“I know.” He sighed with youthful despair. “Joef is going to Declare as an archivist and take his training from the order at Ilvewind Cross. He said I could come with him and try for a menial’s position there. He says the archivists aren’t as rank-rigid as the wardens and engineers. He says sometimes the Imperial Order of Archivists raises up promising menials to become novices. But Ilvewind Cross is so far away and so big, and has so many people. And what if they kept me as a menial all my life, sweeping the floors and cleaning the privies? I’d rather be a cobbler. But there’s nothing else. Nothing, nothing, nothing.”

“Be patient.” She paused, eyeing him.

He yawned hugely as the tincture’s relaxing properties took hold.

“It’ll sort out,” she said soothingly, needing him to succumb to his weariness instead of fighting to stay awake.

“I hope so.” His eyelids fluttered.

None too soon. He lay down, pillowing his head on an arm, just as the rim of the moon topped the eastern wall. Within a few breaths, he fell asleep.

Elen set the kettle on the hearthstone and rose, settling her stance firmly on the pavement. She stood patiently watching the light and shadow shift as the moon rose like a lamp being slowly lifted until it was high enough to illuminate the depths of the courtyard. Moonlight spread fractured tendrils down the inner walls, creeping toward the ground. Where the delicate light lanced through the darkness, the shadows around it rippled. They seemed to take on substance and, like water, flowed along the walls. There was danger, and yet beauty, too. Life was so fragile that she chose to embrace the beauty she found even when it skirted alongside menace. She braced herself.

A harsh, grinding scrape of stone against stone sounded from beyond the opening that led outside, coming slowly closer. A dark shape loomed into view within the archway, as if one of the statues had dragged its weight down the path and up the stairs. Yet the physical statue could not pass through the opening.

The swirling shadows met the presence, seeped into it, filled it as wine fills an empty cup, and at the same time lightened it as if turning stone into mist. A whispery body formed—darker than night and dusted with the magic of the silent moon. Almost a person, but no longer stone and yet not embodied in flesh.