He smiled. “Nor do I. But if you are willing to try, if you will trust me enough to talk to me about it when there is need, I think we might find that way. Come, now. Enough talk. Let’s walk back and see if Jera might have something sweet prepared to complete our dinner.”

No more was said that evening about their discussion. Conversation returned to something more or less approaching normal, and when Aphenglow departed for home and bed it was with a sense of renewed warmth toward her uncle and aunt. She was not done thinking about what she had been asked to do or even close to any sort of decision, but she cared enough for her uncle that she would give his suggestion careful consideration. There was no question in her mind that she would rather take him into her confidence than anyone else at Arborlon.

Except perhaps for her mother, but confiding in her mother was no longer possible.

Ellich offered to accompany her home, but she dismissed the idea out of hand. She was a Druid trained in the use of magic; she needed no other protection. She walked with her backpack slung over one shoulder, inhaling the cool night air, enjoying the sweep of the starlit sky and thinking of Afrengill, wishing things could be different between them, knowing they might never be. How could they? Her mother didn’t speak to her anymore. They had been close once, but Aphenglow’s decision to become a Druid had brought an end to that.

Her father had died years earlier in a hunting accident, when Arlingfant was still very little, so Aphen and her mother had become the foundation and heart of the family unit. When she had decided to leave for Paranor, her mother had begged her not to go. She had insisted she could not manage on her own. Arlingfant was ten by then and old enough to give what help was needed, but it made no difference to their mother. Afrengill was no longer being rational, would not even try to be so, and they had parted ways screaming at each other while Arlingfant hid in her bedroom and cried.

On her first visit back, Aphenglow had gone to see her mother, intent on patching things up. She had walked up to the door and knocked. Afrengill had opened the door, stared at her wordlessly as she attempted to say how sorry she was, and closed the door again without a word. Arlingfant had been forced to sneak away to come see her, forbidden by their mother to have anything to do with her sister.

Each time on her return, Aphenglow went to her home and knocked on the door. By now, her mother rarely bothered to answer. Arlingfant said she wouldn’t even allow Aphenglow’s name to be spoken. Her daughter was dead to her, she declared. She was dead to all of them.