And what if the queen never let her go back to Pittsburgh? Certainly if the queen wanted to keep control of the pivot, she could insist that Tinker stay at Aum Renau, or take her back East. Windwolf told her that he asked permission daily, but for all Tinker knew, he could be lying to her. Surrounded by beauty and luxury, it seemed stupid to be so homesick for the squalid, half-abandoned steel town. She wanted her computers, tools, and hoverbike. She wished she could call Oilcan; just to know he was okay and not worrying about her. She desperately wanted to talk to Lain; since her grandfather died, Lain had been her guide through life's confusion. Lain could tell her what to do, make it all right.
"Domi." Pony crouched down beside her. "The sefada know you are unhappy and say that you can come help them make falotiki. They are very simple to make, and the sefada promise to watch carefully so they will not catch fire, and afterward you decorate them with icing in bright colors."
"Um," her voice cracked, and his face blurred, so she scrubbed at her eyes. "Yeah, sure." And then to make them all stop worrying about her, "It sounds like fun."
And through sheer determination on her part, it actually was.
Windwolf came into the kitchen while she was icing. The little square falotiki cakes reminded her of the periodic table, so she had arranged them into the classic chart and was making each cake a different element. She was working on radium, and after telling the kitchen staff its radioactive properties, was reciting the "Litle Willie" poem that featured his grandmother's tea. "Now Grandpa thinks it quite a lark, To see her shining in the dark."
"Dama!" cried Lemonseed, the head cook.
Tinker looked up to find Windwolf leaning in the doorframe, watching her with a grin. "You look pleased about something."
"The queen says we can leave for Pittsburgh in the morning."
Tinker squealed and flung herself at Windwolf. He swept her up and she kissed him until she realized that she was covering him with flour and that tears were running down her face. "Oh gods, I screamed, didn't I? Oh, that's so stupid. I'm not the type to scream."
"No," he agreed, resting his forehead on hers. "You are not the type to scream."
"Is she really letting me go home?" She saw the hurt go through his eyes. "I mean, back to Pittsburgh?"
"Yes. With provisions."
"Provisions?" She didn't like the sound of that. "Here, let me down, so I can wash my hands."
"The queen is concerned." Windwolf paused, obviously picking out the most politic way of putting things. "She sees you as a child with a child's grasp of the universe. She's not saying you're immature," Windwolf hastened to explain as Tinker made a rude noise. "By the time an elf reaches adult, he has had a hundred years of being steeped in our culture—which isn't always a good thing—but it does teach him about living for millennia. You can barely speak the high tongue, and you're not going to learn it, or any of the skills you need, by living daily with humans."
She froze, hands in the water. "What—what does that mean? That I can't go home? But you just said—I'm staying in Pittsburgh—or is this just a visit?"
"It is not a visit, but it will be a change in your living arrangement."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"We closed our Pathways on a land as pastoral as our own. The Dutch were a superpower. Latin was the tongue of the learned man, and the laundry you term 'prehistoric' would be a marvel of advanced technology." Windwolf pulled her hands out of the water and toweled them dry. "Most of the elves here at Aum Renau were alive during your Dark Ages. Many saw the fall of the Romans. There are even ones that saw the rise of the Egyptians."
She squeaked, as the weight of the ages seemed to compress down on her. "Really?"
"Lemonseed here is over nine thousand years old."
Tinker glanced to the sweet-tempered sefada who seemed no older than Lain. "Nine thousand?"
"By the very nature of humans and elves, the gate will close while you're alive," Windwolf said. "Currently you have the queen's protection. No one can call insult on you, or challenge you to a duel. But that protection will not last forever. What is forgiven in a child will not be forgiven in an adult. You must know how to live with us—your people."
She became aware that everyone in the kitchen was trying hard to pretend that they weren't listening to the conversation. What language had they been arguing in this time? She winced as she realized that it had flowed almost seamlessly between English and Elvish, sometimes changing halfway through the sentence. Growling, she undid the mega apron protecting her dress, shoved it into the hamper for dirty linens, and stomped out of the kitchen.
Windwolf came after her, and a few steps behind him, were Pony and Stormsong. She headed to their living quarters as one of the few places they could talk without the bodyguards overhearing.
"What are the provisions?" she asked once the door shut between them and the sekasha.
"I must establish a residence at Pittsburgh and move my household there."
"Move? For how long?"
He clicked his tongue in a shrug. "A couple of decades, maybe a century."
She winced, thinking of the close-knit community she'd found at the palace. "How many of the clanspeople here at the palace are part of your household?"
Windwolf looked slightly confused. "All of them."
"All!" Hope turned to ash; there was no way the entire palace staff would be shifted just because she was homesick. "There's like sixty people here!"
"Seventy-four, not counting Pony."
"Why not count Pony?" Tinker cried. Of all the sekasha, Pony was her favorite.
"Pony is yours, not mine."
"Mine?"
Windwolf paused, apparently considering his English. "Yours," he repeated, this time in Elvish. "Not mine."
Oh, shit, now what had she done? "How did Pony get to be mine?"
"Pony's parents are beholden to my father and I watched him grow up, which makes me protective of him. As he neared his majority, he wanted a chance to make a real decision about whom he looked to, and not just take his parents' path. I gave him refuge in my house, although he hadn't yet come of age. I expected him to offer to me, for we are fond of one another, but he was free to offer to you."
She dropped onto the bench before her bed, remembering then the conversation just before they left Pittsburgh, under watch of the queen's Wyverns. Once again, someone offered, and she accepted without realizing what strings were attached. "Oh, no."
Something on her face made Windwolf kneel down in front of her and take her hands. "I am pleased. I thought you two would suit well, that's why I left him with you. He brings you honor, since not everyone can hold a sekasha."
"I didn't realize what he was saying."
Windwolf looked dismayed and then sighed. "It is done now. Once accepted, even by mistake, the contract can not be unmade. It means you find the person unacceptable. No matter what you said, everyone would believe the worst of Pony, that he had acted in some way inappropriately."
She pressed the heels of her hands tight against her eyes. "Oh, gods, what a mess."
"I don't understand why you're so upset. You obviously love Pony well, and we're returning to Pittsburgh."
She peeked at him through her fingers. "We are?"
"I told the queen that the provisions were acceptable."
The hands came off her face completely. "You did!"
"It is only for a short time."