She had never minded being what she was, even in the worst of times. It was hard when she was forced to endure Arlingfant’s occasional resentment and envy while they were children, but both vanished when her sister was made a Chosen and given special recognition of her own. And Arlingfant had never refused her the way their mother had, not early on when the differences first began to emerge or later when she had gone to Paranor. The competitiveness that had marked much of their childhood never interfered with the trust they felt for each other. Whatever happened in their lives, their commitment to each other remained the same—a foundation for a relationship grounded in love and admiration.

So she never considered speaking about her purpose in coming back with anyone other than her sister—although she knew Ellich, who was more a father to her than an uncle, would have given her good advice and much-needed support.

But there was no one as close to her as Arlingfant.

Not even Bombax, whom she loved so much.

And especially not her mother.

She found her sister engaged in planting fresh roses not far from where the Ellcrys shimmered red and silver in the afternoon sunlight, majestic and serene, the centerpiece of the garden. Created by a powerful conjuring of ancient Elven magic and sustained through a sacrifice of Elven lives over the centuries, the tree was a talisman upholding the impenetrable wall of the Forbidding behind which creatures of dark magic had been banished during the last wars of Faerie. The Ellcrys kept the Elves safe from their most ancient enemies; their lives had always been and would forever be directly tied to the life of the tree. Ancient history now, centuries in the past, the story had taken on the trappings of fable. Yet the tree was living proof of the fable’s validity. Not all that long ago, its magic had failed and the wall of the Forbidding had begun to erode and its creatures to escape, and the truth behind the legend had been brought home in the most dramatic of ways.

She gave the Ellcrys a long look, admiring its radiance, overwhelmed just by being in its presence. Her own magic connected her to that of the tree, a shared origin, a link to something profound and not entirely dissimilar. She knew the story of the tree’s history, especially of its death and rebirth during the reign of the great Elven King Eventine Elessedil. She knew of the sacrifice made by his granddaughter, and no one who knew that could help but feel awed by the power of the magic with which the talisman was imbued. That such a wonder existed—a tree with such power—was overwhelming and magnificent. The Elves might have lost their magic through the centuries, but as long as the Ellcrys existed they would continue to be reminded how impressive and vital such magic could be.