The starlight—and the distant lamps—didn’t really offer enough light to see more than shadows, yet his face shone as if gilded by the majesty of the High Heavens. He was very attractive, both in the human body he wore and because there was more to him, the whisper of the violent shadow Elen had seen at the canyon’s rim, that sense of an ancient power that could be capricious or compassionate, murderous or mischievous, depending on its mood.

He smiled sweetly, yet there was an edge of challenge in his expression. He surely sensed the possibility of the moment as much as she did. “I had hoped you would come out and find me.”

“I’m just surprised you’re wearing clothes,” she said in her most deadpan tone.

He laughed with delight, then grimaced and tapped a palm to his forehead as if to mime beating his head against a wall. “I didn’t dare get my hair rebraided, much less take off my underclothes, for the entire journey with that intendant and her grasping sister. The sister tried to intrude into the bathing chamber more than once. She would just walk in at any time I was alone—the late evening, the middle night, just before dawn—always seeking to insinuate herself into my bed and my amorous attentions, not that I myself felt the least trace of interest in her. The prince might have had other ideas—his body is certainly reactive—but I was not about to indulge them. It was frightful.”

“Don’t you like sex?” Elen asked, trying not to laugh because he spoke as if the situation was ridiculous and absurdly funny. Yet, beneath the mockery, his distress did not seem feigned.

He puffed a bit, offended. “That’s quite a personal question. Anyway, I am only borrowing this body. As an honorable person, I must respect its autonomy in matters pertaining to personal and intimate consent.”

“Well, except for possessing the prince, who didn’t understand what he was consenting to.”

“True enough, but if you wish me to say I regret standing here, then I do not and I will not.”

“Yes, you have your mission to accomplish.” All at once she was struck by a dreadful foreboding. The questions raised by the messages the Vigil captain had read out loud mattered to Prince Gevulin, not to the haunt. What if the haunt had found what he needed already? A little choked, she said, “Is this Pall what you journeyed north to find?”

He looked away from her, north over the mist. The flat surface did not stir. The currents he’d drawn had faded. Only those distant firefly lights sparked and vanished in erratic intervals, like cries for help or the random popping of embers in a dying fire. His expression changed, going still and serious. She tensed.