“Perfectly satisfactory, thank you,” I returned blandly.
Sir Allen gave me a curt nod and gestured for me to precede him to the dining room. His face was amused, but a tinge of frustration peeped from underneath. He had not been forthcoming about the nature of his occasional information exchanges with Lord Ystevan, but he clearly misliked the idea of upsetting the man unnecessarily.
Lord Ystevan was punctual. I heard the bell ring and a short time afterwards, the sound of the drawing room door closing. I waited a few moments more, Raven writhing in excitement, until the muffled tread of numerous boots had passed the door, then I slipped out and made my way to the drawing room. I eased the door open a fraction and briefly applied my ear to the crack.
“I can’t apologize enough for inviting you here like this, Lord Ystevan,” Sir Allen was saying. “It was not my idea at all, I confess. But really, what a man can do?”
Pushing the door open, I marched in just in time to see him finish the sentence with a suitably helpless gesture in my direction. I shut the door behind me and turned resolutely to face Lord Ystevan, who greeted my appearance with a peculiar expression that seemed to mingle self-deprecation with resignation. And another emotion I couldn’t quite determine. Dismay? Delight?
I blinked as the memories settled into place in my mind like a flock of birds alighting on a tree. I clutched my healed arm in quite definite delight of my own. Lord Ystevan was an elfin, as I had rather suspected. Not just a link to them, but an elfin himself!
And...another memory had just joined the others!
I lay in a cozy bed, under warm fur blankets, waking slowly.
I could hear voices but it was a while before I was awake enough to concentrate on what they were saying.
“I know why he went out to look for it, but why did he bring it back here? Why didn’t he take it down to the village and leave it on the doorstep of the inn?”
Another voice replied, as feminine as the first, but gentler, albeit rather firm. “Peace, Alvidra. The human would not have lived if he had not brought her straight back here.”
“That’s as may be, but why is she still here? Why doesn’t he take it away before it wakes up? He’s making more work for himself!”
“Since,” said the second voice, a trifle dryly, “as you say, it will be his work, I suggest you ask him. If you really need to—surely you can see this human is far too young to simply be abandoned at the inn? Anyway, he asked me to take care of the human when he was summoned to the Queen, and I have done so. It’s not as if you have been inconvenienced.”
“I'm not complaining about inconvenience, Mother,” protested the voice of Alvidra. “I just don’t like having a human here...”
She broke off as there were footsteps and the ‘Mother’ said, “Ah, Ystevan, there you are. Is everything all right?”
“Routine, routine,” said a new voice, a male one. “Rat-gnawing, mice-gnawing, demon-gnawing, the usual. How is the little one?”
“Asleep,” replied Alvidra, sounding deeply uninterested. “Best if she stays that way and you take her to the village,” she added pointedly.
There was a moment of silence, and I sensed a gaze being turned on me.
“Not so asleep, I think,” said the male voice after a moment, and the footsteps approached the bed, which then sunk as though someone was sitting on the edge of it.
“Then bespell her, quickly!” urged Alvidra. “We don’t want it waking up!”
“Oh, stop flapping, Alvi,” responded the male voice. “A single human is not dangerous. Anyway, they’re such fascinating creatures, don’t you think?”
This was too much.
“I am not a creature,” I declared, and opened my eyes.
A male elfin—a he-elf—was sitting on my bed, looking down at me. I struggled quickly into something more of a sitting position, then I regarded the he-elf, and the he-elf regarded me.
I saw a person who at very first glance could have passed for human, but only at the very first glance. Then the attention was drawn to so many things that it was hard to know what to take in first.
He was extremely slender, and looked long-limbed. He was probably tall. He looked about eighteen or nineteen. His hair, no longer wildly tangled by wind and rain, was neatly brushed, and a strange mixture of gold and black, falling to his shoulders at the sides, and a little further at the back. His ears, as I had established previously, were beautifully pointed, and the chin of his rather narrow face was somewhat pointed as well.
His eyes, delicate, narrow and almond shaped, had irises like Siridean's, very gold around the pupil, radiating into green around the edge. It was more of a forest green than the emerald of my eyes and those of my father, but it was bright, for all that. His complexion was extremely light and his fingers were long and graceful. He was dressed in a shirt and breeches of fine wool, with a sleeveless robe over the top, fastened at the front, and made of some sort of velvety material. His boots were soft black leather, and the robe was dark blue...
Raven’s excited movements jerked me back to Sir Allen’s drawing room. But I’d clearly met this...he-elf...properly, at the fort.
Right now the he-elf’s hair, neatly brushed and clipped back, appeared plain black all over, as it had when I’d seen him at the palace. He still held that cane of his and I now noticed a rather long leather pouch at his belt, hanging opposite the dagger that lay at his other hip.
“Lord Ystevan, Lady Serapia Ravena; Lady Serapia, Lord Ystevan,” Sir Allen was introducing us formally. “Lady Serapia,” added Sir Allen apologetically, “seems to think you have been avoiding her.”
The corner of the he-elf’s mouth turned down slightly, at that.
“To put it mildly,” I said rather cuttingly.
“Indeed,” said Lord Ystevan dryly. “Well, now that you have me so thoroughly at your disposal, Lady Serapia,” he tilted his head towards the door significantly, “might I inquire what it is that you actually want?” The look he threw at Sir Allen was not entirely without recrimination, but did not seem to portend undying enmity.
“Lord Ystevan,” I said, drawing a little closer to him but making no move to take his arm. Or to come quite within reach. “If we could step across to the window there and have a little conversation. Sir Allen will remain over here, but he is not going to leave the room, you understand.”
“I dare say he isn’t,” said the he-elf, still in a rather resigned tone. He followed me to the window at the other end of the room readily enough.
“Perhaps we could…admire the view as we talk.” I turned so I largely faced the glass but could still just about see Lord Ystevan’s face. At my companion’s raised eyebrow, I elaborated, “I believe Sir Allen may be able to read lips, as the deaf do.”
“Ah.” With no further demur, the he-elf turned so that he mirrored my position.
I was silent for a moment. Now that I finally had the man…he-elf…there, I wasn’t quite sure how to begin. “I, ah, I did mean it yesterday, when I thanked you for helping me,” I said at last.
A faint, slightly strained, smile flitted across his face. “You’re welcome.”
“Well, I’m sorry to have caused you so much trouble,” I persisted. Especially if I’d actually stayed with them longer than I’d hitherto realized. More memories were stirring, even as I spoke...
There was a dragonet curled around the he-elf’s shoulders, staring at me. It was much bigger than Raven, about the size of a small cat, but the same grey color, except that its skin gave off iridescent shimmers of vibrant green as the light caught it. Even as I watched, a tiny puff of flame flickered from its mouth…
I felt a little self-conscious at the he-elf’s scrutiny, and despite the fire-breathing dragonet, I eventually averted my gaze. Strange as it might seem, I probably looked as odd to him as he did to me. Seeking to break the silence, I looked up again and said, “I’m Serapia. Thank you for, um, rescuing me.”
The he-elf regarded me for a moment, one long
finger absent-mindedly rubbing the dragonet behind its little ears.
“You are welcome,” he replied at last, only now his English was accented.
I couldn’t help frowning at him, puzzled. Why was he pretending he couldn’t speak perfect English?
“I am Ystevan,” added the he-elf. He gestured politely to the two other elfin who were standing in the doorway. I looked at them for the first time. They were both she-elves, one just a little older than Ystevan, the other much older.
“This is my mother, Haliath,” he told me, gesturing to the older of the two, who raised a hand in friendly acknowledgement, “and my sister, Alvidra. My mother will find some food for you. Hungry, yes?”
I gave him a frustrated look as he persisted in using that thick, though musical, accent, but couldn’t help nodding. Yes, I was very hungry.
The mother, Haliath, exchanged a few words in some incomprehensible language with Ystevan and she and Alvidra disappeared from the doorway. Why the foreign language now I was awake? And why this Ystevan was making an idiot of himself speaking English like a foreigner I could not understand, and I supposed there was only one way to find out.
“Why are you talking like that?” I asked bluntly. “I know you can speak English properly, I heard all of you speaking properly!”
He looked back at me, his brow rucking up in thought. “Yes,” he said slowly, “you heard me say ‘creature’. Odd. I apologize for my imperfect English. I go among humans now and then but not often enough to pass as a native in my speech.”
“What do you mean, odd?” I challenged. “It’s not me, it’s you, you’re talking differently! Why don’t you want me to know that you all speak perfect English?”
He regarded the hand I had thrown out towards the doorway—so did the dragonet, rather disapprovingly.
“They do not speak any English,” he told me gravely. “None.” He was silent for a moment, then, perhaps observing that I was about to break out again in frustration, he held up a silencing hand. “Let’s try something. If you will close your eyes...”
Slightly apprehensively, I obeyed, hoping I could resist the temptation to peep at the dragonet.
“Now I will tell you a story about a pair of eagles,” said Ystevan. “You simply listen to my voice. The eagles have a nest with three eggs. Soon two eggs open up. The parent eagles have two fine chicks. But still the mother sits on the third egg, keeping it warm...”
I’d quickly found myself drifting as I listened to his deliberately monotonous voice. But I suddenly realized that the trivial tale he was relating had slipped into unaccented English.
“You’re speaking properly now,” I exclaimed and would have opened my eyes, if his fingertip hadn’t touched my lids very gently.
“Keep them shut a little longer,” he told me. “We don’t want to have to do this again. Soon the third egg hatches and the parent eagles have a full nest, and are ever so busy bringing food for their offspring. Every mouse in the area goes in fear and trembling, and the rabbit population takes a severe dip... All right, you can open your eyes, but keep holding onto my meaning...”
That was a very strange way of putting it, I thought, but I did as I was bid.
“You still understand me?” he asked.
I nodded, mystified.
“Good. Because I am speaking in elfin now, not my poor English... And don’t you dare let go of my voice just because I told you that!”
Startled, I listened more closely as he continued with a few more lines of the eagle story. It was true. He spoke in a musical tongue of which I recognized not one word, yet I understood what he was saying. Weird.
“I don’t understand,” I said, flushing a little as I remembered how angry I had been getting with him before. “How am I understanding you?”
He gave me a thoughtful half smile, then reached out and slipped a hand behind my head, to the nape of my neck. I jerked back slightly, startled by what seemed a liberty, but his touch was clearly clinical, so I stayed still and let him run his fingers up and down the back of my neck, over the three bumpy vertebrae I had there, much as Siridean had once done. In fact, his fingers lingered on these vertebrae and his touch there sent shivers up my spine.
The dragonet made a snorting sound, another flicker of flame coming from its mouth, leapt into the air, startling me with its wingspan—five times that of Raven’s in proportion to its body—and soared out of the room. Ystevan simply smiled slightly and continued his investigation. “Don’t mind Eraldis. He just doesn’t know what to make of you.”
Finally he took his hand away, and feeling rather ruffled, I took the offensive and retaliated by slipping my hand behind his neck.
He drew away with a quick, “Careful!”
But I’d already jerked my hand back as I felt a prick of pain—a bead of blood was forming on my fingertip. Confused, I looked at the he-elf. “May I...?”
He nodded and half-turned, arching his neck so as to present his nape for inspection. I carefully parted his black-gold locks, soft under my probing fingers, and discovered three sharp bony ridges along the back of his neck. My eyes widening, I reached out to touch one, although with great care, for the edge was razor sharp. His shirt had a strip of leather sewn inside it to minimize damage. I ran a finger around the edge, where the bone went into the skin, and he gasped and shrugged me away.
“Little one, please,” he said hoarsely, looking caught between surprise and amusement.
I’d realized now why those strange ridges looked so familiar. “It’s just like Raven’s crest!”
He gave me a slightly odd look, as if something wasn't adding up. “You have a...Raven?”
“No, she’s not a Raven, that’s simply her name. She’s a dragonet, like yours—well, smaller—but she has a crest just like that, only not so sharp yet.” I tried to remember if Eraldis had a crest too. Yes, he had...
“You have a dragonet, and a partial crest, and you can speak—and hear—with your mind as the Elfin do,” stated the he-elf, giving me a very curious look. “You must have our blood in you; you are kin to us.”
I nodded in delight; I’d expected to have to recite my family tree numerous times to gain such an acknowledgement. “Yes, I am. My great, great, er, great, grandfather, he married a she-elf, so she was my great, great, great grandmother.”
Ystevan nodded to himself. “That would explain a lot.”
Raven wriggling out of my dress snapped my mind back to the present. My little friend was staring avidly at the he-elf as though she could restrain herself no longer. I threw a rapid glance at Sir Allen to check he couldn’t see her.
“Well, hello Raven,” murmured Lord Ystevan, reaching towards me. He certainly hadn’t lost his memories of our previous meeting. Meetings?
Raven popped into his sleeve, re-emerged at his collar on the side away from Sir Allen and began to fiddle and chew at his stud earring, clearly fascinated. I frowned at his ear myself in sudden concentration, realizing I could see a slight double image of a point. Emboldened by both Raven’s acceptance of Lord Ystevan and Lord Ystevan’s acceptance of Raven, I reached up, and found that I could touch this point as I had at our very first meeting.
Lord Ystevan gently took my hand and moved it from his ear with a little flick of his eyes towards Sir Allen. His plain green eyes. I stared up at them intently. Remembering Siridean... I would wager those glasses were hiding their true—and oh-so-unusual—coloring.
“Why did you bring me all the way back to London?” I demanded, still rather angry at the loss of so much precious time, and uncomfortably conscious that I couldn’t remember everything that had happened between us and he clearly could.
“I had to come to London anyway,” he replied, but his green eyes studied me, guarded. “So it made sense to see you safely home. Because of your youth, for one thing, to say nothing of the fact that trying to make humans with elfin blood forget meeting us is always a little hit and miss. It seemed best to place you as far away from the fort as
possible, to avoid you seeing anything that would bring the memories back to you. I fully intended to avoid you for the duration of my stay.” He smiled ruefully. “So much for that.”
“But if I’m your kin... That’s what you called me! Why did you make me forget?”
“There are no exceptions. Well, aside from humans who are so closely related to us that we actually cannot keep them from remembering an encounter with us.”
I edged away from him slightly at this conclusion and he flashed me a smile that came close to a grin, albeit a resigned one. “I will not try to make you forget again, Ser...my lady. You have recovered your memories so rapidly after each of my attempts that even bearing in mind that you have met me again each time, I would not bother. I doubt you would need to even see me to remember a third time.”
His eyes were still searching mine. Oh. He was wondering how much I remembered. How much was there to remember? Every time I thought about it, a little more seemed to unfold...
“A lot of our...what you would call supernatural, abilities are seated in our crests,” Ystevan told me a bit later, after I’d eaten a tasty bowl of rabbit stew. Eraldis was on his shoulders again, staring at me unblinkingly, his tail wrapped around Ystevan’s neck like a thin leathery scarf. “It’s fairly certain that these crests do in fact linger from the dragons, who certainly, whichever theory you subscribe to, had a large part in our creation.”
“And that’s why I can understand you?” I questioned, full and comfortable by now but excessively curious about everything. Perhaps falling off Hellion hadn’t been quite the disaster it seemed. Which reminded me of something, and I flexed my arm as I listened to his reply.
“Unquestionably,” he said. “Although I doubt your skills are very pronounced, I'd have thought you’d have been aware there was something a little...unusual...about you.”
I nodded a bit distractedly. “Yes, I was... What happened to my arm? I mean, I’m pretty certain it was broken but there’s nothing wrong with it now.”
Ystevan smiled at my perplexity. “I wouldn’t worry about that, it wasn’t serious.” He blinked and fixed me with a look. “I nearly forgot, let’s see that finger of yours.”
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