“Speak,” said the haunt curtly. He wasn’t using the prince’s arrogant voice but a tone deeper and more threatening, a sense of expansive power about to break free should he care to let it go.

The swalters did not back down. They clutched their spears more tightly.

“Our Clan Mother sends her greetings, Elder Cousin,” said one in a voice like a growl. “You are not welcome in these hills, whose earth has seen the tide rise and fall across the wrath of years. Your kind wracked and ruined the world. And the rest of you were said to be severed, long since, from the land, shorn of your own will and your own doing. So why are you here now? What trouble do you bring in your wake? The beating of your wings is bound to raise turbulence. So speaks the Clan Mother, who has sent us to inquire, having seen and smelled your passage through our territory.”

At the mention of the Clan Mother, the haunt settled, as if furling outstretched wings in respect. His reply wasn’t mild, but it was neutral. “Younger Cousins, I greet you and send my greetings to your esteemed Clan Mother. I am not a herald. I am but a scout, seeking news of a distant bell. Have you heard its passing toll?”

The two swalters glanced at each other in a shared message. Beyond that, Elen could not discern any features on their faces, even with the moonlight, for they had the knack of making themselves too gauzy to truly see.

“We know nothing of your bell. Nor is it any business of ours. We live here in harmony with the empire and wish only to not be disturbed. We are not interested in negotiations or alliances.”

“Then I will offer my respects to your Clan Mother. Give her this message, that I merely pass through these hills on my way into the north. I shall not bother you again, as long as you agree to leave me and those who travel with me alone.”

“So shall it be, by the Mother’s Beard.”

A rattle of wind shook through the garden. The shadows twisted, and the lynxes melted back, disappearing behind the water.

“Is there a lair up there?” Elen asked breathlessly.

“I believe there is,” the haunt said in his normal tone, so odd to hear after the tense exchange. “They are a tunneling people, adept at moving through rock.”

“Tunneling? Swalters are a forest people.”

He cast her a disbelieving look.

She added, “I didn’t even know there was a clan at this temple. I didn’t know this courtyard existed, even though I’ve overnighted here every month for ten years. There’s another well, in a different courtyard, where travelers can request a drink of pure-water for healing and strength. I never dreamed there was another source.”