War makes for the strangest of alliances, separates the incompetent from the skilled and the petty from the truly important.

—Santagithi

THE FIRST TWO TIMES Tae and Matrinka knocked on the bedroom door of Tem’aree’ay Donnev’ra Amal-yah Krish-anda Mal-satorian, they got no answer. As they stood in front of the teak panel a third time and Matrinka worked the bronze bear-shaped knocker, Tae could hear the thudding sound echoing through the room. Imorelda sniffed at the crack below the door, tentatively whisking her paws inside. *She’s there.*

Imorelda had said the same thing the last two times they came, but Griff’s elfin wife had not answered then, either. Tae tested the latch without fully lifting it. It moved easily. He eased it silently back into place.

“What are you doing?” Matrinka whispered.

“It’s not locked.” Tae’s response did not address the question. He reached for the latch again.

“You can’t go in there,” Matrinka hissed. “What if she’s not dressed?”

Tae doubted Tem’aree’ay would care. Elves had a carefree attitude beyond the ken of most humans. They whisked through lives devoid of responsibility, the passage of time meaningless, their dwellings nonexistent on a world that had no weather. They did not suffer from disease or infections and had magic to handle any form of injury. Though freely sexual, they did not have to worry about accidental conception. They used their magic most commonly for petty, playful purposes.

However, the longer Tem’aree’ay had remained among humans, the more like them she had become. She still took no clear notice of politics, yet she had learned to recognize Griff’s discomfort and distract him when affairs of state furrowed his brow. Though she still relied on the servants to choose appropriate attire, at least she understood human modesty and never raced through the corridors naked. She still had a childlike wonder about her, and no one who knew about elves would mistake her for human, but she had changed dramatically in her nearly twenty years at Béarn Castle.

Ignoring Matrinka’s warning, Tae gently and silently pushed open the door. The room seemed larger than Matrinka’s own, which surprised Tae until he realized the appearance of space came from the paucity of furniture. The room had no bed, just a pile of earth-colored blankets in one corner. The furniture was simple: one wardrobe, one chest, one chair on which Princess Ivana currently perched.

Ivana’s oddness never escaped Tae, nor anyone who looked upon her homely visage. She had a blocky body with short, thick legs, long fingers, and doll-like feet. Chubby cheeks nearly hid her small mouth and nose. She had elfin, canted eyes, an inhuman reddish-yellow in color. Her thick, straight hair fell, waveless, past her shoulders, blackish-blond with highlights of crimson and jade. White froth bubbled at the corners of her lips.

Tem’aree’ay crouched in front of her eighteen-year-old daughter. Her slender body revealed all the grace Ivana lacked, her golden curls a riot of contrast to the princess’ limp and lifeless hair. She carried no bulk at all beneath a shift clearly not intended for crouching. It hugged her tiny buttocks, revealing the same boyish figure all of the elves shared. If not for the males’ tendency to keep their locks shorn, Tae could not have distinguished most elves’ gender.

Tae stepped inside, while Matrinka hung back, clearly uncomfortable with the intrusion. Inside, he noticed the wood composing the furniture remained true to its original form, still swathed in bark, mostly branches lashed together. The window had no curtains. Sunlight beamed in, burning his eyes and forcing him to blink, though it did not seem to bother Tem’aree’ay at all.

Imorelda’s voice speared into his thoughts. *You’re acting rudely.*

Suddenly feeling like a voyeur, Tae cleared his throat.

Tem’aree’ay stiffened and turned. Tae had never seen her without a smile on her lips, and she did not disappoint him. Though small, it set off her dainty features and canted, sapphire eyes, bowing her heart-shaped lips. “Hello. I didn’t expect company.” Catching sight of Matrinka, she gestured for the queen of Béarn to enter. “Oh, Matrinka. Please, come in.”

Matrinka complied, though she minced her steps as if the floor burned her feet. “I’m so sorry we bothered you when you obviously didn’t want company.” Her words were clearly intended for Tae’s benefit. “We can come another time.”

“Don’t be silly.” Tem’aree’ay’s smile grew. “You’re welcome any time.” Her triangular tongue caught and held Tae’s attention.

Ivana made a braying noise of welcome, so loud and abrupt it startled Tae. He felt his heart start pounding but covered his discomfort as well and quickly as he could.

More accustomed to the half-human, Matrinka only smiled and addressed her directly. “Hello, Ivana.”

Ivana grinned at the attention and jumped down from the chair. Clumsily, she ran toward Matrinka. Imorelda rushed out of her path, and even Tae found himself recoiling. The girl threw her arms around Matrinka in a large, sticky hug.

Tem’aree’ay’s smile grew wan, but it did not disappear. “Ivana, go out and find Nahnah, please. Matrinka and I would like to chat.”

Ivana clung to Matrinka, and the queen returned the embrace with a genuine warmth Tae would have had to feign. He would endure a hug for the sake of propriety and his friends, but he much preferred that the strange and barely intelligent creature not touch him.

After longer than most would find proper, Ivana did release Matrinka. She looked around, as if trying to decide what to do next. Tae braced himself.

Tem’aree’ay glided in front of her daughter and made sure to catch her eyes. She enunciated each word clearly. “Ivana, go find Nahnah.” She pointed out the door.

Ivana’s gaze followed Tem’aree’ay’s finger.

“Go find Nahnah.”

Emitting loud, wordless noises, Ivana walked out of the room, and Tem’aree’ay closed the door behind her.

Imorelda had a guileless way of making difficult points. *Why do they keep that monstrosity?*

Tae winced. He wondered if he would have the strength and compassion necessary to care for a child so horribly crippled. *Humans love their offspring. No matter their . . . differences.*

*Differences?* Imorelda loosed a catty snort that sounded more like a sneeze. *She’s not different. She’s misshapen and almost mindless. If she were mine, I’d have eaten her at birth.*

Elves never acted hurried, and Tem’aree’ay seemed prepared to wait hours for Tae to explain his decision to enter her room unbidden. Matrinka, however, gave Tae a pointed stare. She had promised to let him do most of the talking, gathering as much information as possible and revealing as little as necessary. Matrinka had a tendency to simply lay out every truth and let things happen as they would.

Tae sighed. Now was not the time to get into a discussion of what constitutes humanity and proper human emotion with a cat.

*Besides,* the tabby continued, *Her mother isn’t human.*

Tae also did not wish to discuss elfin emotion with a cat, especially when he did not know much about it himself. “We’re sorry to bother you, Tem’aree’ay. It’s just that we’re concerned about the Kjempemagiska returning.”

Tem’aree’ay bobbed her head, guessing. “You want me to try to talk the elves into joining the battle against them.”

Tae fell silent. It was not the prospect he had intended to raise, but it was at least equally as important. “Well, yes. That’s one reason.”

Tem’aree’ay pursed her heart-shaped lips. “I didn’t have any luck convincing them to come for this last battle.” She shook her head, finally losing the smile. “The only time elves went to war, it split us in two: the svartalf and the lysalf.”

Tae knew enough of their language and history to identify the terms: the dark elves and the light elves. The first group had tried to eliminate humans, blaming them for the Ragnarok and the ultimate destruction of Alfheim. The second group, to which Tem’aree’ay belonged, wished to live in peace with humans, though not necessarily among them.

“The svartalf would never help you, even if you could find the world to which they got banished. To the lysalf, war is . . . unconscionable. To many it’s a . . .” Tem’aree’ay waved a hand, clearly seeking words that did not translate well. “. . . a nonconcept. A state of humankind beyond our understanding.”

Tae spoke the elfin word she chose not to use: vitanhvergi. It translated literally as “understand a nowhere,” and they used it to refer to ideas that did not translate from other cultures to their own.

Tem’aree’ay’s eyes widened, and she stared at Tae. “You speak Elvish?”

Tae shrugged, accustomed to this reaction to his gift. “A few words.”

Tem’aree’ay turned a critical eye on him, as steady a blue as a sapphire, without the star-shaped core so often seen in humans. “That’s not exactly a basic, conversational word.”

As always, Matrinka revealed more than she needed to, “He has an amazing ability with languages. Picks them up easily.”

Tae did not reprimand her, not even with a raised brow. It was his own fault for casually inserting an elfin term into the conversation. He had done it hoping to win Tem’aree’ay over with his interest in things elfin. “I do all right, I guess. My current interest is khohlar.”

“Khohlar?” Tem’aree’ay cocked her head. “Most humans just seem confused by it.”

“I am, too,” Tae admitted. “But I’d like to understand it.”

“Why?” A hint of suspicion entered Tem’aree’ay’s tone. Despite being of the lysalf, even though she had chosen to live among humans, she still clearly had doubts about humans’ intentions toward elves. And if she worried about their motives, Tae had to imagine the other elves certainly did. And more so.

Imorelda’s voice appeared in Tae’s head. *Matrinka says you need to tell her.*

Tae did not need two females impeding his work. Matrinka had surely also noticed Tem’aree’ay’s discomfort and worried Tae had missed it. *Tell her I’m as good with wordless communication as any other language. I work better when neither of you is interrupting me.*

Imorelda curled up on Tem’aree’ay’s blankets. So long as they remained in the same room, with no doors or walls between them, she could continue to “talk” to him. *Well. Excuse me for relaying a message.*

Tae tried to address Tem’aree’ay’s question as well as her underlying concerns. “Because the Kjempemagiska—”

Imorelda intruded, *I wouldn’t want to interfere with your sparkling genius by sending a message I was—*

“—and the alsona—”

*—asked to convey by a queen who is like a sister to you.*

“—have a mind-language similar to khohlar that I—”

Tae felt sweat breaking out beneath his collar as he tried to hold together the threads of two separate conversations without revealing what he was doing to Tem’aree’ay or Matrinka. *Imorelda, please. Be quiet until I can finish, and I’ll let you yowl at me the rest of the day.*

The cat broke contact, leaving a clear concept of righteous indignation.

“—have mostly figured out.”

Tem’aree’ay stared. “You have ‘mostly figured out’ a mind-language?”

Tae glanced at Matrinka before nodding. She seemed relieved he had explained at least that much to the royal elf. Matrinka’s main hope was to protect Imorelda’s part in the translation, just as he did.

Tae nodded.

“Humans don’t do mind-languages.” Tem’aree’ay’s long, slender fingers settled on either side of her dainty face. “They have no magic.” The smile wholly vanished, leaving nothing but innocent question on her features. “Do they?”

“None that I know of,” Tae said. “Except for this . . . this mind-language thing. Is it actually magic, or something else? I’m wondering how the alsona/Kjempemagiska mind-language relates to khohlar.”

Apparently, even Imorelda had become interested enough in the conversation to neither interfere nor sulk; at least she did not barge into Tae’s thoughts. The tips of Tem’aree’ay’s fingers drummed gently against her temples. “The one Kjempemagiska I saw strongly radiated magic. The ones you call alsona had only a very faint aura. Perhaps it’s this mind-language you speak of.”

Tae knew too little of magic to add much speculation. “Or some means the Kjempemagiska have of controlling them.”

Tem’aree’ay nodded with an all-too-human thoughtfulness that baffled Tae.

“You know, don’t you?” Tae tried.

Tem’aree’ay swung her features around to him. They remained creased and curious. “I know what?”

“You have some idea of why the alsona radiate magic. Something you would not have thought of until we had this discussion.”

Tem’aree’ay shook her head. The oddness of her expression vanished. “No. You’ve just triggered some new ideas about an old problem.”

Tae suspected the elf had useful information he needed. “Perhaps we could help one another. I wonder if we don’t have different pieces to the same puzzle. If we brought them together . . .”

Tem’aree’ay’s head movement went from a slow shake to a slower bob. “The only human I’ve personally met with internal magic is Chymmerlee. I wish I had had a chance to talk to her about her abilities.” She added thoughtfully, “To my knowledge, the only humans who ever possessed and shaped chaos were the Mages of Myrcidë, but they were annihilated before my birth, which was more than two hundred years ago. You know that Chymmerlee and I worked together to suppress the Kjempemagiska’s powers in the recent battle, but she left me with a conundrum. She claimed two elves assisted her from the rooftop of Béarn Castle.”

Matrinka finally spoke. “So at least one of the other elves came to help! That’s wonderful.”

Tem’aree’ay’s head moved more vigorously from side to side. “You were on the rooftop with me during the war. Was there another elf?”

“I just thought maybe . . . someone . . . I didn’t see . . .” Matrinka shut her mouth tightly, then started over. “I thought maybe he or she remained hidden.”

“No.” Tem’aree’ay studied her small hands that looked so odd to Tae. The palms seemed doll-like, the fingers like overgrown stalks of fragile reeds. “I would have known if another elf had come, especially if he or she bonded with us; but I didn’t.” She wore an expression of dismay that went beyond what Tae thought logical.

Perhaps Chymmerlee miscounted. Maybe, in the excitement of the moment, Tem’aree’ay did.

“I thought Chymmerlee had made a mistake, but her insistence convinced me. Someone helped us contain the giant, someone who felt magically elfin to a human and human to an elf.” Tem’aree’ay looked up at Tae as if she hoped he would connect the dots without her.

Matrinka had been there at the time. She knew exactly who had waited anxiously on that rooftop during the battle. Nevertheless, doubt tinged her voice so thickly, it seemed unlikely her guess could be correct. “Ivana?”

“It had to be.”

Imorelda snorted again, another catty sneeze. *Impossible.*

*Is it?*

*She’s mindless.*

*Is she?* Tae wondered if they both might learn a valuable lesson in not giving up on seemingly hopeless causes.

*Would she act as she does if she weren’t?* Imorelda did not seek the most optimistic answer, as the humans and elf did. Whether this stemmed from her aversion to offspring or to more steady grounding in reality, Tae did not know.

*Perhaps there is another answer.*

Another snort.

*It’s worth looking.*

Imorelda did not seem convinced, but she did drop the subject. Matrinka, however, rushed eagerly forward. She always gravitated to the happiest possibilities, whether or not they panned out. “Does Ivana have . . . the capacity . . . for magic?”

Tem’aree’ay tipped her head. “I don’t know. She has some elfish blood, so I have to assume she carries chaos. Whether or not she has the ability to shape it into magic . . .” She lifted one shoulder until it nearly touched her cheek, then dropped it. “I would not have thought so if not for Chymmerlee’s certainty that she had.” Tem’aree’ay continued to talk, but her voice gradually lost volume. “Combining chaos to assist others is the most basic and easy form of magic, but it is magic nonetheless.” By the time she finished, she was at a whisper. It obviously bothered her to share information about elfin methods with humans. That did not bode well for Tae.

At least, Tae seemed to have found Tem’aree’ay’s weakness. If he could tie his need for knowledge with her concern for Ivana, he would have better luck than simply asking. “Can Ivana use khohlar?”

“What?” The question raised obvious discomfort.

Tae doubted Tem’aree’ay had misheard; elves had keen listening skills, and he had spoken clearly. For reasons he could not yet explain, his query had startled her. Dutifully, he repeated, “Can Ivana use khohlar?”

Tem’aree’ay hesitated, clearly torn between answering and dodging the question.

Tae glanced at Matrinka. She had more experience with Tem’aree’ay. They shared an interest in the healing arts and a husband.

Matrinka took the hint. “Tem’aree’ay, we’re trying to help you and Ivana. Tae’s a master of communication. If anyone can get through to your daughter, it’s him.”

Tem’aree’ay nodded ever so slightly, more to herself than Matrinka. “I’m just . . . When I came to live among you, I promised . . .”

Matrinka placed a gentle hand on the elf’s arm, a plea to continue. It did not look like a soothing gesture to Tae, but Matrinka clearly knew better than him.

Tem’aree’ay’s smile returned, if a bit lopsided, and she looked at Matrinka. “Dear Queen Matrinka, I know you mean me and my people no harm. I apologize for any mistrust I might have implied.” She looked at Tae. “And King Tae Kahn. I know you’re a good man with a good heart.”

Tae could not help smiling. He had believed only Matrinka would describe him in such a way.

“It’s only that I’ve grown adept at keeping the secrets of my people to myself.” Tem’aree’ay gave Tae as pointed a look as she could manage with her delicate elfin features. “Is it true you intend to use this information only to help Ivana?”

Tae saw the trap. It seemed so easy to simply answer in the affirmative, but it would not achieve the desired effect. He and Matrinka had obviously come to Tem’aree’ay to learn about khohlar before the issue of Ivana had arisen. He chose his words with care. “We do intend to help you with Ivana, but it is not the only reason we want to know more about the elves.”

Matrinka pursed her lips and nodded helpfully.

Tae realized that, had he chosen to lie, her expressions would have given him away. He had to remember the next time he entered into a negotiation: do not bring Matrinka. “I believe it’s necessary for the survival of humans and elves to spy on the Kjempemagiska. Unfortunately, I can’t do it by myself. I’m hoping elfin khohlar works enough like the enemy’s mind-communication that someone might be able to assist me.”

Tem’aree’ay did not move. She seemed to be considering his words, and Tae took that as a positive step. “Someone . . . meaning me?”

“No,” Tae said immediately. “Someone who’s not Béarnian royalty.” He did not quite understand the titular conventions in Béarn. Only Matrinka bore the title queen. He did not exactly know what to call Griff’s other two wives, except by their names. He appreciated that his own status as a king afforded him a lot of leeway with sloppiness and mistakes. “Someone careful and quiet who, perhaps, enjoys a bit of danger. My intention is to relay messages to a partner who stays out of harm’s way. I’m hoping an elf might volunteer. Then, once we have proof of the Kjempemagiska’s intentions, we will have an easier time convincing the other elves, the humans, and even Chymmerlee of the danger. Having an elf involved in the initial spying can only help us.”

Tem’aree’ay still had not moved or changed position, though she was clearly listening. Matrinka and Tae latched their gazes on her. It seemed like an hour passed before she finally spoke. “Elves do not have the luxury of ‘enjoying a bit of danger. ’ Even should you find an elf willing to risk his life, I do not think the elders would allow it. As you already know, any life lost to violence means one less elf for all eternity.”

Tae went to the heart of the matter. “But the Kjempemagiska and their alsona puppets have shown no mercy at all. It seems worth risking one elfin soul to save two hundred.”

Tem’aree’ay could scarcely argue. “You would have to prove there’s danger to the two hundred first.”

“I . . . think I can do that.” Tae did not have to feign desperation. “Tem’aree’ay, I don’t know if I can convince the other elves; but, before I try, I have to know if it’s even possible our plan could work. Why waste my breath, and your people’s time, talking them into a scheme without merit?”

Tem’aree’ay’s smile remained, though still not wholehearted or full. “What do you want me to do?”

Tae looked at Matrinka. The Béarnide wound her fingers through one another, her partial grin eerily similar to Tem’aree’ay’s. “Help us figure out how well khohlar meshes with mind-communication.”

“How?”

“By experimenting with me to see whether you and I can speak without words. By giving us enough information about magic, elves, and khohlar to at least try to figure out some way to use it.”

Tem’aree’ay turned away.

Tae cringed. He thought he had convinced her, but her gesture suggested otherwise. He did not know how to proceed, so he waited for Tem’aree’ay to do something, anything, definitive.

At length, she turned back to face them. “I’m willing to work with you. With conditions.”

Tae hid all trepidations, showing only an open expression.

“First, anything you learn about elves becomes our secret.”

Tae did not like the phrasing of that condition, as it could hamper his ability to use the knowledge he gained. However, he assumed Tem’aree’ay would trust him to use his judgment and recognize her intention: to conceal any information someone could use to harm the elves. “Already assumed.”

Matrinka nodded vigorously.

Tae did not give her a chance to add anything. He did not want a long-winded debate about details. “What other conditions do you have?”

“That you find a way to reach Ivana.”

That request caught Tae off his guard, though he supposed he should have anticipated it. He recalled Matrinka’s claim: Tae’s a master of communication. If anyone can get through to your daughter, it’s him. “What exactly do you mean by ‘reach’ her?” He would never admit just how uncomfortable he felt around Béarn’s half-human princess. Her strangeness repulsed him. He did not want to become attached to her in any way, particularly one that allowed her to touch him. Admitting this, even to himself, hurt. It made him feel stupid and evil, wrong-headed in every way. Ivana could not help the way she looked or acted, an innocent human/elf combination who deserved compassion and understanding. Still, the revulsion rose, unbidden and unwanted but altogether real.

“Find a way to communicate with her and to teach her to communicate with us.”

Tae did not know what to say, so he only repeated stupidly, “Communicate.”

Matrinka bumped him with her elbow. “When it comes to communication, Tae, you’re the expert.”

Tae had claimed to have superior skill when it came to reading nonverbal emotion, expression, and movement as well as verbal languages. He supposed that did all comprise communication. “But I’ve never . . . I mean, Ivana . . . it would be like—”

Imorelda interrupted, looking up sleepily from Tem’aree’ay’s makeshift bed. *—like communicating with an animal? A cat, perhaps?*

Tae caught the irony but gave it little quarter. *Like communicating with a nonintelligent cat.*

*Now who’s making assumptions about Ivana?*

Imorelda had a point, and it irritated Tae. It appeared she intended to prove him wrong, even if it meant a full turnaround in her position on the matter.

Tem’aree’ay deserved an answer, and Tae gave the only one he could. “I can only try to communicate with Ivana. I can’t guarantee it will work.” Remembering his mental note from the strategy session, Tae seized the opportunity. “It will go easier if you teach me some basic elfin, too.”

“Elvish,” Tem’aree’ay corrected. “I’ll do that.” She went back to his original comment. “And it will work.” She sounded infinitely more certain than Tae felt.

Matrinka looked from one to the other, then at Imorelda. “How do you know?”

“Because,” Tem’aree’ay said, “I have faith in Ivana, in you, and in Tae. And I now think I know where we made our mistake.”

“Mistake,” Tae said carefully. Most elves and men believed the mistake came of lovemaking between an elf and a human. They considered Princess Ivana herself a mistake. Tae would never voice such a concept aloud, however, certainly not in the presence of her mother.

If Tem’aree’ay guessed at Tae’s thoughts, she gave no indication. “We expected her to act human or elfin, to learn the way we do, to act the way we act. But she’s neither human nor elfin. She’s unique, without precedent. It’s our duty, as parents and as a society, to figure out how to reach her.”

It sounded like nonsense to Tae. He understood why Tem’aree’ay placed the burden on the community as well as herself and Griff. Because of the soul limitations and their long lives, elves seldom gave birth. At any given time, they might have no children or a single one among the entire race. So, they raised children communally, paying little heed to biology. But most human societies would have left a child like Ivana to die in the elements. “What makes you so sure that we and, in particular, I have the ability to reach Ivana at all?”

Tem’aree’ay’s grin widened to its familiar proportions. “You learned to speak with the alsona, even though none of us had ever heard their language and they have a mental form of communication which humans do not share. You survived wounds pronounced fatal by every healer who saw you.”

Tae gave Matrinka a pointed look. She had downplayed his injuries, making him feel like a histrionic coward for the bare thought that he might not survive them.

“I’m a healer,” Matrinka reminded them. “And I knew from the moment I examined him that he would live.” She had looked him over before any of the others, right on the shore; and Tae always suspected she had exploited his stubborn streak to shame him into recovering from the impossible. “Your point, however, remains valid. If anyone can reach Ivana, it’s Tae.”

Tae appreciated her support, though not necessarily her point. “As I said, I can only try.” He would have promised the elf nearly anything to get the knowledge he wanted. “Now, tell me about khohlar.”

Tem’aree’ay looked askance at Matrinka, who nodded. If Tae did not carry through on his promise to aid Ivana on his own, Matrinka would see to it he did. He, in turn, attended to Imorelda. *Are you ready?*

The cat yawned, stretching out her long body and striped legs. *Forever. I thought you’d never get around to tying yourself to that strange whelp so we could get on with this.*

Tae did not belabor her role. Imorelda knew what to do.

Tem’aree’ay’s voice entered Tae’s head. *What do you want to know?*

Before replying, Tae addressed Imorelda. *Did you hear that?*

Sarcasm tinged Imorelda’s mental voice. *Do you think I’m deaf? Of course I heard her.*

Tae ignored the radiating emotion to focus on the plan. *Where do you hear it? Is it near Matrinka’s level? Mine? The alsonas’?

Imorelda hesitated long enough that Tae raised a hand to stay Tem’aree’ay and Matrinka, who awaited his own answer. Finally, Imorelda spoke, *It’s completely different. It doesn’t seem to come from anywhere. It’s just . . . there.*

Tae waited a moment in silence before realizing Imorelda had finished all she intended to say. “Can you khohlar again?”

Tem’aree’ay obliged. *What would you like to know, King Tae Kahn?*

Tae glanced at the cat, who shook her furry head, as if to dislodge something from her mouth. *Very different.* She expounded without really adding anything.

To Tae, the voices in his head, whether from Imorelda, elves, or alsona seemed the same. Imorelda had a far superior ability to discern, just as she could hear sounds he could not and pick out distinct variations in smells. *Can you elaborate?*

From the emotion leaching through their contact, Imorelda seemed more perplexed than annoyed. *If this elf-speak has a level, it’s either so high or so low I can’t sense it. Or else, it’s just so different from our connection, I have nothing to compare it to. It’s just . . .* She finished lamely, * . . . very different.*

Tae did not tease the cat. She was clearly struggling to explain a concept beyond her understanding. *Do you think you can carry me to her for a connection? Like you do with the alsona?*

Imorelda walked toward Tae in that unhurried manner that felines perfected. *I can carry your voice, but I don’t know where to take it so she can hear you.*

Tae could see the dilemma. *I’m going to try to send an unspoken message to her. If that doesn’t work, I’d like you to try. If you connect, let her think you’re me.* Saying nothing more, Tae thrust out his mental voice as he did when communicating with Imorelda. *Can you hear me?*

The reply came swiftly, *Of course, I can.*

Startled and thrilled, Tae grinned. *You can actually hear me?*

*Why wouldn’t I? We’ve been talking since I was a kitten.*

Imorelda. Tae rolled his eyes. *Imorelda, I’m looking for a response from Tem’aree’ay, not you. I know you can hear me.*

Imorelda sat down in the middle of the floor. *Excuse me for answering your question.* Her tail twitched wildly. *I thought you were testing me.*

Tae tried again. *Tem’aree’ay, can you hear me?*

Matrinka elbowed Tae. “It’s impolite not to answer.”

Reluctantly, Tae abandoned his experiment. “I am replying. Mentally.” He looked into Tem’aree’ay’s gemlike eyes. “Could you hear me?”

“No.” The elf shook her head. “Could you hear my khohlar?”

“Clearly.” Tae sucked in a large breath, held it, then let it out slowly. “Let’s try again.” *Imorelda, please try to reach Tem’aree’ay.*

*I’ve tried. No answer.* The cat rose again and galloped to Tae’s feet. She climbed his legs with her forepaws, leaving the hind ones on the floor and using no claws. *It’s like talking to most humans.*

Tae reached down and lifted the cat absently, his hopes sinking. If the elves could not hear him, even through Imorelda, he could not enlist their aid in his spying mission. Once again, he would have to do this thing alone, though he knew his chances for survival were bleak.

Imorelda snuggled into Tae’s arms, purring.

*Imorelda, try again. Keep trying.*

*It’s useless. Like eating a mouse hoping you’ll find a fine cheese in its belly. Even if it’s there, and that’s extremely unlikely, it’s not likely to taste much like cheese anymore.*

The analogy did not work for Tae. *Just keep trying.*

Imorelda continued to purr in his arms, but she did go conversationally quiet. Apparently, she was doing as he asked.

Hoping to assist Imorelda, Tae asked questions he thought might elaborate what made khohlar so unique. “How did you learn khohlar?”

“Learn it?” Tem’aree’ay placed her chin in her hands. She showed no discomfort standing so long in conversation. As Tae understood it, elves rarely remained still long enough to bother sitting. When they did, they perched on branches or stumps, rolled in the grass, or talked to one another in movement. “It’s not taught. The knowledge for it exists in the soul. It simply is.”

“Except,” Tae said thoughtfully, trying to arrange his arms so he could hold and stroke Imorelda simultaneously. Ordinarily, standing so long would not have bothered him, either; but, so soon after near-fatal injuries, he felt tiredness pressing him. “. . . if you’re an elfling without an elfin soul.”

Tem’aree’ay nodded. She had clearly considered the situation much longer and harder than most elves would bother. “Even before Ivana’s birth, I wondered about the effects of not receiving a soul filled with many millennia of the ghosts of elfin memory.”

“What did the first elves do?” Matrinka sank to the carpet, folding her legs beneath her, then patted it, indicating Tae should also sit. “They didn’t have a previously used soul to rely upon.”

Tae appreciated the invitation. By sitting first, Matrinka had allowed him to do the same without looking weak. He carefully lowered himself to a crouch, the cat still clutched against him.

“And they thrived.” Tem’aree’ay also lowered her bottom to the floor, leaving the single chair unoccupied. “The clean-wiping of elfin souls is not exact. Some elves have snippets of detailed, prior memory. Most have only a rare flicker of familiarity from time to time. Some seem to have none at all.”

As Imorelda cozied into his lap, Tae used both hands to stroke her, sending loose hairs flying through the sunbeams. “The ones who have none. Do they need to learn khohlar differently?”

Tem’aree’ay closed her eyes, as if to draw mental images on the inner sides of her lids. “Not that I ever noticed.” She opened her eyes and looked at Tae. “Elves don’t analyze things the way humans do. We just do what seems right at the moment and deal with what goes wrong.”

Tae found his head shaking and deliberately stilled it. They would get nowhere unless Tem’aree’ay made use of her two decades living among humans. “You’re going to have to think like a human if you want to learn to communicate with Ivana.” It was bluff. Tae doubted the princess had the thinking capacity for communication or learning much of anything. However, Tae knew of nothing else Tem’aree’ay wanted so much it might allow her to focus her thoughts.

Tae’s words had the desired effect. Tem’aree’ay straightened, leaning slightly forward. “I’m young for an elf, about two hundred twenty-five years by your reckoning.”

Tae forced himself not to smile. “What’s the natural lifespan for elves?”

Tem’aree’ay hesitated, still hindered by her desire to keep her people safe. Then, apparently remembering whom she addressed and the promises they had made, she continued. “It varies widely. I saw one die of old age barely past her third century. The elder known as Captain claims to have lived for six millennia. He knew all of the Cardinal Wizards personally.”

A wordless sound of awe escaped Matrinka, who clearly preferred listening to speaking in this situation.

The enormity of the potential elfin lifespan made it impossible for Tae to estimate. Assuming three hundred years, Tem’aree’ay would compare to a sixty-year-old human; but, given Captain’s span, she would not yet be three. “Can you tell by the speed of maturity when an elf will likely . . . pass on his or her soul?”

Tem’aree’ay’s brow furrowed. She obviously had never considered such a thing. “I . . . don’t think so. We don’t age in a certain progression, the way humans do. I mean, our hair sometimes flecks gray over time, but not so predictably as humans. It’s not uncommon for an elf to have white hair from birth. Mostly, we judge age from eyes, and we don’t count years per se. We do defer to the elders for positions on Council, but that only applies to our most aged. Not all elves survive millennia to take those seats.”

The telling-age-from-eyes issue caught Tae’s curiosity, but he did not delve. It would only divert him from the necessary information and make Tem’aree’ay suspicious. He did not need that knowledge to spy or to assist with Ivana. Wishing to keep the elf talking, he tried to make the conversation pertinent. “How long is an elf a child? Is it possible Ivana’s . . . slowness . . . is related to the more gradual development of elves?”

“I’ve considered that.” Tem’aree’ay went as serious as any human. “It might account for some of her physical awkwardness, assuming she got the worst of both parents when it comes to coordination.” A hand flew to her lips, as if worried she had said something offensive. “By that, I mean the lengthier development of elves together with the . . . less fluid movement of humans.”

I don’t think I’ve even been called a clod more sweetly. Tae nodded encouragement.

But Tem’aree’ay only looked back, apparently having lost the thread of her intended point.

Tae reminded her. “Differences in human and elfin development might account for physical awkwardness.” When a light did not flash in her sapphire eyes, Tae continued. “But not for intelligence?”

Nudged back to her previous explanation, Tem’aree’ay continued as if she had never stopped. “Elves start ‘talking’ about the same actual age as humans. Khohlar comes first. It’s filled with pictures and concepts, and it only requires sending rudimentary thoughts. An elfin child radiates the basics: hunger, thirst, joy, discomfort.”

The image flashed Tae back to an earlier point in the conversation, a question that never got answered. “Ivana can’t use khohlar.” This time, Tae did not ask. “She has never spoken to you that way.”

Tem’aree’ay replied so softly, it took Tae a moment to decipher what she said. “It’s worse.”

Worse? Even after he figured it out, Tae did not know what to make of it. “Worse how?”

“In the last few days, I’ve come to wonder if Ivana can even receive khohlar.”

Tae nodded, then stopped as full understanding overcame him. “How can that be? Even humans hear khohlar. And we have little understanding of the concept and no ability to use it ourselves.”

“Worse,” Matrinka repeated, reminding Tae of Tem’aree’ay’s description. “I can see why it might take someone eighteen years, or longer, to recognize such a unique problem.” She clearly was trying to placate Tem’aree’ay, who had to feel like a failure as a mother.

Now, Tae appreciated Matrinka’s presence. She could deal with the emotional issues while he pursued the facts. “What could cause such a thing?”

All eyes went to Tae, including Imorelda’s. Tae got the sudden feeling he had asked the stupidest question in the history of the universe.

*Even cats can hear it, you moron.*

Tem’aree’ay explained more patiently, “Animals respond to khohlar, even ones who don’t hear sounds. How can we know the cause when it’s never happened before?”

Matrinka squirmed into a more comfortable position. “Are you sure about Ivana?”

“It’s not difficult to test.”

Attempting to redeem his intelligence, Tae guessed, “Just give her the same simple commands she already follows but deliver then as khohlar.”

Tem’aree’ay made a gesture toward Tae to indicate the truth of what he said, then added, “The hardest part was thinking of the possibility. Every living thing can hear khohlar. Every living thing . . . except my daughter.”

Tae tried to fathom what could cause such a defect but realized he could not even explain why he and Matrinka could communicate with Mior and Imorelda. Developing an understanding of mental languages was the exact reason they had come to Tem’aree’ay in the first place.

Tem’aree’ay remained stuck on maternal concerns. “It never occurred to me to worry about such a thing. She’s the only hybrid in the world, so it didn’t bother me when her development lagged more than a year behind Marisole’s. I mean, elves don’t come of age until they’re about a century old. It wasn’t until I saw a human imbecile that I realized how much Ivana resembled him. She seems less an amalgam of human and elf than a simpleton.”

Matrinka cringed. She found it difficult to talk about anyone’s deficiencies, no matter the purpose. “Even if she’s . . . she’s . . . a slow thinker, that might explain why she can’t send khohlar. But she’s obviously smarter than most animals, and you said even they could hear it.”

“Yes.”

Tae knew from raising Subikahn, and from watching other children develop, that babies surrounded by words became more gifted and earlier speakers. From the moment of birth, most elves experienced khohlar flying at them from every direction. Ivana had heard some from her mother but not the immersion she would have gotten had she been raised among elves. Yet, Tae realized, that should not matter. Humans grew up with no exposure to khohlar, and they had no trouble hearing it. Plagued with questions, Tae asked, “Tem’aree’ay, remember I said the alsona and Kjempemagiska had a mental language as well as a spoken one?”

The elf nodded. “Of course, I remember.”

“During the war, did you hear them using it?”

“No.” Tem’aree’ay added, “But I was never actually in the battle. I was on the roof.”

Tae had not heard them from his sickbed, either; but walls appeared to block alsona mindspeak, just as they did his connection with Imorelda. When perched on the open windowsill, Imorelda had managed to relay some of their calls to him. “There’s a limit to how far they carry, but I think you should have heard them from the rooftop.”

Tem’aree’ay sprang to her feet, and her mouth flew open. “What are you saying? That I’m deficient at hearing unspoken languages, and I’ve passed that problem to my daughter?”

As Tae had intended nothing offensive, her reaction took him by surprise. “Not at all. As far as I know, I’m the only human who can hear the enemy’s mind-language.”

*You can’t hear them, either.* Imorelda reminded testily. *You need me.*

*In more ways than you know, my pet,* Tae sent back. *But I’m still trying to keep our connection to you a secret.* For now, he also wanted to protect Matrinka’s ability.

Matrinka added, “I think Tae’s trying to say that humanlike creatures with mental forms of communication may not match up with elfin khohlar.”

Tem’aree’ay sank back to her haunches. “But humans can hear khohlar. Why wouldn’t elves be able to hear . . . ?” She trailed off.

Tae realized they needed a simpler term for “humanlike creatures’ mental form of communication.” “For ease, let’s call the enemies’ spoken language ‘Alsonese’ and their mental language ‘Kjempese.’ I’m sure they have other names for it, but until we know, this will have to do.” He addressed the actual question with a shrug. “The whole point of coming here was to find a common basis for unspoken languages. I think we’re discovering there may not be one.”

Tem’aree’ay put the details together. “Anyone can hear khohlar, but only elves can send it. With Kjempese, however, our enemies are the only ones who can send it or hear it. The exceptions to that rule being you, who can hear both, and Ivana who can’t hear khohlar.”

The elf had summarized the situation well, except for two obvious gaps. “Under certain circumstances, I can also send Kjempese, but I can’t do khohlar. And we don’t know whether or not Ivana can hear or send Kjempese.”

Matrinka looked back and forth between them but added nothing.

The concepts worked easier for Outworlders, like elves and Kjempemagiska, because they had experience with magic and mental languages. For Tae, it seemed like a fourth dimension, the greatest challenge to his natural ability with languages. “Does this all make sense in the context of unspoken languages?”

Tem’aree’ay made a noncommittal gesture and reminded him, “Elves don’t generally analyze things in this kind of detail.” Clearly, she recognized the value of this particular knowledge to Ivana, and her time among humans had taught her to organize some bits of information logically. “The gods also have a mental language. It’s impossible not to hear it if they want you to, and they can send it to as few or as many people as they choose.”

Tem’aree’ay continued, “Demons are the physical embodiment of magic, and I’ve heard they literally penetrate minds. That would allow them to read, or even tamper with, thought and memory as well as communicate.” She added carefully, “The gods can probably do that, too. It’s possible the Cardinal Wizards had that power as well.”

As Tem’aree’ay considered everything she had heard about various forms of mental communication, Tae did not interrupt. One bit of information seemed to jog the next.

“Those rare items imbued with significant chaos can be considered a type of demon as they possess a physical form that contains permanent magic. Legends abound about humans and Outworlders who could communicate with weapons, dwellings, or gemstones, often to their detriment. The one modern example is the Pica Stone. Only the heirs to Béarn’s throne who have been tested know how it works, and the few not driven mad by it aren’t talking. Clearly, the stone communicates with them in some manner that no one else can hear.”

Tae looked at Matrinka. She had taken the tests, failed, yet somehow managed to maintain her sanity.

Matrinka’s nostrils flared, but she added nothing. Clearly, she did not wish to talk about it with Tem’aree’ay or with him. Tae did not press. He had seen the various insanities inflicted on many of her cousins and siblings and refused to disrupt whatever internal defense mechanisms kept her sane.

Tae waited until he felt sure Tem’aree’ay had finished, but not long enough for Matrinka to feel as if she had to fill the subsequent silence with information about her experience with the Pica. “So, there definitely are several different forms of mind-communication.”

Tem’aree’ay tented her inhumanly long fingers. “Yes. But until this week I thought they all had one thing in common: any living thing could hear them. Now, I know that’s not true.”

Suddenly, the intensity of Tem’aree’ay’s previous focus and her new concern for her daughter made sense. Though disconcerted by the mere idea, Tae knew he had to help Ivana. Doing so might give him the understanding he needed to hone the bond with Imorelda, grant him the tools he wanted to unravel the Kjempemagiska’s language, and even help a previously hopeless princess. “When can I start working with Ivana?”

Tem’aree’ay’s nearly ubiquitous grin grew radiant.