But the shade said nothing. The seconds slipped past, and she wondered if she had lost her chance, if she had angered him sufficiently that he would refuse to help at all. There was nothing to make him do so. He was of the dead, and the dead cared little for the living, resentful and jealous that the living still possessed what had been taken forever from them.

Finally, Allanon moved, his black cloak shimmering. Slowly, he began to withdraw from her, sliding back across the Hadeshorn.

“Don’t, Allanon!” she called after him. “Don’t go!”

His voice hissed softly.

–For now, I must. Wait for me to come again–

Then his black form sank from sight and was gone, leaving her to stare at the empty lake as the first tinges of sunlight crested the jagged rims of the distant mountains and stained the waters brilliant gold.

In Paranor, Aphenglow rose, dressed, and left Bombax sleeping in her bed. She had missed him terribly in the time she had been away in Arborlon, but not so much, it appeared, as he had missed her. At some point, they would be wed and she would bear his children. But that was in the distant future, for the Druids were not allowed to partner formally. Partnering for Aphenglow, as for most Elves, was just a word. The Elven kind bonded with hearts and a sense of commitment far stronger than what could be written or spoken. It was enough if you knew that your choice was for life. She and Bombax had promised themselves to each other long ago, shortly after meeting, knowing even then that they were meant to be together. Their union was as strong now as it would be when officially recorded or celebrated in public, and they were pledged never to belong to anyone but each other.

So she slept with him as a wife would with her husband, and she would be true to him until death.

She thought this as she left him and walked the empty halls of the Keep, searching for a place to begin her day. She carried with her the diary, intending to read it through once again, to think carefully on Aleia Omarosian’s words, to consider all possible ramifications. The Ard Rhys had asked them to look once again at everything, and she would do that now.

Or shortly after brewing tea and eating toasted bread for her morning meal, anyway.

After rereading the contents of the diary, she spent the better part of the day conversing with the others about possible interpretations of the phrasing and ideas for starting points in their search. But all of them had the same read on the diary’s entries and no fresh ideas for where to begin a search. Aphenglow kept thinking she was missing something, but try as she might she could not decide what that something was.