The following day we made little progress, forced to halt several times to wait out a clot of weather even the destriers ridden by the Church’s knights refused to push through. I hated the inactivity; it made me far too aware of the thickness that was pooled around us, stagnant and close. I barely felt the rain for the weight of it. How dearly I longed to be free! And my companions shared my desire, if their huddled shapes and hung heads were any indication. Even the elves glowed with a febrile light, unable to muster a beauty less raw in the stormlight that barely filtered through the cloud-cover. By the time we reached our campsite for the night, none of us were up to conversation. My spar with Last was a bitter thing, more felt than seen as I struggled to find him through the cold sheets of water falling on us. Chester did not even try, preferring to hide under the paltry shelter of the tents we’d taken to erecting when a better site was unavailable.

In the morning, the rain subsided, leaving us again with a peaceless, moist wind. I suffered it in silence, aware of but not actively listening to the murmur of conversation the others were conducting in front of me.

What Ivy and Nine managed at our noon stop was no less than an ambush, then, for all the preparation I’d had for it.

“I want a name,” said the genet.

Kelu’s ears stood so straight they trembled. Even Almond came around from behind me, wide-eyed.

“Of course?” I said. I managed a smile. “I was not hoping to call you Nine for the remainder of your life.”

Her dark ears sagged, then pricked forward through an effort. “I said that wrong. I have a name I’d like to be called. If you would allow it.”

I glanced at Ivy, who said, “We’ve been talking about it on our rides.”

“And what is it you want to be known as?” I asked the Pearl.

She lifted her chin. She was bedraggled from the constant rain, and her necklace had suffered for its long use, the pine needles nearly all gone. But in that moment she looked every inch a queen. This was her moment. Her moment of self-determination, of agency, of choice. “I want to be called Emily.”

A brief and utter silence. Then Kelu said, “That’s not a genet name.”

“What is a genet name?” the Pearl—Emily—said.

Seven, who’d been sitting beside the drake, said, “Nine is a genet name. And Kelu. The kind of names you give animals.” She glanced at Kelu. “Should we all call ourselves Kelu? Maybe we can use the human word for it so they know what they’re naming you every time they call for you.”

Kelu’s ears flushed red, the silver inked moon and stars on their insides showing in sharp relief. Her name meant “slave” in the Angel’s Gift. She’d kept it in defiance of any attempt to dismiss or soften her status. “We don’t name ourselves after humans.”

“Why not?” Emily asked. “I like the name Emily. It’s pretty. It doesn’t remind me of the cages. It’s a person’s name.”

“Exactly,” Kelu said. “It’s a human name. We’re not humans. Or elves. We should come up with our own names. All you’ve done is go from letting an elf name you to letting a human name you.”

Both Pearls put their ears back at that. Emily said, “You are just envious, because you still let elves call you slave. You wish you were as brave as I am, to no longer let that affect me.”

“If you think we’re no longer elven slaves, think again,” Kelu answered, showing teeth. “As long as we’re forced to rely on them to beget more of us, we’ll always be their slaves. Anything else is wishful thinking.”

The genet sniffed and looked at me. “Will you call me Emily, Master?”

“If that’s the name you’ve chosen, of course.”

She nodded. More hesitant, she glanced at Seven, who said, “I like the name.”

Relieved, the genet smiled, ears pricking up. “May I ride again with Mistress Ivy, Master?”

“If the two of you wish?”

Ivy smiled. “I like the company.”

Emily’s purr was audible even from a distance. “I will make the horse ready.” She trotted off, tail swinging behind her.

“Ridiculous,” Kelu muttered.

“I thought you would be pleased?” Almond said, tentative. “You didn’t think she would have the initiative to make a choice.”

“She didn’t make that choice,” Kelu said. “She heard some fancy story from a human who treated her kindly and latched onto it.” Her tail lashed. “It’s just exchanging one master for the other.”

“I don’t think so,” Seven said, slowly. “I think she could have chosen not to take a name. Or she could have asked the Master for a new name. But she didn’t. Even if the Mistress suggested it, she decided it was a good suggestion.”

“Of course she did,” Kelu said. “And you yourself have explained why.” At our looks, she pointed after Ivy and said, “The Mistress.” And then she padded off, still seething, to find Radburn and... God knew. Inflict herself on him in some violent debate. Hopefully he’d accommodate her. I rubbed my brow, wishing the sky wouldn’t lour so.

“Do you think she’s right?” Seven asked Almond. “Do you think we are trading one master for another?”

Almond shook her head.

“Master?” Seven asked.

“I think Kelu is correct,” I said. “Whether or not Emily made her choice freely, so long as you rely upon us to thrive, you will never be free.”

Much later, after we’d resumed our ride, Almond squeezed my middle gently and whispered, “Don’t worry, Master. We know you will be kind to us, and never withhold what we need to survive.”

I rested my hand on her arm, but felt no better for the reassurance.

Another few days of riding through the grim rain, camping in the open, reduced us all. When Ivy dragged her bedroll over to mine I had no heart to object for propriety’s sake, but slept with her under my arm, nose in her hair, needing the warmth. My companions were so exhausted none of them commented, save Guy, who managed a halfhearted, “Hell, I’d sleep in your bedroll if you could magic your skin to emit heat.”

Radburn had looked momentarily wistful, but I’d said, “I’m afraid I haven’t a “Morgan becomes a campfire” spell in me.”

“More’s the pity. Only way you’ll get me to sleep with you.”

That won him one guffaw—Chester, I thought, too tired to keep from reacting to a joke that would otherwise have struck him as too vulgar. Even Radburn huffed once, and I heard the smile in it.

Riding through yet another drizzle, I found Eyre at my side and commented, “You are regretting accompanying me, no doubt.”

“Me?” He smiled. “No. Though I have had less arduous journeys.” He laughed at my sour look and said, “Muster your resolve, my student. Making history is rarely comfortable.”

I said, suddenly, “My captain believes that my mind is inflexible, and that this is impeding my learning.”

“He said that?”

I nodded, trying to keep the rim of my hood from dripping water into my eyes. “He is speaking of my physical education, but... I fear it may be applicable to my magical one as well. I am purportedly the prince of elves, sir, and with that title comes power that should be manifesting despite the immortality. And yet here I am, and I can do no magic. I have a staff—” I glanced behind the cloak hiding the genets from the weather, seeing it tied onto the back of the saddle. “—and I cannot wield it. What if he’s right? What if I am holding on to being human in a fashion that prevents me from accepting....”

“The inconceivable?” he suggested.

“The inevitable.”

“That being your descent into tyranny and depravity?”

Should I have been stunned that he might see to the heart of my fears so accurately? I shuddered. “You have not met the elves.”

“No,” Eyre agreed. “And perhaps power does corrupt. I think it more likely the effect you’re observing has more to do with a society forced abruptly to seek meaning in a life without death.”

“You think merely not dying is enough to render people insane?” I asked. “Most people, on consultation, would probably prefer not to die.”

“They think of the alternative and fear the unknown. Life is preferable to the uncertainty of death for those who have less than perfect confidence in the Church’s promises... and even for those who have, change is distressing.” Eyre shook his head. “No, Morgan. You are the one with the observational evidence. You tell me how those who have immortality feel about it.”

I thought of Kemses. “The sane ones long for endings.”

Eyre nodded. “Taking counsel of your fears is not necessarily ill-advised. It is when you take no other counsel in addition that you suffer. You are clearly seeking reassurance that a moral life is still open to you... I hope you don’t find it presumptuous if I suggest that this choice is, and always will be, yours to decide. So long as you strive to uphold your principles, you are doing as much as any other upright man.”

“And if I fail....”

“Then you fail. Like the rest of us.” He sighed. “Permit me a suggestion?” When I didn’t say anything, he offered, voice gentle, “You allow this fear to trammel you, my student. So long as you are afraid to be an elf, you will have access to none of their advantages. Is placating your fears so important that you would willingly entertain that loss?”

My fingers spasmed on the pommel. Was that what I was doing? Holding back from embracing magic because of what it might turn me into? And yet the royal gifts were so much more powerful than an average elf’s. What sort of monster might I become, if monster I became, with the gift to compel in my arsenal?

“As usual,” I said, “you have given me a great deal to consider.”

“Then I will allow you the opportunity to do so. But you should know that you have my every confidence.”

I looked up at him, found him considering me with a gratifying lack of awe. I might have presented him with the culmination of all his scholarly aims, but I had become, once again, Morgan Locke, student and apprentice folklorist. I breathed out a long sigh as he urged his mount ahead. While I was not pleased at the possibility that I was sabotaging my own progress in matters magical, I found myself reassured. If Eyre could return to treating me as the man I’d been so quickly, surely all was not lost.

The rain returned in force and by evening we were once again reduced to shivering and huddling together for warmth. Even Guy and Radburn dragged their bedrolls close. I slept with Ivy pressed up against my chest, but the genets chose to distribute their damp attentions: Emily to Ivy’s back, and Seven to Chester, surprising me. Kelu decided to prevail upon Radburn’s charity.

Almond, of course, would not leave me.

“I feel it too, Master,” she whispered to me as I settled her.

“Feel what?”

“The way nothing is flowing.” Her shoulders were hunched, and rain streamed off her nose in rivulets that excited my pity. As miserable as the rest of us were, at least skin dried faster than fur. “Everything is clenched like a fist.”

I sighed and tucked her beneath my cloak. “It will pass. It must.”