Then Arlingfant came tearing down the stairs, screaming like a banshee, a cudgel gripped in both hands. Without slowing, she whacked at her sister’s attacker, catching him on the side of the head with a blow that rocked him just enough for Aphenglow to tear herself free of the killing cord.

But when she turned to engage her attacker, he was already out the door and had vanished into the night. Arling started to give pursuit, but Aphenglow pulled her back, shaking her head.

It took her a moment before she could speak. “Let him go,” she said, gasping for breath. “We don’t want to give him the advantage he seeks by bungling out into the darkness.”

Her attacker was male. Of that she was certain—of his sex if not his Race. She had seen his wrists when he broke away—just a glimpse, but enough to be able to tell by the size and the amount of hair.

She moved over to a bench next to the dining table and lowered herself gingerly. The cord had burned her neck, and her breathing was still ragged. “You saved me, Arling. He was too strong for me. I couldn’t fight him off.”

Her sister bent close, examining her neck. “I hope I bashed his head in,” she muttered. “Sit still. I’ll bring cold cloths and ointment for the burn.”

She moved into the kitchen, and Aphenglow quickly stepped over to the chair, retrieved the diary, and slipped it into her blouse. She was furious with herself for allowing someone to get that close. It shouldn’t have been possible for an attacker to creep up on her like that; her normally dependable instincts should have warned her. That they hadn’t was troubling.

Arlingfant was back, carrying a small, lighted lantern, which she placed on the table next to her sister. Then she proceeded to clean the burns with cold cloths and to apply a pain-relieving ointment. She worked quickly and efficiently, her small fingers smooth and clever.

“Who would do this?” she asked, the anger in her voice undiminished. “Why would anyone attack you in your own home?”

“I don’t know,” Aphenglow lied, already suspecting why, if not who.

“Did they take anything?”

“No. What is there to take? It was probably just someone who doesn’t care for young women leaving their Elven family to join a Druid order. Perhaps someone with a grudge or a perceived hurt.”

“Well, whoever it was will have a sore head in the morning.” Her sister finished with the cleaning and ointments. “He tried to kill you, Aphen!”

“Or scare me. Wanting to send a message of some sort, maybe. We can’t be certain.”