Finally, she got to a place where she was ready to tell Ellich the real reason for her coming.
“The Ard Rhys has determined to undertake a quest that ultimately will benefit all of the Races, Uncle.” She was speaking now directly to him because he was the one who would have to help her. It didn’t matter that Jera was present, though; Aphen knew that her uncle kept no secrets from his wife, and in this case there was no reason to do so anyway. “It requires use of the Elfstones if the journey is to be made easier, and I would like an opportunity to ask my grandfather to borrow them. How do you think I should go about it?”
Ellich shook his head and pursed his lips. “He will listen to you, even if you go to him directly and speak to him in private. He loves you that much. But he will not act on such a request unless it is made before the High Council. And with Phaedon present. My nephew will be King soon, perhaps yet this year. My brother grows weary of ruling and may choose to step down. Phaedon senses this and makes it a point to be a part of everything that happens in court.” He gave her a rueful grin. “Do I sound bitter?”
Aphenglow shook her head. “You sound pragmatic.”
“Thank you. I don’t resent my nephew’s eagerness to be King. But I do question his ability to govern well. He is ambitious and headstrong. Worse, he sees his own vision as singular and does not listen to others. A bad combination. It worries me.”
Jera made a shushing sound, and her husband nodded his agreement. “Enough of that. I would suggest you let me arrange an audience with the King and High Council where you can make your plea. If you come before them both, you will not risk embarrassing your grandfather by appearing to try to take advantage of your special relationship. There will be debate, and some—perhaps all—will resist your request because ultimately it is a Druid request. May I ask exactly what it is you need the Elfstones for?”
She hesitated. “They might show us what it is that we are seeking. They might show us where it is hidden.”
“Which would be what?”
“I am forbidden to tell you that, Uncle. I am sorry, but the Ard Rhys feels it should be kept secret. I can only say that it will be of immense benefit to the Elves if it is found.”
Ellich nodded. “Well, I am content not to know. But evasiveness will not sit well with either your grandfather or the High Council. At least you are being direct about it; maybe that will help. I will arrange things. Tell me, have you given any further thought to my suggestion that it might be time to think about coming home for good? Your mother misses you.”
“Does she?” The words were out before she could stop herself from speaking them. She recovered with a smile. “This isn’t the right time to pursue that particular discussion, Uncle.”
He studied her a moment and nodded. “No, I suppose not. Can you stay for dinner? Jera and I would like that very much.”
She begged off, having already decided to spend the evening with Arlingfant. But she agreed to come the following day and have dinner with them then.
She remained awhile longer, speaking of other things, particularly of the King’s health and the demands of his office. Her grandfather was not particularly old, but he had not been well for the past two years, afflicted with a variety of illnesses and injuries, laid up or slowed by one thing after the other to the point that he had begun to ponder openly the possibility of stepping aside in favor of Phaedon. Indeed, the possibility had become a probability. It was only a question of time.
Finally, the day wearing on and the conversation dwindling to long pauses, Aphenglow made her excuses and departed for home. She always enjoyed her time with Ellich and Jera. She supposed they had become her surrogate parents, the ones she missed and still needed, substitutes of the best kind. It made her sad to know she was closer to them than to her mother, but there seemed to be no help for it. She no longer had any hope of being able to change their relationship unless she gave up her Druid robes, which she would never do.
She had almost reached her little cottage, walking down the familiar path that led to her doorstep, when she saw someone sitting on the steps of her porch. She slowed, trying unsuccessfully to make out who it was. She had almost decided to turn back, to circle around and come in from behind. But the figure on the porch—with eyes as keen as her own—had already seen her, risen, and was waiting. She had no choice but to continue on the path if she did not want to look foolish or frightened, and so she did.
As she approached, she took a quick inventory of her visitor, whose features she could better discern now. A young man, close to her own age. Tall and lean beneath loose-fitting forest clothing, sporting a shock of unruly hair cut short and so blond it was almost white. No visible weapons save a long knife strapped to his waist. Skin burned brown by long hours in the sun, brilliant blue eyes that didn’t look as if they missed much. The promise of a nice smile revealed in a faint twisting at the corners of his mouth.
She had never seen him before and had no idea who he was. But she found herself intrigued.
“Hello, Aphen,” he greeted. “I’m told you need a bodyguard. I would like you to consider me.”
She stopped right in front of him. “Who are you?”
“You don’t remember?” His smile faded a bit. “We trained together as Trackers. I’m Cymrian.”
A faint memory came to her. He had been two years older than she but a few younger in terms of maturity. They had been barely more than children when they started their instruction together.
“Arlingfant asked me to speak with you. Coming here and waiting was her suggestion.” He paused. “Just so you know, it was because she asked. Not because … of anything else.”
“Then she must have faith in you.”
“My sister is a Chosen, too. They work together in the gardens, know each other pretty well. Will you consider me?”
She gave him a measured look. “Why would you want to do this?”
He shifted his feet to reset his stance. “I’m looking for something to do. This seemed like a good fit for me.”
“Do you have any experience?”
“As a Tracker. I’m good at that. But I have other skills. I can protect you.”
She almost laughed out loud. He was a far cry from what the Ard Rhys wanted for her, but closer to what she wanted for herself. She didn’t much care if he could protect her or not as long as he was able to keep out of her way. A Tracker could do that. A Tracker could disappear right in front of you. But was he capable?
She glanced down at the long knife. “Are you any good with that?”
He shrugged. “I’m good with any weapon.”
“Can you put it in that tree over there?” She pointed to a slender alder situated about twenty yards away.
“Where would you like it?”
That stopped her. “In that bole about halfway up the trunk. Do you see it?”
He moved so fast that she had barely finished asking the question before the knife was out of its sheath and in his hand. His arm swept up in an underhand throw and the long knife struck the center of the bole with a dull thump.
She nodded slowly. “All right. The job is yours. Just stay out of my way and do what I ask. For now, that means shadowing me wherever I go without letting me see you. Keep me safe from whatever you decide threatens. Can you do that?”
He nodded silently. She extended her hand, and he took it. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember you.”
He smiled faintly, took back his hand, and walked over to the tree to retrieve his knife. Once he had it, he kept going until he disappeared into the trees.
There was something about him, she thought. She sensed it, but couldn’t give it a name.
She was still standing there staring off into space when Arlingfant came out of the house. “Did you give him the job?”
Aphen nodded. “He was your choice?”
“Don’t you think it was a good one? Did you remember him?”