They had a quick meal in the marketplace—some thin-baked bread wrapped about seared meat and vegetables, a piece of fresh fruit that resembled a pear, and a cup of ale, and then continued on. The Owl took them behind the palace into the Gardens of Life. They walked the pathways in silence, losing themselves in the fragrance of the flower beds and in the scents of the hundreds of colorful blooms that lay scattered amid the plants and bushes and trees. They came upon a white-robed Chosen, one of the caretakers of the Ellcrys, who nodded and passed by. Wren found herself thinking of Par Ohmsford’s tale of the Elven girl Amberle, the most famous Chosen of all. They climbed to the summit of the hill on which the Gardens had been planted and stood before the Ellcrys, the tree’s scarlet leaves and silver branches vibrant in the sunlight, so striking that it seemed they could not be real. Wren wanted to touch the tree, to whisper something to it, and to tell it perhaps that she knew and understood who and what it had endured. She didn’t, though; she just stood there. The Ellcrys never spoke to anyone, and it already knew how she felt. So she simply stared at it, thinking as she did how terrible it would be if the Keel failed completely and the demons overran the Elves and their city. The Ellcrys would be destroyed, of course, and when that happened all of the monsters imprisoned within the Forbidding, the things out of faerie shut away for all these years, would be released into the world of mortal Men once more. Then, she thought darkly, Allanon’s vision of the future would truly come to pass.
They went back to the palace after that to rest until dinner. The Owl left them inside the front entry, saying he had business to attend to, offering nothing more.
“I know you have more questions than you know what to do with, Wren,” he said in parting, his lean face creasing solemnly. “Try to be patient. The answers will come all too soon, I’m afraid.”
He went back down the walkway and out the gates. Wren stood with Garth and watched him go, saying nothing. The big Rover turned to her after a moment, signing. He was hungry again and wanted to go back to the dining hall to see if he could find the kitchen and a bite to eat. Wren nodded absently, still thinking about the Elves and their magic, thinking as well that the Owl never had answered her question about why there was a moat inside the Keel. Garth disappeared down the hallway, footsteps echoing into silence. After a moment she wheeled about and started for her room. She wasn’t sure what she would do once she got there other than to think matters through, but maybe that was enough. She climbed the main stairs, listening to the silence, caught up in the spin of her thoughts, and was starting down the hallway at their head when Gavilan Elessedil appeared.
“Well, well, cousin Wren,” he greeted brightly, flamboyant in a yellow and blue cross-hatch weave with a silver chain belt. “Been up and about the city, I understand. How are you today?”
“Fine, thanks,” Wren answered, slowing to a halt as he came up to her.
He reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing softly. “So tell me. Are you glad you came or do you wish you had stayed home?”
Wren smiled, blushing in spite of her resolve not to. “A little of each, I suppose.” She took her hand away.
Gavilan’s eyes twinkled. “That sounds as it should be. Some sour and some sweet. You came a long way to find us, didn’t you? It must have been a very compelling search, Wren. Have you learned what you came to discover?”
“Some of it.”
The handsome face turned grave. “Your mother, Alleyne, was someone you would have liked very much. I know that the queen has told you about her, but I want to say something, too. She cared for me as a sister would when I was growing up. We were very close. She was a strong and determined girl, Wren—and I see that in you.”
Wren smiled anew. “Thank you, Gavilan.”
“It is the truth.” The other paused. “I hope you will think of me as your friend rather than simply your cousin. I want you to know that if you ever need anything, or want to know anything, please come to me. I will be happy to help if I can.”
Wren hesitated. “Gavilan, could you describe my mother for me? Could you tell me what she looked like?”
Her cousin shrugged. “Easily done. Alleyne was small like you. Her hair was colored the same. And her voice...” He trailed off. “Hard to describe. It was musical. She was quickwitted and she laughed a lot. But I suppose I remember her eyes best. They were just like yours. When she looked at you, you felt as if there wasn’t anyone or anything more important in all the world.”
Wren was thinking of the dream, the one in which her mother was bending close to her, looking very much as Gavilan had described her, saying Remember me Remember me. It no longer seemed just a dream to her now. She felt that once, long ago, it must have really happened.
“Wren?”
She realized that she was staring off into space. She looked back at Gavilan, wondering all at once if she should ask him about the Elfstones and the demons. He seemed willing enough to talk with her, and she was drawn to him in a way that surprised her. But she didn’t really know him yet, and her Rover training made her cautious.
“These are difficult times for the Elves,” Gavilan offered suddenly, bending close. Wren felt his hands come up to take her shoulders. “There are secrets of the magic that—”
“Good day, Wren,” Eowen Cerise greeted, appearing at the head of the stairs behind her. Gavilan went still. “Did you enjoy your walk about the city?”
Wren turned, feeling Gavilan’s hands drop away. “I did. The Owl was an excellent guide.”
Eowen approached, her green eyes shifting to fix Gavilan. “How do you find your cousin, Gavilan?”
The Elf smiled. “Charming, strong-minded—her mother’s daughter.” He glanced at Wren. “I have to be on my way. Lots to do before dinner. I will talk with you then.”
He gave a short nod and walked away, loose, confident, a bit jaunty. Wren watched him go, thinking that he masked a lot with his well-met attitude, but that what lay beneath was rather sweet.
Eowen met her gaze as she turned back. “Gavilan makes us all feel like young girls again.” Her flaming red hair was tucked within a netting, and she was wearing a loose, flower-embroidered shift. Her smile was warm, but her eyes, as always, seemed cool and distant. “I think we are all in love with him.”
Wren flushed. “I don’t even know him.”
Eowen nodded. “Well, tell me about your walk. What have you learned of the city, Wren? What did Aurin Striate tell you about it?”
They began to walk the length of the hallway toward Wren’s bedchamber. Wren told Eowen what the Owl had said, hoping secretly that the seer would reveal something in return. But Eowen simply listened, nodded encouragingly, and said nothing. She seemed preoccupied with other things, although she paid close enough attention to what Wren was saying that she did not lose the threads of the conversation. Wren finished her narrative as they reached the door to her sleeping room and turned so that they were facing each other.
A smile flickered on Eowen’s solemn face. “You have learned a great deal for someone who has been in the city less than a day, Wren.”
Not nearly as much as I would like to learn, Wren thought. “Eowen, why is it that no one will tell me where the demons come from?” she asked, throwing caution to the winds.