“Eyre should be along shortly,” Chester said, adjusting the logs in the fireplace. “I ordered a tea tray brought up.”

“You are everything that is hospitable,” I said, having a seat. “And a better host than ever I was.”

“Ah, it’s nothing. If you had been groomed from birth to take over a commercial empire you would have had such social niceties bred into your bones as well.”

I eyed him. “Chester, my father is an ambassador. I was reared with awareness of such social niceties. Your cognizance of them is, I assure you, above and beyond the norm.”

He hesitated; perhaps he was thinking that in my condition I’d been hard-pressed to present a courteous facade at all, much less notice the details of social convention. As always, he was too sensitive to say so. “Maintaining something the size of my family’s ventures requires rather more politicking than one might assume. It was necessary to grasp everything that might give us advantage.”

I thought of Princess Minda. “I can see where that might be so.”

“How did your evening outing go?”

“Well enough,” I said. “Though I’m glad to be quit of midnight wanderings. I have it on good authority that I glow at night.”

Chester turned his laugh into a credible cough. “Yes, well. I suppose there are compensations for the more regrettable aspects of your appearance.”

He could joke about it now, had not even flinched at the sight of me when I turned up this morning after checking on my guards and the drake. They were in fine fettle, all of them, even the mount; a great comfort that had been, to spend a pleasurable hour combing out the fire-warm mane, and commune with the beast. The cold hadn’t slowed it a whit, and its breath when it had nuzzled me remained hot and dry, smelling of ash. Someone had installed it in the stables, in one of the stalls reserved for visiting studs, and the stablehands were keeping it well watered, and had left what looked like the remains of some butchered carcass—of what I couldn’t guess, for the drake had scoured it to the bone. I’d expected some stench from the remains, but the pile had been as clean as if it had been fire-polished.

The elves had also been well-provided for. Last had no complaints, which struck me as unnatural given his men’s confinement... but they were all content to wait on my plan, and though they did not like idleness I could just apprehend the nature of their patience: to tarry a few days, even a few months, in this fashion was of no moment to people who had lived hundreds of years already. Their conception of the import of time was very different from ours—from what mine would have to become.

No, Chester had taken very good care of us. He’d even had my clothes altered while I slept, and how he’d communicated the changes in my physique without sending someone to measure me I had not the first idea. Perhaps the same eye that could gauge a shipment to the box without checking the manifest could also be put to work on the loose cloth around the waist of a friend.

“You are quiet,” Chester observed.

“Conserving my strength.” I managed a wan smile. “I am about to confront my master professor after abandoning my education precipitously, along with my partially completed dissertation. I must imagine I am due for the scolding of my academic career.”

“Put that way...”

A smart rap on the door to his parlor distracted us both. A man in livery said, “Doctor John Eyre, sir,” and withdrew. I stood as Chester reached past me to shake the man’s hand. He seemed unchanged: the same tall man in the sober garb of a professor, brown coat and waistcoat, crisp white shirt against dark gold skin, with spectacles perched in front of incisive hazel eyes. How strange to see him again after all this time away! And yet... less than two semesters, was it? To think of all I had lived and learned in that time, more than ever I had in the university, God help me.

“...yes, it was kind of you, thank you, but I would like to know how it is my student came to be issuing invitations from your....”

Eyre trailed off as he glimpsed me past Chester’s shoulder. His hand fell to his side as he straightened... slowly, very slowly.

I had seen the effect of my countenance now on many familiar faces: had seen joy on my mother’s, and shock on most everyone else’s, and discomfort, and even Guy’s casual acceptance.

None of that prepared me for the rapture that bloomed in Eyre’s eyes, spreading until he seemed more wont to glow than I. The rapture, and the relief, and the shock: it was as if he had seen something far greater than an elf out of legend. Such an expression belonged to the apprehension of angels, and to see it directed at me....

So involved was I with that disquiet that I almost missed the undulation of his body. It was our only warning before the man who had shaped the majority of my adult education swooned like a woman laced too tightly into her stays. I leaped forward and caught one of his elbows as Chester grabbed the other, and together we guided him to a chair.

“I’ll fetch the tea tray directly,” Chester said, concerned. “And the smelling salts.”

“Go,” I said.

In the ensuing silence I crouched in front the chair, listening to the pop and hiss of sap burning in the fireplace. At length, Eyre opened his eyes, beheld me, and distressed me immensely by bringing forth silent tears. They shimmered but did not fall, spangling his lashes.

“God in the firmament,” he whispered. “To have lived my life in the hopes of this moment, knowing it would never come... and to have come into it, all unexpected....” His eyes lifted, traveled the fall of my hair past my cheek to where I’d carelessly tucked it behind one pointed ear. “You’re real, you’re truly, well and truly real. And I have had the privilege and honor of making your acquaintance.”

Almost I glanced over my shoulder to see whom he was addressing. “Professor,” I said, low. “You know who I am, yes?” When he met my eyes, I added, “Your delinquent student? Who gadded off mid-term without so much as an explanation for my extended leave of absence? I... I don’t even think I returned the folio from Vigil.”

That prompted a frown. “Yes, I know. What I don’t understand is... why didn’t you tell me? Was it a test? Your acting was superb; I never suspected—”

I held up a hand to still him. “No, please. Professor. I didn’t know. I was the victim of an enchantment instilled at birth, and had not the first notion until I was brought to the Archipelago.”

“Of course,” he breathed. “It would have had to have been so.” He lifted a hand, stopped himself before he could touch my face. The wonder in his eyes pained me, and yet... this at least I could understand, just a little. I was still a scholar, under the patina of elven prince. I remembered my own wonder at the sight of the Vigil folio. So I captured that hand before he could retract it fully and cupped it between both of mine, and he started. Against my fingertips his pulse thrashed beneath the skin.

“I am real,” I said. “I pledge it.”

The tears did run over then, and he did not protest the intimacy.

Chester found us thus, and I couldn’t recall the last time I’d welcomed the smell of tea and scones quite so powerfully. He set out three cups and poured, and added something to one of them—apple brandy, maybe, from the smell. This he handed to Eyre. “Sir. You look as if you could use fortification.”

“Kindly said,” Eyre replied. He accepted the handkerchief Chester passed him as well. “I apologize, Mister St. Clary. I am rather undone.”

“With good cause,” Chester said. “You are not the first to have had a bit of a shock at Locke’s reappearance.”

I eyed him. “That was an appalling pun.”

Chester grinned. “And here I’d thought it subtle enough to pass for good taste.”

I snorted.

“An indelicate sound from an elf! I believe I have won the point. Here, have a scone or three. The clotted cream is not to be wasted and this...” He peered into one of the jars. “Is some sort of preserve.” He sniffed. “No, I beg your pardon. Lemon marmalade.” He passed the plates. “Come, let us do justice to the service.”

He was wise, Chester; though Eyre did not cease to award me awed looks, the homey business of eating and drinking settled him enough to ask after my adventures. I drew in a breath, catching Chester’s sympathetic look, and launched once again into the tale. As Eyre listened some of the shine left his eyes, and I could see his formidable mind once again re-engage.

“Extraordinary,” he said when I’d finished. He was stirring sugar into his third cup of tea, having failed to notice the judicious dollops of brandy Chester had been applying to it throughout the story. I could barely imagine how sweet the resulting potion was. “To have a legended elven lord walking amongst us disguised all this time... and with him none the wiser for his true parentage! Save perhaps your interest in folklore...mayhap that was some inner voice urging you toward your own nature.”

“I doubt it,” I said. “My shock when I discovered my alternate identity was profound.”

“You can hardly call it an alternate identity,” Chester said. “It’s your own blood and bone, Locke. No matter what you call yourself or believe yourself to be, you gleam like the halo on a saint.”

“Don’t draw such a comparison, I beg you,” I said, disquieted. “I have seen elves of such malevolence that a demon would be ashamed to keep them company. Fair face does not equate to hallowed heart.”

“True. But it will certainly mislead the majority of people.” Chester refilled his cup, forgoing the brandy. “But I suppose it’s inadvisable to apply human logic to elven affairs.”

“We’re not an entirely—”

“Different species?” Chester lifted a brow, though his smile was rueful and, I thought, a little sad.

“We are not so different, really,” I amended. “Elves love and hate and fear. They are capable of kindnesses and cruelties, just as people are.”

“As people are,” Eyre said, eyeing me with an expression I hadn’t seen in far too long, the one that encouraged me to examine my own premises.

I shook my head. “Forgive me if I remain incapable of claiming either heritage fully. I don’t feel any different, and yet....”

“And yet,” Eyre agreed. His mouth quirked. “So... Vigil.”

“And soon,” I agreed. “If it can be done soon. I imagine it must with the season advancing. I have heard making the journey north in winter is brutal.”

“Brutal is overstating the matter. Uncomfortable, though, I’ll grant you.” Eyre rubbed his nose with the curve of a finger, frowning. “Two weeks to prepare will suffice, if a trifle precipitously.”

I tried not to wince, thinking of Last and his men in confinement, and my poor genets, and the drake... and my brother. “And what will two weeks buy me, then?”

“Myself and some of my colleagues,” Eyre replied, sipping. “Gear and provisions and mounts. The sort of thing you’d want if you intend to be on the road for some time. Vigil is near the border of the country, but the wilderness spreads down past it. Once we’re a fortnight out from Evertrue there won’t be much by way of civilization, and while it’s not winter yet autumn is not the easiest season to travel this far north.”

“How long’s the journey, then?” I asked.

“Near a month, depending on the pace. I’ve made the trip several times and it varies wildly based on the weather.”

“It has been cold,” Chester murmured. “I hope we’re not looking at an early winter.”

“What do you plan when you arrive?” Eyre asked me. “Have your relations told you of any specific troves?”

“I fear not. All I know is that what I seek should be available in the athenaeum, so long as it remains intact.”

“A great deal of Vigil is intact.” Eyre set his tea cup down. “Unfortunately, that great deal of it is also sealed. Without some key—or some magic?” He glanced at me, interrogative, but I shook my head.

“Well. We shall have to see, then.” Eyre chuckled. “It will not be the first time we’ve been stymied by a decided lack of data.”

“The one thing I cannot afford is to be stymied,” I said. “Too much depends on the information hidden in Vigil’s library.”

“We’ll find it,” Chester said. “Whatever it is you need, Locke. We’ll find a way.”

I granted him a smile, grateful for his faith but unable to match it. He flashed me a look of great serenity before a servant distracted him—something about an unexpected caller.

“I’ll be back shortly,” he said, and departed to see to it.

I turned my cup on its saucer to give my hands something to do. “Sir, you are still staring.”

“And I apologize, but I fear it will take me some time to win past my astonishment.”

If it had been astonishment that moved him, I might have weathered it better. But awe... awe I could not countenance. Amhric might have been worthy of such a look, but I knew myself better. I was human in my heart, and had bloodstained hands—I had lain with a sorcerer and been raped by a petty lord. I could not count the ways I was sullied and weary. I looked at him, then, and said, “Regrettably, my dissertation is incomplete.”

“Your dis—” He stopped abruptly, laughed. “Yes, all right. You feel you must prove to me you are still the same man. I understand.”

“Not just the same man,” I said. “But your student, sir. I would thank you not to place me on a pedestal. I am not your better.”

“You were never my lesser, either,” Eyre replied, fond. At my startled glance, he said, “Oh, you had to have known... didn’t you? You were one of my finest students, Morgan. It was an honor and privilege to teach such an enthusiastic and insightful mind. Perhaps it was your illness that taught you your tenacity and discipline, but whatever its impetus, I have rarely seen its equal.”

Such a stunning compliment, and all I could think to say was, “You speak as if my schooling is done.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked. “You no longer have the luxury of studying great deeds. Now you must enact them.”

I rubbed my temple, wishing the incipient headache away. “It has never been in my temperament to be a hero.”

“Nonsense.” Eyre tapped the table between us. “When have you ever been free to develop any sort of temperament, besides that of an invalid? And that is preparation enough: you fooled all of us for years, Morgan. None of us had the first idea that you were in such dire extremis. The strength it took for you to fight the debilitating effects of your enchantment will be wonderful preparation for the tasks before you.”

“I would have preferred to finish my degree, marry, have a child or three, and live quietly until I died,” I said, my heart squeezing painfully. How long had I worn this shape? Less than a month? And already I could hear Kemses’s voice whispering, longing: To die! To be able to die!

Eyre snorted. “So save the elven nation, then finish your degree, marry, have a child or sixty, and live quietly until you die a century or two from now.”

I glanced at him. “And are you prepared to leave off the study of history and become one of its participants?”

“We all participate in history,” Eyre murmured, considering me. “Whether we are remembered or not.”

His eyes were resting on me again. I looked away. “Am I so changed then, that you cannot help but stare?”

“It’s not the sight of you. It’s the smell. And the feel.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Eyre’s smile faded. “You smell... like a night breeze off cold water. Something vast and deep with poetry: salt like tears. Pale and clean like jasmine. Sweet and bitter.”

Now it was I who stared at him. He ignored me to finish off his tea; perhaps the brandy was making him strange.

“And the feel?” I prompted.

“Your skin is softer than any living thing I’ve touched. Your hands over mine....” He shook his head. “You are made of rarified stuff, my student.”

“I am just a man,” I murmured, and finished before he could object, “If you would see rarified stuff, you should rest your gaze on my brother.”

“The king? Yes, I imagine he is another class of matter entirely.” Eyre tipped his head to one side, stretching his neck, then rose. “I wonder where your friend has got off to, though? I should away if we are to leave soon. There are arrangements to be made.”

“If you need money to purchase anything—” I said, standing, but Eyre shook his head, and the merriment in his eyes reminded me of older days.

“To go to Vigil?” He laughed. “When half the faculty would give an arm to make the journey? No, money we won’t need. I’ll apply to the dean and have the department underwrite the expedition. We are nothing if not scholars, ah? There is more than enough to occupy us at such a site.”

I grinned. “Just so.” I offered him my hand which he took after hesitating. Once I had it firmly clasped, I pulled him to me and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. His breathing hitched, jerking his ribcage against mine, and then he eased into the embrace, his head against my shoulder.

“Like the sea,” he murmured.

“Only because you have been weeping,” I replied. “It is your own tears you smell.” I stepped back. “I’ll send for someone to bring you to the door—”

“No need. I remember the way.” He turned to the door... and halted abruptly.

Chester had reappeared, his face gone pale and stiff and his gait awkward with tension. With him was a priestess. Or at least, I realized it was a priestess later, for one saw her face and could not look elsewhere. Eyes darker than cracks in stone, and as impenetrable, and a mouth firm and shaped by secrets. Her smooth brown countenance was an enigma: appropriate, as the white, silver, and sanguine mantle over her shoulders marked her as the Vessel of the Covenant. Among the holy orders there was no one to equal her in rank, save her male equivalent, the Sacred Escutcheon.

There was an inevitability to her being the most high of all the priests in Troth. Everything about her bespoke power.

She was younger than I’d expected. She was also carrying what looked like a covered birdcage, cradled in dark hands.

“The Vessel,” Chester said, and now I knew he was shaken; normally his introductions were executed with flawless courtesy. “Locke, she’s come looking for you.”

“For me?”

“For you,” she agreed, and she had a smooth contralto, rich and practiced. “Because you have run out of time, my lord. The demons are coming.”