"And thus did our Magnus?" Puck asked, frowning.
"Not simply that," Evanescent said. "He has gone from world to world, seeking out people who are miserable, almost as though he needs to have someone to care about!"
"So he does," Puck said slowly. "So do most of his kind. Still, even if such caring was a novelty to you, why would its attractions be so great as to make you leave your home?"
"But that is why," Evanescent explained. "Our home means little to my kind. In fact, nothing means much to us, save food when we are hungry and mating in season and kittens when they are born."
An elf-woman shuddered. "What a dreary life!"
"So it is!" Evanescent turned to her, delighted that someone had seen the point; it would be far easier to explain. "When you've reared a litter or two, mated a few dozen times, tasted all the different meats our planet offers—why, you begin to grow bored and restless. We seek out more experiences, more sensations, even growing cruel in the pursuit—but after thirty or forty years, there seems little point even in cruelty or power. I wished to learn your ward's secret that keeps him so interested in life, so immune from my kind's ennui."
"Ssssooo!" The word echoed all around the glade in a hiss and a moan, and Puck nodded, face somber. "You joined them in search of relief from boredom, then. Do you truly wish to discover how to care about others?"
"Do you wish to keep living?" Evanescent countered.
The wee folk growled warning, spreading out to surround the cat-headed alien.
"I wish to keep living, too," Evanescent said quickly, "but I know I shall end my own life and its dreariness if I cannot learn what Gar and Alea know, what all their kind seem to know, perhaps even yours: how to find a reason for living, to find it in other people—yes, even people they do not know at all."
"And what will you do with this knowledge once you find it?" Puck demanded.
Evanescent stared, astounded that he should ask a question that had so obvious an answer. Then she shrugged. "I shall live."
"You shall do more than that," Puck said, "or you shall have learned nothing." He gave her a knowing smile, a nod, and turned away.
"We shall let her wander where she will, then?" an elf asked, frowning.
Puck nodded. "She is no threat to the folk of Gramarye, human or elfin, for she shall act only to keep Magnus and Alea alive—and will thereby help them achieve their goals." He looked back at Evanescent. "Is that not true, cathead?"
Evanescent frowned. 'True enough, bite-size. Indeed, there is some amusement in helping them without their knowledge."
"And since we know Magnus will not undertake any evil purpose …" The elf left the sentence hanging, still not happy.
"If he does, we shall speak to him most sternly," Puck returned, "though I cannot believe even ten years of harsh encounters can have changed our Magnus so much."
"You think rightly," Evanescent assured him. "He seeks only to help others and strikes out solely in his own defense—or to defend others. It is one more mystery to me—why he will strain so hard for goals that gain him nothing."
"Oh, he gains enough," Puck told her. "When you discover how his efforts enrich him, I shall be glad to discuss the asininity of it with you. You are welcome to the freedom of this land, star-farer. Do not abuse it."
Evanescent opened her mouth for a hot retort, then stared in amazement, for all the little people were gone, vanished in an instant. She closed her mouth and cocked her head, listening with a sense far more acute than mere ears and caught only fading chuckles, scraps of conversation. The Wee Folk seemed quite reassured now.
It was maddening, not to say insulting. There is, after all, something deflating about others deciding you're no threat.
THERE WERE HORSES waiting, so the Gallowglasses and their spouses rode out of the woodlands to the house that stood in the meadow beyond. Magnus drew rein in surprise. "They have come back to the cottage, then?"
Some cottage! Alea thought, mouth curving with irony. It was two stories tall with dormers peeking out from an attic, half-timbered and stucco-walled, with leaded windows that glowed with the light of a fire within, and candles on the floor above.
"Mama wanted to come back to the house where we grew up," Cordelia explained softly. "We were together for years here, after all, before Queen Catharine insisted we take the castle, and in spite of all the work and the exasperation we caused Mama, she said her happiest memories have soaked into the timbers of this house."
"I doubt it not," Magnus said softly, and urged his horse forward. "We were only in the castle for four years, after all, all of us together."
"Together, yes." Cordelia left it unsaid: Before you deserted us, but the sentiment hung in the air, and Magnus bowed his head as his horse carried him home.
Gregory pushed up beside him, murmuring, "Do not berate yourself, brother. Your absence gave Geoffrey room to grow."
He did not mention himself, Alea reflected, and could see from the ironic twist to Magnus's mouth that he realized it, too, though Gregory probably did not.
They dismounted at the door; hostlers appeared out of the shadows to take their horses. Magnus looked around at them in surprise. "Where are Puck and his kin?"
"About their nightly business, most likely," Gregory answered. "Come in, brother. The candle burns upstairs, and I doubt not that Papa is awake and watching even if Mama is asleep."
He opened the door and beckoned. Magnus followed, and it seemed to Alea that a mantle of doom settled over his shoulders. She stepped toward him automatically, reaching out to reassure, but Cordelia intercepted her deftly, steering her toward the sitting room and saying, "We must give them some minutes alone, must we not? Her first-born, after so many years."
"Yes … yes, of course." Alea let herself be led into the sitting room, turned to take a chair by the hearth, and sat gazing into the flames, mind and heart open to the young giant who walked up the stairs, alert for any call for support he might send—but none came. Finally she looked up at Cordelia—and at Quicksilver and Allouette. With a shock, she realized how neatly Magnus's sister had split her off to have her alone with the young women, and Alea knew at once what it meant. She braced herself for an interrogation, and for judgement.
Cordelia, however, only smiled gently and said, "Gregory has told us what Magnus has said of you, and of the rush of feeling that went with it. That seems so little, though, now that we actually see you."
"Rush of feeling?" Alea was instantly intent. "What feelings did he speak of?"
All three women exchanged a quick glance of surprise.
"Admiration," Cordelia said, "for your skill in battle, the sharpness of your tongue, and keenness of your wit—but also admiration for your face and form."
Alea gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "Face and form? A horsehead atop a beanpole? What could he admire in that?"
The women exchanged another surprised look, this one veiled; then Quicksilver turned back to Alea. "You know very little of yourself, damsel, if that is how you see your reflection."
"How shall I see my reflection," Alea asked bitterly, "when there is no mirror tall enough?"
"Almost as tall as Magnus, you mean?" Cordelia smiled. "Why would he want a minikin my size, when there is so much of him?"
Alea stared at her while she tried to quench a wild unreasoning hope, and had to lower her gaze to contain it. "No man wants a woman who's as tall as a tree …"
"Except a man who is a mountain," Quicksilver said, amused. "Besides, there is movement to mention."
"How?" Alea frowned. "What matters motion?"