and into a shallow bowl on the floor before her, directing them carefully and so as not to spill over some imagined rim. She sang words that were not words, sounds that carried in them the ingredients of existence, the threads that wove together life. She felt Aaden return and knew him to be standing wide-eyed just beside her. She did not shift her gaze from the area above the floor that she sang to.

If she had been asked to explain just how the Giver’s tongue worked she could not truly have done so. It was not a practice that led logically from one point to another. It was a language that never held still, that changed before her eyes and in her ears. There was an order to it, yes, a manner in which one moved toward greater and greater mastery. Yes, there was learning involved. She had labored for years over The Song of Elenet, especially when sheltered away with Aaden and a small staff at the hunting lodge of Calfa Ven. Countless times the text on those ancient pages had risen to speak to her, like spirits trapped on the parchment and unleashed by the touch of her eyes. They spoke to her of the Giver’s true language. They put her through exercises, twisted her tongue around words made of sounds she had never heard uttered.