High above Ariella's head, a mere speck of a lark soared and caroled in the azure sky, its song descending in a sweet rain of silver notes. Beneath her bare feet, soft grass studded with meadowsweet and tiny clover blossoms flowed cool and velvety. Ariella ran mostly for the joy of release, but partly from guilt—if she got out of earshot of the Manor quickly enough, she would be able to say in truth that she hadn't heard Magda calling her.

And inevitably, her chaperone would call, as soon as she realized that Ariella was not at the loom in the solar, at her embroidery frame in her room, or her fine sewing in the garden. Magda was supposed to be educating her—

Except that she doesn't teach me anything that hasn't to do with a needle, Ariella thought with youthful scorn. Everything I've learned about herbs and simples came from the monks at the Abbey. And everything I've learned about the forest I learned by myself, with no one to teach me. So there! Magda had become more fretful, more insistent of late that her charge "behave as a proper lady." Perhaps it was the advent of her sixteenth birthday that had brought all this nonsense on—Magda seemed to place great significance on it, though as far as Ariella could see, one more birthday made no difference at all to her. Her Papa treated her the same, the serfs and servants had not changed towards her. Only Magda acted as though sixteen years meant something portentous.

So Ariella ran through the meadow to escape her tormentor, the single-minded old woman who tried to keep her pent up inside the dark, chill manor or confined to the stiflingly manicured garden in the center courtyard. She ran, and she hoped that today she could outrun that unwelcome call of, "Lady Ariella! This is unseemly!"

"Behaving as a proper lady" did not include discarding her hennin headdress and veil, heavily embroidered linen gown, chemise, leather shoes and stockings, donning an old, threadbare, homespun dress and kilting it up above her knees, then running off bare-legged, bareheaded and barefooted to the forest. Proper behavior required too much of one who had run free since she had been able to run at all.

And if a lady could not course through the wild forest surrounding her home, then she did not want to be a lady.

Ariella reached the safety of the forest and ducked beneath an overhanging bough, not even the least out of breath. She paused for a moment among the shadows and peered through a screen of leaves across the meadow to the Manor.

The stone-walled building slumbered behind its moat, with a single sleepy guard standing watch on the wall and a pair of swans gliding undisturbed on the waters. She breathed a shallow sigh. If luck be with me, Magda is safely asleep, never knowing that I am not where she believes me to be. If Magda had gone off to take her nap, she'd not awaken until her maidservant came to summon her to the evening meal. By then, Ariella would be safely home, and if there was nothing to show in the way of fine work for the passing of the hours, Magda would only chide her for day-dreaming the time away.

Now that she was safely within the invisible walls of her sylvan sanctuary, Ariella sat down on a drift of last year's leaves and took the time to braid her hair. When she was done, she bound up the end of the shining golden tail, as thick as her wrist and as long as her arm, with a bit of leather thong she fished out of the left-side pocket tied about her waist. Her two pockets bulged with her pilfered stores, and Magda would have had a litter of kittens if she'd known that Ariella frequently ransacked the stillroom to get her treasures.

In her mind she heard Magda's shrill voice, cracking as it always did when the old woman grew agitated. "Those simples are for humans, not the beasts of the field! God have mercy, that I should be cursed with the task of civilizing such a fool of a girl!"

It was hard not to feel resentment towards the old busybody, who grudged every leaf of plantain and drop of cordial as if she and not Ariella had been the one who'd gathered and produced the remedies kept in the still- room. I could understand her attitude if she'd been the one working all winter distilling essences and blending tinctures— but surely if I made these things, I should be allowed to decide to use them!

Ariella sighed again, this time deeply, as she slipped through the tangle of bushes and briars as easily as a bit of mist, rarely catching so much as a thread of her skirt on a thorn. But after all, she had plenty of practice to learn to move so surely here. That was one thing that Magda could never say, that she was clumsy.

Bringing Magda here to take charge over her had been her father's idea, and a poor one Ariella thought it was. She guessed that it had been in response to that minstrel's distasteful interest not long after she'd turned twelve when her shape had taken on strange new curves and she'd outgrown the bodices of her gowns almost overnight. He'd only tried to kiss her hand, for heaven's sake! Oh, and he'd made moon-calf eyes at her, and sung love-songs at her, but that was hardly anything to fret over. I haven't needed a nursemaid since I was four, and I don't need one now, Ariella thought rebelliously, passing crab- wise between two close-growing trees and coming out on a deer-trail. As if I couldn't take care of myself with a cheeky mountebank! Aye, or anyone else, for that matter! She knew she'd only to whistle anywhere on the Manor grounds, and no matter where they were, her father's pack of mastiffs would come running to her side, ready to defend her against all threats. Why, not even an armored knight would take his chances against six full-grown mastiffs, much less a silly singer! And for all that she was slender and willow-slim, she was strong, and not the kind of swooning simpleton who wouldn't be willing to pick up a poker or a dagger and defend herself, if it came to that.

Her father's supposed reason for calling his aged cousin Magda out of her retirement in a convent to chaperone his daughter was that he wanted her to learn "manners" and be more "ladylike." Why he should wish such a thing, Ariella had no idea, for she knew as certainly as she knew the sun would rise each day that her Papa had no intention of giving her up in marriage to anyone, no matter how highborn—and she was in full agreement with his plans. Why, how could she ever leave this place, when there was so much that needed tending, her Papa not the least? She had long since learned all there was to know about the proper management of Swan Manor, although since the hiring of the new major domo, there was precious little management she needed to deal with.

If only she could persuade him to send silly Magda away again, she would be perfectly content in every way. I have the Abbey library, I have Papa, and I have the forest. What more could anyone need? Oh, she'd heard enough ballads and tales from minstrels and bards to know how a young maiden was supposed to spend her days—dreaming of a romance, sighing after love, waiting for a husband. She didn't have the words to express how much of a waste of time that seemed to her.

She realized that she was all bound up in her annoyance and growing angry, and she stopped dead in her tracks, then, right in the middle of the game-trail. I have to stop this, she scolded herself. I'm going to frighten them off.

She closed her eyes and cleared her mind, concentrating on the moment and nothing more.

First, the scent of the forest, green and cool, with hints of resin and a waft of old, dead leaves. Then the feel of the trail beneath her feet, soft with leaf-litter. Last, the sounds all around her, the songs of larks and starlings, the chirp of sparrows, the calling of crows and rooks, the trill of wrens, the chattering of squirrels—the rustle of leaves in the breeze—the creak of branches and the snapping of twigs.

When she felt calm and at peace, when all of her annoyance with Magda was gone—that was when she felt the first soft touch on her foot.

She opened her eyes and looked down, and as she expected, there was a young rabbit gazing mournfully up at her, one ear torn and bleeding freely, the marks of sharp teeth visible. At a guess, he had escaped from the jaws of a stoat.

With a bit of waste wool to pad the ear, a bit of soothing ointment, and grass plaited into string to bind it all up, the rabbit was soon on his way. But before she was done with her work, she already had a gathering about her feet of three more patients: a hedgehog with an injured paw, a squirrel with a gashed side, and another rabbit, this one limping with a broken leg.

There were no more small animals waiting for her ministrations when she had finished with these three. She waited to see if any more would appear, but none did, and she walked on until she came to the river, where, by custom, she tended the larger creatures and the hunters.

There was an unvoiced truce among the wounded; she had never seen an injured animal attacked by another in her presence, although she very well knew that many of these creatures would not hesitate a moment to kill and eat each other in different circumstances. She often wondered about that, but nothing she had witnessed had given her an answer.

Magic, she thought with content mingled with wonder. That must be the answer. It felt strange to be in the presence of magic, and stranger still to be the one conjuring it. But it was dangerous too; scores of tales told her how dangerous it was to be known as a witch or a magician.

She heard the river long before she saw it, rushing beyond the screen of the trees, cooling the breeze with its breath. There was a great gray wolf waiting for her by the riverside, and when she approached him—carefully, for experience told her that animals in pain sometimes snapped at her if she startled them—he held his mouth open for her to see the broken, abscessed tooth that must have been causing him agony.

"Oh, you poor thing!" she exclaimed involuntarily, for she had suffered from a similar affliction as a child and knew how much it must hurt. But this case would require more of her "special" talent than usual; animals usually suffered silently beneath her ministrations as she eased pain, but nothing would keep such a dangerous beast quiet as she inflicted more pain than he already suffered. Being bitten while trying to help did not figure into her plans.

Gently, she bent down and she placed one hand on his head, and concentrated all of her thoughts on one thing. Sleep—

The wolf resisted her at first—it went entirely against his natural instincts to make himself so vulnerable without the protection of the pack around him—but at last, with a sigh, his head drooped, his legs buckled, and he dropped to the ground. She knelt beside him, making certain that he was not going to awaken until she was ready for him to do so. He would not feel what she did to him until she was finished, and then he would have relief instead of nagging pain.

Now she did what she had to—using the small version of a horseshoe-nail-puller she had coaxed the blacksmith into making for her, she clamped the iron jaws about the rotten stump of a tooth, braced the wolf's head between her feet, and pulled. She strained her arms until they hurt, and at last the tooth tore free of the jaw, and pus and blood oozed out.

She had her work cut out for her this time. Only when the tooth was gone, and she had used her magic to reduce the swelling and pain, and the infected socket was cleansed with brandy and packed with bread-mold and spider-webs, did Ariella wake the wolf as gently as she had put him to sleep.

He leapt up from her lap as if he'd been stung, and sped off into the forest without a backward glance. She didn't mind; none of her sylvan patients ever gave any evidence that they felt gratitude for her ministrations. She'd been hurt and disappointed at first, especially in the excitement of learning that her special gift with the animals of the Manor-farm extended to the animals of the forest, but she had gradually come to realize that the fact that they came to her at all was a mark of supreme trust.

After the wolf came a fallow doe, and after the doe, a hawk with a broken talon, and a wildcat with sick kittens. As the cat left, her kittens feeling well enough now to frisk behind her, Ariella dangled her feet in the cool water and gazed out on the river, a sense of lassitude and content coming over her.

Only one person in the entire Manor knew of her abilities, the mute and half-witted dog-boy who cosseted, fed, tended, and slept with his charges, for the dogs were the first who had come to her to be cured. She was wise enough not to be caught by anyone else; she might have gotten by, dosing the animals with herbs, but if anyone had ever seen her heal illnesses and injuries by touch alone, as she had with the hawk and the kittens—then she could find herself in a great deal of difficulty.

Such healings made her tired and sleepy, however, and it was good to rest against the trunk of a willow with her feet in the water, and watch sun-dazzle dancing over the surface.

She was half-asleep, and thought it was a dream, when the slick-shining, handsome black stallion rose out of the river before her and moved into the shallows to stand at her feet, tossing his head impatiently.

She studied him dreamily as he waded through the sparkling water towards her, diamond-drops falling from his streaming mane and tail and rolling down his heaving sides. His nostrils flared nervously, and he vibrated with suppressed energy. So dark it was blue-black, his satin coat gleamed, highlighted by more gem-drops of water. She gazed at him without moving, unwilling to break the dream, until he shoved her leg impatiently with his nose, making it clear that this was no dream.

With a squeak of surprise, she jumped up. The stallion still stood before her, hock-deep in the water, glaring at her with furious scarlet eyes. He tossed his head and trumpeted an angry call that rang and echoed up and down the river, startling the birds in the tree above her into explosive flight.

This was no farm-horse, strayed this way by accident. This stallion was wild—full of rage—and dangerous.

She tried to touch him with her thoughts, to soothe him as she had so many other wild, pain-maddened creatures—and met a barrier as implacable as the stone walls of the Manor.

Met it? That was too tame—she slammed into it abruptly, leaving her as dazed for a moment as if she had run headlong into a rock cliff.

She shook her head, trying to clear it, as she clutched the trunk of the tree beside her to keep from falling. When she could see again, she stared into those half-mad eyes and swallowed.

A startled thought flashed through her mind. This isn't just a horse—

:of course I'm not a horse, foolish little mortal child,: a strange and imperious voice snarled inside her head, making her start again.:Now get your wits about yon and help me!:

"Help you?" she replied faintly. "How?"

For answer, the stallion raised his left forefoot out of the water. In shocking contrast to his stunning perfection, that foot was swollen to three times its normal size.

There were times when hurt or sickness seized her; impelled her past her fear, past her ability to think, forcing her to reach out and heal. She had no choice at those rimes—and this was one of them, in spite of the fact that memory had supplied sudden and frightening recognition of the creature before her.

As the stallion had said, he was no horse. He was a riverhorse, a Kelpie, and deadly to humans. By all reports, Kelpies hated mortals, and would do anything to rid the forest of them. If he'd had a choice, she would not be standing before him now, she would be drowning in the fastest part of the river, lured there by his own magic.

Be sensible!she told herself sharply. If he wants help, he isn't going to hurt you, is he?

As if she had any choice—her power responded to his own magic and need in a way that overwhelmed her conscious reservations.

Before the Kelpie had the opportunity to react, she reached out against her own will and grasped the injured forefoot, and quick examination by touch proved that the Kelpie was no different than an ordinary horse, in this at least. There was a hard object lodged between the frog and the hoof, much as a stone would have been, except that this didn't feel like a stone and had caused far more swelling than she would have expected. Encouraged by the Kelpie's statuelike immobility, she waded into the water so that she could turn the bottom of the hoof upward. It was then that she saw the nature of the object—an iron horseshoe nail.

There was only one way to get that out. She reached into her pocket for the nail-puller.

But the moment she brought it out, the Kelpie reared back, water splashing wildly as he lashed out with his good hoof, ears flattened back and teeth bared.:No more Cold Iron!: he shouted in her mind.

And that I can't blame him for—if a single nail has caused him such pain and hurt.

Hut she stood her ground, hands on her hips. "If you want that nail out, I have to use this," she snapped back, brandishing the nail-puller at him. He shied back, eyes rolling, and stayed away from the tool. "I can't get that nail out otherwise!" she insisted. "I'll try not to touch you with it, but I can't help you without it!"

She knew why he was afraid of the tool—and why his forefoot was so swollen and inflamed from a mere scrap of metal. Cold Iron was deadly to the creatures of Faerie, and the bit of nail would likely kill him unless he could find someone to get it out. But the only creature that could, would perforce be a mortal, like herself—potentially just as deadly an enemy to him as he was to mortals.

He finally calmed somewhat and took a few limping steps towards her, his neck stretched out, his ears still flattened back. : Swear! Swear you won't touch me with that thing!: he demanded.

She sighed, but swore as he demanded, and at length he allowed her to take his fore-hoof in her hand again, set the nail-puller carefully onto the head of the nail, and begin working.

She was no blacksmith, to accomplish the task in a single pull. She had only the strength of any other young girl, and the only way she could get the nail out was to wriggle the nasty thing back and forth, pulling all the while, getting it loose by infinitesimal degrees. Both she and the Kelpie were exhausted and sweating by the time she worked the nail free and dropped it into her pocket.

But she was not so exhausted that she forgot to weave her spell of healing about the hoof.

As soon as she let the Kelpie go, he danced backwards, throwing his head to the side as he curveted out of her reach. She expected him to vanish as the wild animals did, but instead he paused, injured foot raised out of the water, and turned to stare at her.

Already the hoof was nearly normal size again, and she wondered what he thought he was going to do now. Other than charge her—and she did have the nail-puller to defend herself with—he couldn't hurt her. She already knew what he was; he could not possibly beguile her onto his back so that he could carry her off to drown her. Was it possible that he was grateful? A creature of Faerie, purportedly with neither heart nor soul?

He took another step towards her, his head down.:You helped me, mortal child. You didn't have to, you could have chased me away, but you helped me even though I was rude and angry. Why?:

She didn't really know the answer to that herself, so she shrugged. "I suppose because you were in pain and needed help," she replied. She thought for a moment, then added, tentatively, "You didn't ask to get an iron nail in your foot. The stories about your kind aren't very—flattering, but as far as you doing anything, I haven't heard of anyone being drowned in this river by a Kelpie.. . ."

The Kelpie nickered, clearly laughing at her. :I prefer to frighten the silly fools. Drowning them would taint the water, mortal child.:

She reflected that anyone who saw a magnificent black stallion running loose would know her Papa had no such animal and leave it alone, recognizing the Kelpie for what it was, or would be a thief who deserved what he got for trying to steal a valuable animal.

"I wish you'd stop calling me 'mortal child,' " she added with a touch of irritation. "How would you like it if I called you 'soulless demon'? My name is Ariella."

The Kelpie stepped back a pace, his ears going straight up with surprise, and she recalled that names were supposed to give magical creatures power over each other. Well, nothing to be done now.

:My name—: he began hesitantly, :You can call me Merod.: It probably wasn't his "real" name, but it was one he would answer to, and that was good enough. "I'm glad I was able to help you, Merod," she said with a decided little nod. "And if you feel any obligation towards me for that help, you can discharge it simply by not drowning anyone from Swan Manor."

He nickered again, green eyes flashing with mischief. :That's a poor bargain for you, asking me to do only what I would be inclined to do anyway, Ariella.:

"And I hardly have the means to compel you to do anything, do I?" she countered as he tossed his head with merriment. "And honestly, I have everything I need or want right here in the forest."

He pawed the water, sending sparkling drops flying in every direction, then whirled on his heels and dashed into the deepest part of the river, vanishing beneath the rippling water. She stared after him, then laughed breathlessly.

A Kelpie! She had seen, touched, spoken with a real creature of magic! She hugged her arms to her chest as if she clasped the secret to her. From this moment on, nothing would ever be the same.

The odious Magda was nowhere to be seen when she slipped back into the Manor. Thankful, she went directly to her sun-filled room and hurriedly changed out of her woods-running clothes. With great regret, she dusted the last traces of the forest off herself and put on the silken hose, the leather slippers, the fine, white linen chemise, and the heavy amber gown with its train and encumbering folds of wide skirt. With a sigh, she tucked her hair into a net and adjusted her linen veil over it, then donned the jangling chatelaine belt that Magda insisted she wear. Her "real" clothing went back into the chest at the foot of her bed, hidden under her outgrown gowns and linens.

She seated herself at her embroidery frame in the window-seat overlooking the garden-court and picked up her needle just in time; she hadn't taken more than three stitches when puffing and shuffling from the room next in hers signaled that Lady Magda had finally arisen from her nap.

Ariella shook her head, as the next few moments brought the querulous call of "Ariella? Ariella? Where are you, child?"

"At my frame, Lady Magda," Ariella called back, and she waited for Lady Magda to make her stately appearance.

The round-topped wooden door squeaked open, and Magda moved ponderously into Ariella's brightly lit room, squinting at the light. "Child, are you sitting in the sunlight again? You'll spoil your complexion, I've told you a hundred times! And you'll fade your work."

Since Ariella didn't particularly care whether the altar- cloth she was working on was ever finished, much less if the colors were faded, she held her tongue.

Lady Magda looked nothing like her cousin, Ariella's father; where Ariella's Papa was thin and dark, Lady Magda was plump and florid, of no more than middling height, with squinting, short-sighted blue eyes and a mouth like a pinched-up purse. Although she had not taken holy orders and apparently had no intention of doing so, she always dressed in nunlike gray, black, and white, heavy gowns which were far from comfortable in the heat of summer, so that her face was always red and damp with perspiration.

The Lady moved ponderously into Ariella's room, her eyes shaded with one hand against the sunlight. She cast a critical eye on Ariella's indifferent sewing and made a tsking sound. "Next to nothing done, as usual! I suppose you've been daydreaming again! Well, let me hear you recite your lesson."

Ariella would have preferred lessons in history, Greek, not mathematics, but Lady Magda's learning was not in any of those fields. Her "lesson" was the next in an interminable number of saints' lives which Ariella was to learn by heart each day. Since these pious bits of prose were hardly complicated, varying only in the details of how each saint met his or her (usually spectacularly painful and gory) end, it was quite easy for Ariella to rattle her day's lesson off to Lady Magda's reluctant satisfaction without ever having to put much effort into learning it.

The Lady sniffed as Ariella finished, and she shook her head. "At least no one can claim you are ignorant!" she said plaintively. "Though what a well-bred lady would make of your needle-skills, I'm at a loss to say! Off with you, child. Pray bring your Papa to the hall; it's almost time to dine."

Ariella gladly left her embroidery frame and flew across the room to the door as Lady Magda bleated, "And don't run! A lady does not run!" quite uselessly behind her.

Her Papa would be in his study, working with his steward. He took care with even the smallest details of the needs of his small-holders and serfs and the crops and beasts they raised for him. If someone had a sick child, he knew about it and had sent to learn if the family needed anything. If someone suffered a blight, then the portion that came to the Manor was reduced or eliminated for that year. And as a result, in a good year, no one begrudged the Lord his share, and often little additional gifts in the way of flowers and herbs, game, nuts, or wild berries found their way to the Manor's kitchens.

Lord Kaelin and his steward were just closing up the great books in which all the accounts and doings of the Manor were recorded when Ariella presented herself at his door, not the least out of breath. Lord Kaelin turned at the sound of her light footstep, smiling and holding out his hand.

"My Wild Swan!" he exclaimed fondly, as he always did. "Come to make certain I eat, eh?"

The steward smiled, and slipped out of the room without saying anything, as Ariella seized her father's hand and kissed it, then cuddled into his embrace. "Of course, Papa," she replied as he stroked her hair. "If I don't come in remind you, you'll spend all day in this dark little hole!" She lowered her voice. "Papa," she continued plaintively, "can't we send Lady Magda home? She doesn't teach me anything that the Abbot couldn't. And the Abbot has more learning than she does."

"But the Abbot cannot teach you the skills of a lady—" Lord Kaelin began.

"Nor do I need them!" she replied instantly. "I've no intention of ever leaving Swan Manor and you."

Her father simply shook his head and rose to his feet. "We'd best be getting down to the great hall," was all he said, and she knew that once again she had lost this particular argument.

The next day, when she returned to the forest, she wondered if she would see the Kelpie again and was a little disappointed when she reached the riverbank and he did not appear. But when she had finished with the last of her large patients, she felt a tugging at the hem of her skirt.

When she looked to see what it was, she got something of a shock. Holding on to her hem was the oddest little creature she had ever seen in her life. It looked rather like a little man, and rather like a tangle of ancient briar root, all clothed in a patchwork garment made of leaves carefully stitched together.

The little creature pulled off his hat when he saw he'd gotten her attention, and then he coughed. It was a nasty sound, indeed, and she immediately knew it wasn't a healthy cough.

"If ye please, mum," the little man said hoarsely. "If ye'd be havin' anythin'—"

"Of course!" she replied, instinctively dropping down into a crouch so that her face was level with his. She fished out her packets of herbs and made up two sets, tying them up in two large leaves with a bit of grass. "Here," she said, handing him the first, done up in plaintain. "You take this, put it in boiling water, and breathe the steam as often as you can. Then you take this"—she handed him a packet done up in a dock leaf—"and you make tea with it, and drink it with lots of honey. Wrap up in wool and keep yourself very warm, and if the cough hasn't gone off in three or four days, come back and see me."

The little man's gnarled, brown face was flushed with gratitude. "Thenkee, mum," he said, and then—vanished. She hadn't even blinked her eyes, and he was gone.

She stood up, slowly, and turned when she heard something like a chuckle behind her.

There stood Merod, coat shining blue-black in a shaft of sunlight driving down through the tree-canopy.:He won't be the last of your patients, mor— Ariella,: the Kelpie said in her mind.:They trust you now.:

"Because I didn't hurt you?" she asked, settling herself on the riverbank and dangling her feet in the cool water.

:Because you kept your word,: Merod corrected her.:And now both Underhill and Overhill are open to you. Now you may come and go, and look and know, and no door shall be locked against you.:

So it proved, as the summer days passed and Ariella found herself playing physician to a bewildering variety of uncanny creatures. She splinted broken bones, treated wounds, and dosed fevers. She tended odd little babies, in cradles that looked to have been grown rather than carved, for croup and colic and all the little ailments that made human babies fretful. She learned that when you tend to a tree-spirit, you must also tend to her tree; that an otter-maid is as full of mischief as a "natural" otter; and that a sylph could only take in medicine through the air. All of her charges healed with unbelievable swiftness, and it wasn't often that she needed to use her magical powers to mend them, for they had a touch of that gift themselves. It was only when the hurt was caused by the hand of man—usually due to the touch or presence of iron—that she had to exert that touch of healing to set things right.

Over the course of time, Merod thawed, and soon they were true friends. Indeed, she had never had a real friend, for there were no young people of her own age and rank anywhere near Swan Manor, and Lady Magda would not consent to let her even speak with those below her, as she used to do when she was a child. Of course, all the young people of her age were far too busy working in the gardens and fields, tending flocks and herds, and hard at labor at loom, dairy, kitchen, or elsewhere to have any time for friendship with Lord Kaelin's daughter. She had not realized how lonely she was until she met Merod, who seemed to be the tacit leader of all of the Faerie hereabouts.

There were none of the Great Ones of Faerie present in her forest, somewhat to her disappointment; according to Merod, there was too much Cold Iron about for them to be comfortable, so she never saw any of the tall, proud, and fearfully beautiful Elvenkind. But the lesser spirits were here in abundance.

:It is because your father treats the land with kindness, and he is generous and thoughtful,: Merod told her as they strolled together along the bank of the river one sunny day.:And he treats his people with kindness. They are happy, the land is happy and healthy, and we can flourish. Other places are not so good for us.:

"How is that?" she asked.

:Where there is greed and misery, such dark thoughts drive us away—and sometimes open the doors of Underhill to the Dark Faerie.: Merod wouldn't say anything more than that, but she didn't need him to elaborate. She had heard enough tales, both from traveling musicians and horn the people of the Manor, to know what he was talking about. The worst that Merod's kind ever indulged in was a bit of mischief, throwing a bit of a fright into someone who deserved it. But there were others—the Kelpies who did drown wayfarers, the Night Hags, the Willowisps that lured the lost into bogs to perish, a hundred and one other nasty creatures who seemed to live only to cause misery and death. If Merod was to be believed—and he'd been truthful with her up to now—the presence of these creatures was due as much to the ill-doing of humans as it was to their own will and desires.

That was certainly cause for some uneasy thoughts. Were mortals as much the cause of their own misfortune as all that? It made her feel obscurely guilty.

"Have you ever seen any of the Great Ones?" she asked, to turn her mind elsewhere.

He laughed. : Of course! I have been here far longer than your kind. Long before sheep ever grazed on the Downs, the Great Ones came to this river to bathe and hold revels. I would take them for rides beneath the waves—they cannot drown, of course, and they thought it fine sport. And one day, one of them even gave me a gift. Shall I show it to you?:

She flushed with excitement. "Oh yes! Please!"

He plunged into the water and soon returned bearing a green silk pouch in his teeth.:Open it,: he urged, placing it in her hand. She obeyed, and three transparent spheres, filled with a rainbow mist, as fragile as bubbles, rolled into her hand.

She gazed at them, half afraid to touch them with her fingers.

:You can't hurt them, they won't break, not until I want them to,: Merod told her, and emboldened, she rolled them in her hand and held them up to the light, entranced by the opalescent colors that played inside.

"What are they?" she asked.

:Wishes—of a kind,: Merod told her.:The Great Faerie never give anything without conditions attached, and they are inclined to twist everything into a riddle. I haven't the faintest idea why I was given these in the first place. The Great One told me that I might want them one day—but that the first one would make me mortal, and the other two had to be shared.: He tossed his head and snickered.:Ive never seen a reason to want to be mortal, and I doubt I ever will, so they're really rather useless. I have magic enough for everything I need!:

"That's certainly true," Ariella agreed, rolling the spheres back into their pouch and handing it back to him. "I'm sure I wouldn't know what to do with them. But they're lovely to look at."

:That's why I keep them, instead of giving them to one of the nixies to play with,: he told her, and he plunged back into the river to replace his treasures in their hiding-place.

She continued to walk slowly along the bank, knowing that he would come out of the water beside her wherever she went.

:By the way,: Merod said, emerging again from the river and resuming the conversation as if it had never been interupted, :Why were you so late today?:

Ariella made a face. "Lady Magda got it into her head that if she worked on that stupid altar-cloth with me, I'd probably make more progress, so I had to sit there sewing until she began to yawn and couldn't keep her eyes open anymore."

Merod stopped, and she turned to look at him. :You know, I've never understood why you waste your time with that nonsense when you're needed elsewhere. The other mortals here need your healing, too—why do you spend hours making patterns in thread?:

"Because Lady Magda says—" she began. :ls it wrong to help others?: Merod asked. "Well—no." Ariella fidgeted uneasily, for Merod had put his finger—well, hoof—on exactly what bothered her the most about Lady Magda's decrees. For some time now, she had wanted to offer her healing skills to the folk of the Manor, but Lady Magda absolutely forbade her to "mingle" with the common people except at harvest, when every hand was needed, hers included. "No, and it seems to me that it's really wrong to be spending time on such foolery and fripperies when there are people who need help."

:Has this woman power over you? Can she compel you to remain indoors? Or is it only that you fear her disapproval:

Ariella grimaced. "She'd tell Papa—" she began, then shook her head. "If I was just running off to play in the forest, it would be different, but I can't see how Papa would be angry if I were helping the sick." She raised her head and looked Merod straight in his wicked green eyes. "I see what you're thinking. And you're right. It's time I stood up for myself."

He tossed his head, and drops of water flicked off his mane; she could tell he was pleased. :You're becoming less like a silly mortal maiden and more like one of us every day,: was all he said, then he did something he had never done never done before. He reached out and touched her cheek with his soft nose, exactly like a kiss, and she felt a tingling, a warm thrill pass through her. He pulled back shyly, and she put her hand to her cheek, and neither of them said a word about the moment—but all the way home that evening, she kept putting her hand to the spot on her cheek where he had touched her in a kind of wonder.

The next day, when the lesson had been recited and I ,ady Magda announced that she and Ariella were going to work on the altar-cloth, Ariella shook her head.

"Not today, Magda," she said carefully, trying to make certain that her tone remained polite. Without another word, she went straight to the carved wooden chest at the loot of her bed and took out her old clothing, laying it on the bed.

"What do you mean—" Magda began. She blinked at the sight of the old dress. "Lady Ariella! Where did you get that rag? Give it to me at once, and I'll take it to—"

"These are my working clothes, Magda," Ariella said levelly. "I can hardly go among the workers to tend to their ills dressed in a fine gown, now, can I?"

"Go among—but—how—" Magda's face grew as red as a ripe apple as she struggled to express herself through her surprise and outrage. Ariella simply went about her business, changing swiftly out of her fine gown and into her comfortable dress, though as a concession to Magda she did slip on a pair of old pattens over her bare feet.

She half thought that Magda might try to push herself between Ariella and the door, but instead the woman sat abruptly down on the edge of the bed, still struggling to make her feelings known. Ariella strode firmly out the door, ignoring Magda's splutterings.

Nor was that all; she went openly to the stillroom and made up a proper basket of medicines and remedies, thinking that if she was going to defy Lady Magda, she might as well do so properly.

Thus armed, she went down to the village and to each and every tiny earthen-floored home, looking for anyone who might be ill or injured. She was greeted with astonishment and open mouths, but not a one of the people to whom she offered her help turned her down. She found there pretty much the same sorts of ailments that she had been treating in the forest: babies with sour stomachs or nagging coughs, grannies with aching bones, children and adults with sprains, nasty cuts, and a broken bone or two. All her practice on the forest creatures stood her in good stead now, and she was glad of it, for she didn't think she dared exert her healing touch on fellow humans, at least not yet. Before she had gotten half through the village, some of those who had been working out in the fields and sheds came trickling in with minor hurts, probably summoned by children carrying the astonishing news that "the Lady" had come to tend to them.

As she bound up the last of the sprains, she looked about only to find herself surrounded by curious onlookers in their dusty, earth-colored, threadbare working clothes. But the work-worn faces around her showed no sign of fear or animosity, only puzzlement and gratitude. She stood up and straightened her shoulders, and with a nod, addressed a stoop-shouldered old man who she instinctively felt was probably considered to be a leader here. He looked her fearlessly in the face.

"Thenkee, milady," he said humbly. "Th' last hand t' tend us thuslike was yer blessed Lady-Mother. 'Tis far fer us t'be goin't' the Abbey fer sprains an' belike—"

"Then it's high time I took Mother's place, isn't it? If you like, Uncle," she said, giving him the title that the serfs used with a man they respected, "I'll come every day from now on to see to the village—and beyond, if you'll spread the word. It would be easier for me, if it's possible that everyone beholden to Lord Kaelin were to come here for tending."

"Aye, that," the old man agreed happily. Ariella gathered up what was left of her bandages and medicines and the crowd parted to let her through. She pondered what the old man had told her as she took the path to the Manor that would lead her through the forest.

I never knew that Mother took care of our people. I wonder why Papa never told me? It couldn't have been because he didn't approve; he himself mingled with his serfs and underlings. Perhaps he had simply forgotten, or perhaps Lady Magda had taken it upon herself to pronounce that such a task was "unsuitable" to Ariella's rank, sex, and youth, and Lord Kaelin did not have the fortitude to nay- say her.

That gave her cause to wonder if her mother had also had the gift of magic healing. Or if she'd had it, but had never known and never used it. After all, I never would have known if the dogs hadn't come to me first, and I didn't know any better and I couldn't help myself. ... If her mother had never shared that experience, by the time she had come to Swan Manor as an adult bride, she would probably have ignored the persistent proddings of the power inside her.

She was so sunk in her own thoughts that she hardly noticed when she reached the heart of the forest. It was only when she nearly tripped over a young rabbit that she realized her goal and it was time to begin her ministrations all over again.

Lady Magda was so taken aback by Ariella's rebellion that she did not even trouble herself to challenge Ariella the next day when the girl changed into her old linen dress and marched confidently out to what she now considered to be her duty. She simply shook her head in disbelief and took to her bed for her daily nap. Lord Kaelin said nothing to his daughter about her self- appointed position, and Ariella did not bring the subject up; even if he disapproved as much as Lady Magda did (which she privately doubted) as long as he didn't say anything, she could go right on.

The one creature who did express his approval with a whole heart was Merod. The Kelpie made no secret of how he felt.:Everything you do to make the other mortals well and happy will make our lives better,: he declared, switching his tail vigorously.:If they are well, they will be kinder to the land and the wild things. They will keep their Cold Iron within the bounds of the fields they know. They will not come hunting us, believing that their ills come from our curses.:

He was in a mischievous and cheerful mood today, frisking coltishly in the shallows. He splashed her, and laughing, she returned the favor, kicking water at him.

:Would you like to see some magic?: he asked her abruptly. None of the other creatures of Faerie had ever made her such an offer, and she inhaled sharply.

"Yes!" she exclaimed before he could change his mind. "All I've ever seen is when one of your friends vanishes—" :All you haven't seen, you mean,: he snickered, and she reached down to splash him again..:What makes you think a little water will bother me?:

"Nothing, obviously." She laughed. "But are you really going to show me something magic?"

:Certainly. Would you care to see what your mother looked like when she first came to Swan Manor?: Without waiting for her reply—which was just as well, since she suddenly felt as if she couldn't breathe—he turned to face the river and pawed the surface of the water three times.

A sparkling mist gathered above the river, fog mingled with streamers of thousands of tiny motes that glittered with jewel-bright, ever-changing colors. The fog thickened, obscuring the other bank; the motes danced and glimmered, dazzling her eyes. Then, all in a single moment, the colors flared and vanished, and hanging in the mist was a vision of a young woman, looking as alive and real as Ariella herself.

The slender maiden stood in quiet attentiveness, head bare of veil, looking up at something. Her hair fell to her knees in two thick plaits, as golden and luxuriant as Ariella's own. Her wide sky-blue eyes gazed upwards with an expression of intense concentration, yet there was a merry sparkle in them, and more than a hint that she would laugh more often than she frowned. The body beneath her blue woolen gown was slender, her neck long and graceful, her hands slim and so white even Lady Magda would have approved. She was very beautiful, and Ariella gazed at her with mingled admiration and doubt.

:You're very like her,: the Kelpie said.

She shook her head. "No, I could never be that beautiful, that graceful. I'm as ungainly as a young calf." The maiden in the Kelpie's vision was as ethereal as an angel, and Ariella could not imagine anyone more unlike her than her daughter. Was this how Lady Magda wanted her to appear? If so, there was little wonder that Lady Magda was so disappointed in her charge.

"I can see now why Papa never wanted to remarry," she said softly. "What other woman could ever compare with my mother?"

:Oh, I suppose there must be some, somewhere,: the Kelpie replied lightly, and shook his head so that his mane flew. The vision of the young woman broke apart into the myriad of sparkling motes. Ariella did not entirely regret losing sight of the woman who had given birth to her. Such a vision of perfection made her all too aware of her own shortcomings.

:You wanted to know what one of the Great Ones look like,: Merod continued.:Well, here is a gathering of some.:

This time the motes reformed into not one but several figures, engaged in a stately dance, and Ariella gasped in purest wonder.

They were tall, nothing like the little creatures who came to her to have their ailments tended. Even the sylphs and nixies, the most humanlike of the lot, were never bigger than a tall child of twelve or thirteen. But these beings, even the three females, were taller even than her Papa.

She had thought that her mother was angelic in her perfect beauty; now she swiftly revised her opinion. Her mother had been lovely, but all six of the Faerie possessed an incandescent beauty that scorched the heart and soul and left the mind bedazzled. Their faces were alight with it, their wand-slim figures lithe with it. The men and women alike wore their ebony or silver-gilt hair long, in elaborate arrangements threaded with beads and gems, entwined with thin silver chains, arranged on crystal combs, adorned with wreaths of enormous, pale flowers and silken ribbons. Their garments were like nothing Ariella had ever seen, made of the thinnest gossamer silks, rich with needlework, fluttering with butterfly sleeves, trailing intricately embroidered trains, and embellished with ornaments of silver, gems, and delicate lace. Winglike eyebrows graced elongated emerald eyes, thin and aquiline noses complimented delicate mouths as soft as rose-petals. They moved like swans on the water, swallows in the sky, fish in the deep; like a sigh, like a song. She was obscurely glad that there was no music to accompany their dancing; it would have been too heart- breakingly beautiful for any mere mortal to have borne.

She looked away, unable to bear with so much wonder. When she looked back, the figures were gone, the mist dispersing, and she turned to meet the Kelpie's knowing green eyes.

:Lovely, aren't they? But they are too high for me. I prefer the beauties of the middle Earth for myself,: was all Merod said, but Ariella knew that he understood.

The days passed, much alike, but too full of enjoyment for Ariella ever to be bored with her lot. So long as the sun shone and the weather was fine, six days out of the week her schedule was much the same. In the mornings Ariella studied what Lady Magda set her, recited yet another saint's life, and took a few stitches on her altar- cloth, feeling that she should at least make a token effort in Lady Magda's direction. As soon as she was able, she freed herself of her encumbering gowns and the formal nonsense Lady Magda thought so important and left "Lady Ariella" behind.

She didn't see the creatures of Faerie every day; in fact she usually didn't see any of them but Merod more than once or twice in a fortnight, if one of them needed her tending. But now that she knew they were all around her, she sensed their invisible presence and often thought she heard them going about their lives in the woods around her.

Merod, however, was a constant friend and companion, and he traded tales of life among the Faerie for her own stories gleaned from the histories and chronicles in the library of the Abbey. He had a lively curiosity about the world outside the forest and was as eager for such stories as a child.

On the rare occasions when it rained during the day, she took her horse and rode to the Abbey to delve among the books or absorb more knowledge of herbs and physik from the Infirmarian and his helpers. When it rained, it was no use going out to the forest; the animals kept to their dens, and Merod had no place for her to take shelter. Besides, rain made the Kelpie wild and restless and not much good as a conversationalist.

And once each week on Sunday, rain or shine, she and her father rode out together, with Lady Magda trundled along in a horse-litter, to attend holy services at the Abbey chapel.

So the summer passed. Then, before she quite realized it, the summer was gone and the busy season of harvest was upon them. The summer had been perfect for growing, and it seemed that there was an abundance, even an overabundance, everywhere Ariella looked. And while this meant great things for the continued prosperity of Swan Manor and those that depended on the harvest, Ariella knew that until the last fruit was picked and nut gathered in, she would bid farewell to her days of relative leisure. Every hand was needed for such a rich harvest-season, and even Lady Magda would not be spared. The reapers had already been out in the first hay-field, and it was time for all the Manor-folk to set to.

"We start haying tomorrow," she sighed to Merod after one of the swimming lessons he had insisted on. He was determined that she learn to swim, and swim well, after being taken unaware by the current and getting a fright and a lung-full of water. Now she swam, if not as well as one of the otter-maidens, at least well enough to keep herself out of trouble. She usually stripped to her short chemise to swim, having no fear that any humans would come this way without warning, and feeling no embarrassment in Merod's presence.

Now she combed out her hair with her fingers to help it dry as she sat in a patch of sun, with Merod reclining at his ease beside her, and reluctantly broached the subject of the upcoming harvests and her inevitable absence until they were over. Would Merod be angry with her? Would he feel betrayed? She didn't want to hurt his feelings, but she did have her duty to the Manor—

:So you'll have your hands full for some time, I expect. If we need your skills, we'll find a way to let you know,: the Kelpie replied matter-of-factly. .:I'll miss your company, of course, but—: he cocked his head to the side.:Why are you looking at me so oddly?:

"How did you know I would have to help with the harvest?" she asked, feeling her eyes widen with surprise.

He laughed. :I have seen more than three hundred harvests come and go. Do you think I wouldn't recognize the signs of an especially good one? And of course, if the harvest is good, your father will have hired extra hands at the hiring fair and still you and every person in the Manor will need to add your labor.:

She echoed his laughter. "Of course. I keep forgetting you are as old as the hills themselves," she replied teasingly.

:Not quite as old as the hills, but old enough.: He gave her another of those brief, feather-light touches to the cheek with his nose, so close to a kiss that they gave her chills. :Go in good conscience and do your duty. I'll miss you, but remember what I've told you.:

He didn't need to repeat it; anything she did to add to the peace and happiness of the lands about the Manor made a difference in the lives of the Faerie folk. So when she made her way back from the forest for what she knew would be the last time for many days, she had the comfort of knowing that though she would sacrifice a little freedom, she would still be adding to the peace of her friends.

The hay was the first of the crops to be gathered in, and it needed a steady space of at least a week with hot sun, no rain, and little dew, for once it was cut, it had to cure before it could be brought into the barns. First the reapers made their way down the fields like an advancing army, sweeping at the succulent grasses with their scythes and leaving the green stems flat on the ground behind them like a vanquished army. Every harvest— though thankfully, never at Swan Manor—reapers lost limbs and lives to a careless swipe of the blades. A good hand with a scythe was worth any three common laborers, and Lord Kaelin rewarded his reapers well.

It was the job of the less skilled to come along behind them and rake the hay into neat rows for the turning, while the harvesters moved across the fields with the precision of clockwork, stopping only to sharpen their instruments. In fields already harvested, where the hay had sufficiently dried, the hay-wains lumbered, with their own crews of rakers, forkers (who tossed clumps of hay up onto the wagons), loaders, and a driver. The hot, still air was full of the sounds of insects buzzing, the reapers chanting, the rakers humming, and the sweet scent of newly mown hay. All of this was thirsty work, and Ariella and Lady Magda labored up and down the rows with the old women and small children with their buckets of cool water. For once Lady Magda eschewed her heavy black and gray gowns for a simple linen chemise and apron, bundling her hair up beneath a kerchief and leaving her dignity back in the Manor.

When the hay was in, it was time for the grain—oats, wheat, barley and rye—all three scythed and harvested in much the same manner as the hay. The weather remained perfect, hot and still, and the golden grain fell before the scythes, rich with the promise of the well-fed winter.

From the fields, the wains went to the threshing circles, where threshers beat the sheaves to loosen the grain from the straw. Ariella worked with the winnowers, tossing basketfuls of grain into the air for the breeze to carry away the lighter chaff while the grain dropped back to the ground.

The harvest wasn't over yet—in fact it was just begun. Next came peas, beans, and other vegetables that would be dried for winter preservation. Ariella was out in the rows with the other women and children, filling her apron with pods and emptying it in the barrow a boy brought up. After the beans and peas came the root vegetables, turnips and mangle-wurzles, beets, onions, and leeks. Then came the hops, then the berries, apples and nuts. Nor was this the end; rushes had to be cut and dried for strewing on the floors, herbs gathered and hung to dry, honey gathered from the hives. Not even the blossoms were spared the gathering-in; lavender, roses and other flowers were stripped of their petals or preserved whole for sweet-scented sachets and potpourris or to be candied, and all of this needed people's hands, Ariella's among them. She worked from the first light of false dawn to the last hint of twilight, fell into her bed exhausted, and woke to do it all over again. Every bucket of grain, every round, white turnip, every apple and honeycomb meant a pleasant and comfortable winter for the people of Swan Manor. No one would go hungry, and there would be extra to sell for things the Manor didn't produce for itself, and still more to sell for luxuries— spices and cakes of white sugar for cooking, oranges to stick full of cloves and hang to scent the air, silks for gowns, dye-stuff—Twelfth-Night gifts. . . .

Ariella indulged herself with imagining what she might buy from peddlers at the Harvest Fair as she worked, sweat dripping down her neck and even off the tip of her nose. And all the while, in the last field of barley to be mowed, a single uncut sheaf stood in the very middle, a sheaf that would be left untouched until the very last apple and nut of the harvest was gathered in.

Finally, at long last, in the final honey-gold moments of an autumn afternoon, the entire population of the Manor gathered behind Lord Kaelin and the chief reaper, each of whom had tiny silver sickles in their hands. Everyone was dressed in his or her best, and even the poorest wore a bright ribbon or two and a wreath of flowers in their hair. Ariella, like the other unmarried maidens, wore her hair unbound and streaming down her back, with a wreath of flowers, wheat, and ribbons crowning her head.

In a body, they all paraded into the fields, singing to the Corn Maiden, for they had come to bring her in.

With great ceremony, Lord Kaelin and Toby, the chief reaper, took careful hold of the last sheaf and bent to cut the stalks off as near to the ground as they could. When the sheaf was cut, they handed it to Toby's wife and Ariella, who swiftly bound it up and made it into a humanlike shape. With bits of outworn clothing they gowned the Corn Maiden, and Ariella crowned the doll with her own wreath.

Then they passed the Corn Maiden to the rest, who bore her in triumph to the groaning trestle-tables arranged in front of the Manor, as the last rays of the sun gilded the tops of the trees.

They set the Corn Maiden in the place of honor above the feast as men lit the great torches of pitch and straw that had been set about the tables, and the folk of the Manor took places on the seats of log that had been set around the makeshift tables.

An ox had been roasted whole for this feast, nor was that all; the kitchen staff had outdone themselves, with every other tasty dish that could be imagined. There was enough to stuff everyone to capacity and still have leftovers to share out.

Ariella's only regret was that Merod could not be here; she imagined how his eyes would sparkle at the fun and how he would toss his head and perhaps even join in the dancing.

The air hummed with laughter and talk, the torchlight shone on happy faces, and once the edge was off her hunger, Ariella nibbled and watched, taking it all in.

She glanced to the side to see how Lady Magda fared. Even that Lady had lost some of her haughty reserve, unbending enough to smile and joke with the Abbot at her other side.

The small army of Manor-folk decimated the piles of food. As the stars came out and circled overhead, the ox was reduced to a skeleton, the mounds of vegetables melted away like snow in the spring, the bread developed gaping holes and the pies and cakes eroded to pitiful remnants of their former glorious selves. Now it was time for the traditional toasts, and Lord Kaelin stood up, tankard in hand, to begin them.

Something icy, foreboding and grim seized Ariella's heart, and she swiftly turned her gaze from the expectant faces below her to her father's countenance.

As that cold hand gripped her soul and froze her where she sat, she saw, as if in a nightmare, her father open his lips—try to speak—a puzzled look came into his eyes—he blinked in shock and surprise—and toppled over, crashing into the table before him. Ariella screamed and leapt for him, arms outstretched as her chair fell over backwards.

Pandemonium. Men shouted, women screamed or wailed, children began crying. Some rushed for the high table, some to get water, some shouted confused instructions. Ariella frantically turned her father over, crying out his name—but the icy hand that held her heart was the chill and unforgiving hand of death, and she knew he could no longer hear her.

Someone pulled her away, more people held her, keeping her from her father's side. She screamed and wept, fighting them, trying to get back to his side, thinking surely there must be something she could do, yet knowing there was nothing to be done.

Then the moment of shock passed and the grief came, and her legs gave out beneath her. Hands held her up, the Abbot's, the steward's; there was nothing in her heart and mind but loss, nothing in her soul but grief, nothing in her world but tears. She collapsed, her throat closing, her body knotted about itself, her hands reaching for something she could never grasp. Animal moans of grief spilled from her, and she shook as though with fever.

They led her away, knotted and tangled in her terrible grief, unable to see, to think, to feel anything now but a vast and lonely emptiness.

They took her to her room, coaxed her to drink something—something bitter, but not so bitter as the tears that burned her eyes and scorched her cheeks.

She fell from tears into darkness and knew nothing more for a day and a night.

The next days passed as in a nightmare from which there was no waking. Ariella wept until her eyes were sore and swollen, and still there were tears left over. The Abbot murmured words meant to comfort that she did not hear, Lady Magda plied her with platitudes she ignored. She tried to go to the forest more than once, but those watching her prevented her, and she didn't have the strength to fight them. Finally the Abbot brought the Infirmarian, and there was more of the bitter drink, and her days faded into a haze of drug and tears.

She walked through a dim world of shadows and sorrow. On a day gone chill and gray, Lord Kaelin was buried. Overnight, it seemed, all the light and joy had gone out of the universe, the trees turned to leafless skeletons, the sky to endless slate-colored clouds, and the wind bit with teeth of ice. People came and went, strangers she didn't know. They sat her down in her father's study, then discussed her fate as if she wasn't there.

"She fades more with every day," Lady Magda whispered to her maid on the morning of yet another dreary day, as both of them cast furtive glances out of the corners of their eyes to where Ariella sat, listlessly, in the window-seat.

"Things will change when he comes," the pert maid replied with a knowing wink. Ariella rubbed her eyes and wondered dimly who "he" was. There had been a great deal of talk about some man she had never heard of. The Abbot had explained it to her, they said. Something about Swan Manor . . . that as a woman she could not inherit, but that . . . something . . . had been arranged with her nearest male relative, a cousin. She licked her lips and stared out the window at the leafless trees tossing their skeletal branches in the wind, clawing the sky with bone-thin fingers. She only hoped that her cousin, whoever he was, would make these people leave her in peace. She only wanted to mourn and to see Merod. She longed for Merod with a need that was near to starvation. Merod would know what to say, how to help her ease her loss, how to make her see beyond all this sorrow.

"Here, child, let me tidy you," Lady Magda was saying, and Ariella let herself be drawn from the window- seat, let them comb and braid her hair, put it in a silver net, and arrange a fine veil over it. Just as they finished primping her as if she was a giant doll, one of the servants appeared in the door of her room.

"He's here, Lady Magda!" the girl said excitedly. "He's waiting in the great hall!"

Still fussing with the veil, Lady Magda drew Ariella to her feet and pulled her along by the hand. "Come, child, it's time to meet your cousin. Let's have no more sulks, but only smiles."

Smiles? What did she have to smile about? But Magda wouldn't hear a word she said, so she didn't even try to contradict the old biddy; she simply let herself be drawn along in Magda's bustling wake to the great hall, where candles flickered uneasily in the drafts, and the room seemed suddenly too small to contain all the huge and armored men who crowded into it. Strange, dark faces beneath coifs of chain turned to stare at them as they entered at the door.

"Here she is!" Magda sang out. "Here's your little maid, Lord Lyon!"

Before Ariella could wonder who Lord Lyon was, the sea of tall, grimly dark men parted, and a single golden figure strode out of their midst.

He alone of all of them was bare-headed, and his hair was as brilliantly sun-hued as the grain at harvest. His chainmail armor had been washed with gold, and it glittered in the candlelight. Over it he wore a surcoat of brilliant scarlet, with a seated lion embroidered proudly on the front. He was taller by half a head than the men around him, with piercing black eyes, a jutting chin, and a firm mouth, which just now was smiling as he held out both hands towards her.

"Lady Ariella! We meet at long last!" he boomed in an overwhelmingly loud and deep voice as he seized both her hands in his, hands which engulfed hers completely. "They told me you were the image of your blessed mother, and they spoke truth! Truly the Wild Swan of Swan Manor is the loveliest maiden in all the world!"

Everything about him was—much too large, too overpowering. Ariella stared at him in confusion, trying to make some sense out of what he said. He bent to kiss her hands and she looked down at the top of his head with its sun-gold curls cascading down the back of his neck, wanting to pull her hands away from his proprietary, too- firm grip and not daring to. He looked up, and caught her gazing at him; she glanced away in confusion, feeling heat mount in her cheeks as he straightened again, towering above her.

"Ah, shy, sweeting? No matter. A little shyness is a proper thing in a maiden." He turned his head and looked past her at Lady Magda. "I have no cause to regret our fathers' pact, cousin Magda. Your lady is all the prize that rumor claimed her to be. I shall be glad and proud to be the man who tamed the Wild Swan."

Pact?Prize? Ariella finally reclaimed her hands and twisted them together as she tried to make something of the perplexing words. What pact? Was there—she tried to recall—something that the Abbot had said?

The man was still speaking, although Ariella had lost the first few words. ". . . be on our way," he said to Lady Magda. "Immediately. We have much to do."

"Oh, surely you'll stay a fortnight at least," Lady Magda protested. "The child has only just buried her poor father! And surely you'll wish to look over the Manor!"

There was steel beneath the man's voice, and his brows creased together in a faint frown. "I fear that is hardly possible," he replied. "I have my own lands to see to, after all, and I must assemble a gathering of guests and witnesses before the snow flies to make our pact binding. My steward will take care of everything necessary here— you, of course, will remain as chatelaine to see to the domestic affairs. I trust that the Lady's gear is packed and ready to be taken?"

"Well, y-y-yes," Lady Magda stammered. A single wave of his hand dismissed any other words she might say. "Then get your Lady's cloak, have her litter prepared, and we will be off!" he said imperiously. "My steward will take charge here for me, and he will take the room that was Lady Ariella's. Obey his orders as you would mine, for he will be reporting directly to me. We have far to travel before night comes upon us!"

Pact? Ariella thought with growing dismay.Steward? She looked about her for help, but there was no one she knew nearby. She was completely surrounded by tall, dark-visaged men in armor whose slate-gray surcoats swallowed up the light of the room. Before she knew what she was about, Lord Lyon had swept her cloak about her shoulders and fastened it at her chin, then gathered her up in one muscular arm and half-carried her out of the great hall, through the front door, and into the cold wind outside.

The horse-litter that Lady Magda used stood ready just outside the door, two sturdy mules bearing its weight, and Lord Lyon picked up Ariella as easily as a baby chick and deposited her inside, shutting the curtains on her protests. Tangled in her skirts and cloak, still dizzy with the Infirmier's bitter potion, she tried to disentangle herself in the chill darkness of the horse-litter, but before she could even get one foot free, the mules moved forward with a lurch that sent her crashing into the cushions. "Wait!" she called, struggling with cloak, furs, and cushions. "What does all of this mean? I don't want to leave! Stop!"

But no one paid her any attention—in fact, she wasn't certain anyone heard her, and soon the mules were moving at a pace that sent the litter swaying and jostling, so that she could hardly get a full breath.

She had never traveled by litter, and between her drug-hazed mind and the lurching of the litter, it was all she could do to keep herself from being knocked senseless, much less escape from the stuffy, cold, cramped little box. Where was she going? Where was this man taking her? And most important of all, why?

Her head had cleared a little, but in place of the dazed and dizzy feeling, a headache had begun just behind her eyes. It was quite dark when the mules finally stopped moving, firelight flickered in the gap between the curtains, and a hand clad in a thick leather gauntlet shoved the curtains aside. "We've made camp, my Lady," said a brusque and unfamiliar male voice. "I fear that a tent is the best we can offer you."

She peeked out of the litter cautiously as the man extended a hand to help her down out of it. They were in the midst of an unfamiliar wilderness of huge pine trees that moaned and sighed in the cold wind, swaying back and forth as if they were about to pull up their roots and dance. The litter had halted beside a roaring fire, with a small tent on the opposite side. Behind her, she heard the sounds of horses stamping and chewing; before her, men laid out bedrolls beside the fire on the bare ground, while one skewered rabbits on a spit, preparing to prop them over the flames. She tried not to look, swallowing hard.

Lord Lyon strode out of the shadows and brushed aside his henchman's hand, putting both hands on her waist and lifting her down out of the litter. "A rough welcome, my Lady, but you'll have a better at Lyon Castle," he proclaimed as if to a multitude, gesturing at the fire and the tent. "I am sorry that your woman wasn't fit for such a harsh journey, but you'll have maids a-plenty waiting for you at home, and I'm sure you can fend for yourself for a few days."

"Home?" she managed. "I was home! Why am I here? Where are you taking me?"

He looked down at her with a patronizing smile. "You are coming with me, sweeting. Surely your Abbot explained it all to you, did he not?"

She put a hand to her aching forehead and blinked, trying to think through the growing pain and the sick feeling in her stomach. "I—I'm not sure. They gave me something to drink—things were very confused. I remember—the Abbot did talk to me, but I can't recall what he said—"

"And in your grief, you were not thinking of anything else, of course," he said soothingly, still with that superior smile. "Well, it is simple, Lady Ariella. Your father held Swan Manor without a son to inherit from him. As a woman, you cannot inherit any property. You have your dower-portion, of course, but no property. Had you wedded while your father was still alive, Swan Manor would have gone to your first-born son, with your husband holding it in trust for him, but since you were still a maid—" He shrugged. "As your nearest male kin, I was to inherit the Manor if your father died before you were wed, but neither your father nor mine cared to think of you going to the charity of the Church or making some hasty and imprudent alliance in that case, so they made a pact that if you had not found a husband by the time your father died, and I had not found a wife, then I would wed you, thus keeping Swan Manor in your bloodline and saving you from being displaced. It was all arranged a very long time ago, and your father probably never wanted you to bother your pretty head about it."

Simple?Simple? She stared at him, her head and heart pounding together, too utterly appalled and shocked to say a single word.

"I must admit that I was quite well pleased to find my bride to be so comely," he continued with an expression she could only think of as a smug smirk. "I find myself with a very fine bargain, and I am sure you are hardly displeased with the sight of your intended husband!" His grin widened and he puffed out his chest a bit, and some of his men laughed out loud. "As to where we are going, we travel to my own estate, where we will be properly wedded in the sight of witnesses and kindred." His expression turned a touch threatening. "I will have this done properly. I would not have it rumored that your hand and land should have gone elsewhere, that our kinship is too close for matrimony, or that our union is no true marriage. There will be no reason to protest that this union is invalid."

By this time he had led her, step by step, to the door of the tent. Now he pulled the flap aside and held it open for her. "And now I will leave you to your well-guarded and well-deserved rest, my Lady. I am sure so delicate a maid as you must be fatigued by the journey. One of my men will bring you something to eat, and you may sleep when you will, knowing that we guard you as we would any precious object."

A slight nudge sent her stumbling into the tent, and he dropped the flap shut behind her, leaving her in a canvas shelter illuminated only by the firelight filtering through the fabric. With a little moan of pain and incredulity, she sank down on the pile of bedding at her feet, drained of strength and will.

She woke in the morning, certain it had all been a terrible nightmare, only to find that the nightmare had not passed with the coming of daylight. She opened her eyes to find herself staring at a canvas roof, head aching, bundled in blankets that smelled of smoke and horses. Around the tent outside, men tramped about, making thumping and clattering noises; she heard shouting, harnesses jingling, and horses stamping and neighing. Her head throbbed abominably, but her mind was clearer now.

Too clear, perhaps, for she could see no way to escape from this trap. She did not know where she was, she could hardly run off on foot into a strange forest with no weapons and no provisions. It was unlikely that with so many alert men about, she would be able to steal a horse and escape, and even if she could, where would she go? She didn't even know what direction to travel to return to Swan Manor, and if she did find her way home, Lord Lyon would only come to take her again. She could run off to the forest and hope that she could elude him there—but she shrank from the idea of all those armored men with their iron and steel rampaging about near her Faerie friends.

Before her thoughts went any further, the tent-flap was pulled aside and Lord Lyon shoved a round of cold bread and a cold rabbit-quarter at her without any kind of greeting or warning. She took it reflexively and stared at him with stinging eyes.

"Break your fast, Lady Ariella, and let us be up and away!" he said so loudly that she winced. "We have far to go, and the sooner we are upon the journey, the sooner we will reach home!"

"Aye, soonest wedded and soonest bedded," called one of his men, and another guffawed as Ariella held the hastily proffered food with one hand, stood up, and shook herself free of the bedclothes. She had gone to sleep fully dressed, so there was little for her to do to "make ready"—but no sooner had she stood free of the blankets than one of the men bustled into the tent and bundled up her erstwhile sleeping-place, carrying it off to stow in a pack somewhere. She clutched the bread and meat, trying not to cry, wondering what to do next, and the tent began to teeter above her as other men pulled up its stakes. She hastily got out of the way, only to find herself seized by the waist and swinging through the air as Lord Lyon hoisted her into her litter again.

"You'll find better provisioning here today, my Lady," he said as he closed the curtains on her. "We won't be stopping till nightfall, so make yourself free of it when you've a mind to refresh yourself."

She was still clutching the bread and cold meat; he had not even given her the chance to take or refuse the crude breakfast. In the gloom of the horse-litter, in the farther corner she made out a pale bundle among the furs and traveling rugs. As the mules started forward with a jerk, she pulled it toward her.

She wrestled the knots holding it shut with chilled fingers while the litter swayed and jounced between the two mules. The white cloth finally parted beneath her numb hands and fell open, and by touch and scent she recognized the vague shapes as cheese, apples, more bread, and a leather bottle, carefully stoppered shut. She levered the stopper out and sniffed cautiously; it held wine, rather than the herb tea or water that she would have preferred. She didn't think her aching head would be well-served by drinking it.

For that matter, her stomach wasn't particularly enamored of the greasy, half-burnt meat, the strong cheese, or the stale bread. As her head continued to pound, she huddled miserably into the furs and wondered what would become of her.

Slow tears slipped down her cheeks and dropped onto the fur. She choked down a sob, which lodged in her throat and remained there, a cold ball of ice that resisted swallowing. Never had she felt so alone, so helpless, and so deserted. How could her Papa have left her to this?

She jumped, holding in a gasp, as the sound of voices just behind her startled her.

"Have you seen anything?" That was Lord Lyon's booming voice, and she shrank instinctively away from the sound.

"Wolf sign, nothing more. No sign of Faerie—"

"Quiet, you fool!" Lord Lyon snapped. "Don't you know better than to speak of them out loud?" His horse snorted and the harness jingled. "You're sure you haven't seen anything?"

"Absolutely sure." The man laughed. "Not that they would come anywhere near this much iron and steel. Why are you so concerned? You've never fretted about meeting them on the road before."

"There are rumors—" Lord Lyon growled. "Rumors my young bride has had doings with them, and she's got a fey look about her to back those rumors. She's comely enough for them to want her, and I've heard they don't look kindly on those who make a claim on maidens they've taken an interest in. I'm not minded to risk the loss of so fine a manor and lands when I'm so close to taking possession of them, and I've no intention of finding myself in some magical battle just because one of them wants her back."

The other man laughed again. "Well, you'll have plenty of iron, steel, and holy men between you and their wiles once we're back at Lyon Castle. And besides all that protection, you'll have all of your men alert and standing between as well. Nothing will get in— or out."

"Meaning?" Lord Lyon asked a trifle suspiciously.

"Meaning that if they try to call her outside your protection—or she takes a notion to try to run—we'll be there to make certain she won't get far." The man's matter- of-fact tone sent cold threads of fear down Ariella's back. "Then it'll be up to you to make her see reason—or get her with child so she'll have other things to think of, and they'll lose interest in her."

Lord Lyon snorted, and Ariella shook at the thought that he might decide to anticipate the marriage vows, given that bit of advice. "That'll happen as soon as the blessing's pronounced," he replied arrogantly. Then, before she could overhear anything else, someone shouted up ahead and their horses trotted off.

Her head spun with disconnected images and fears, making her feel sick with anxiety. All she could do was cling with both hands to the edge of her cloak and weep silently into the darkness.

But by the time they stopped for the night, she had found a touch of courage somewhere. Perhaps it had come from that overheard conversation—for if Lord Lyon was afraid that her Faerie friends were following, well, perhaps they were! She made up her mind that she would try to escape and take her chances in the forest.

After all, I've nothing to fear from the animals!she reminded herself.Only from humans.

So when Lord Lyon lifted her out of the litter into the night-shrouded camp, she clutched the bundle of uneaten provisions to her. Those, she would certainly need!

Silent, she walked obediently behind him. Silent, she entered the tent. Silent still, crouching on her bed of furs and blankets, she waited for the noise and voices outside the tent walls to die out.

She was cold and stiff by the time the last voices died and the flickering firelight lending false warmth to the tent walls faded somewhat. Then, when everything was quiet and even the crackle of the fire had turned to the hiss of coals, she moved.

But she did not raise the flap in the front of the tent. Instead, working stealthily, she worked at the canvas at the back, until she pried up two of the stakes holding it to the cold ground, giving her enough of a gap to squeeze out.

She raised the canvas—pushed her bundle of provisions out and followed it on hands and knees—

And found herself nose-to-toe with a pair of large, black boots.

She looked up; looking down at her was one of the coldest pair of eyes in one of the stoniest faces she had ever seen.

The man said nothing; he only continued to stare down at her. Her mouth went dry as dust, and still he did not move. Finally, after a long, long time, she pulled her head back into the tent, leaving her bundle of food behind. After another minute or two, someone hammered the stakes she had pulled up back into the ground with heavy, angry blows.

She waited, sleepless, for the rest of the night, fearing punishment, anger, she knew not what. Dawn crawled into the camp, gray and dingy; the noise of men rousing began.

Then, finally, the tent-flap jerked open, seized by a rough hand, and Lord Lyon stood looking down at her. She started to shiver, teeth chattering in her fear.

He held out a leather tankard. She stared at it.

"I think," he said, in a false, warm voice, "That you are in need for your physik, my Lady." He thrust the tankard at her.

"Drink," he ordered in a suddenly changed voice, a voice that warned that if she did not drink, the brew would be poured down her unwilling throat.

With nerveless, shaking hands, half spilling the potion, she drank, and she recognized the bitter taste. Lord Lyon took back the empty tankard as she dropped it. A sudden dizziness overwhelmed her.

Then her eyes closed of themselves; she felt him lift her up and carry her, and she knew nothing more until nightfall.

She tried to refuse to drink again, but she was given no choice. After four dreadful days and nights, marked only by drugged haze, chill, sick fear, grief, and a growing desperation, she thought there would be no end to the horrible journey. Then on the fifth morning, she was not drugged—as the morning passed, then midday, the last of the drug wore off, and she regained her wits somewhat. Finally the mules stopped, and for the first time it was in the middle of the day. She remained huddled in the litter, afraid to look out, but gnawed with an anxious need to know what was happening.

The decision on what to do was taken out of her hands. That now-familiar leather gauntlet shoved the curtains aside, and Lord Lyon's voice rang out with hearty cheer that she knew now was all too false.

"Come out and look upon your new home, sweeting! We are here at last!"

He pulled her from the litter without giving her a chance to move her own stiff limbs, then set her down on the roadway with a smacking kiss on her forehead.

"There you are, my Lady!" he crowed, waving his hand with proprietary pride. "Lyon Castle! I'll wager you've never seen its like before!"

That much was certainly the truth. Her cozy and welcoming home was nothing like this.

Lyon Castle was as grim and imposing as the tall men that guarded it, a huge pile of stone and iron that loomed gray and cheerless against the overcast sky. Armed men patrolled the top of the crenellated wall surrounding it, and more armed men stood watch on top of towers at each corner of the walls. No welcoming lights gleamed at the windows, because there were no windows, only mere defensive slits in the thick rock walls. A formidable portcullis, just now drawn up, defended the entrance with fangs of blackened iron. It made the entrance look exactly like the open maw of a terrible monster. At her feet a moat full of dark, chill water encircled the castle and its grounds, with the drawbridge now down and extending from the road where she stood to the entrance. There was no crowd of welcomers standing on the other side of the bridge, only another pair of dour, armored guards in slate- gray surcoats, one on either side of the entranceway.

If her legs had been steadier, she would have turned and run at that moment. But her knees trembled and threatened to give way under her, and Lord Lyon's firm grip on her arm seemed impossible to dislodge. He marched cheerfully towards the fangs of his portcullis, drawing her with him, and his men marched behind, their spurs ringing with each step.

Once inside the entrance, she heard the portcullis groan as it was lowered into place behind her, chains clanking and clattering until it dropped into position with a final, echoing thud.

The entrance was a long, dark tunnel beneath the walls, lit by a pair of smoking torches. It ended in a bare little courtyard open to the ashen sky, at a huge wooden double door with massive iron hinges, half of which swung open as they approached. More guards waited inside, and Lord Lyon urged her onwards as she felt the walls closing in around her like a trap.

The entryway, dark and ill-lit by more torches, was nearly as cold as the road outside. Huge chairs of dark wood, elaborately carved and uncompromisingly uncomfortable, stood against the wall, which was not even softened by so much as a single tapestry. A staircase descended to this stone-walled entryway, and three women, the first Ariella had seen in four days, moved quietly down it towards them.

The woman in the lead was older than Ariella, though not as old as Lady Magda; sleek and sensual, black of hair and gray of eye, with a perfectly sculpted face that showed not a trace of emotion. Gowned in a velvet of deep blue, bound around with a silver-chain chatelaine belt, with a silver crucifix at her neck and a thin silver band binding her hair, Ariella knew she must be a woman of rank—or at least, importance. The two younger girls behind her, fresh-faced, brown-cheeked maids with brown hair, wearing simple chemises and woolen smocks, were clearly servants.

"Lady Katherine! I put my bride gratefully into your hands!" Lord Lyon called out without bothering to hide his relief. "Lady Katherine, this is the Lady Ariella, my distant cousin. Ariella, this is Lady Katherine, my chatelaine, and stepdaughter to my father's oldest and nearest ally, Count Andrew of Loderdale."

Neither of the names meant anything to Ariella. As Lord Lyon stalked off down a hallway, leaving Ariella standing there alone, Lady Katherine looked her up and down without losing a whit of her cool composure.

"Well," Lady Katherine said, her voice just as unemotional as her expression, "you must be chilled and weary, Ariella. Let me show you to your chamber."

That was the last thing that Ariella wanted, but it would do her no good to protest at this point. She simply let Lady Katherine lead the way back up the stairs, trailed by the two maids, who whispered to each other behind her back.

Drafts gusted up the staircase behind them, making the torches flare and smoke in their sconces, as they wound their way up and up the spiral stone stair until Ariella was afraid she would not be able to go another step. Then, just when she was ready to drop, Lady Katherine paused at a landing before a small wooden door and opened it without a word, leaving Ariella to follow her inside. A guard stood at that landing, a guard with the same cold, dead eyes as the one that had caught her trying to escape.

Ariella was afraid at this point that "her chamber" was going to be as cold and cheerless as every other place in this castle. But although the rooms beyond were stonewalled and stone-floored like the rest, here at least there was light and warmth, and some effort had been made to cut off the drafts and create some comfort.

Panels of thin-sliced horn covered the slit-windows, allowing some light to come in from outside. Instead of smoking torches, fine wax candles as thick as her wrist provided plenty of clear illumination. Tapestries covered the walls, and furs and rugs placed over a layer of rushes strewn with lavender softened and warmed the floors. A fine fire burned on the hearths in both the outer and inner rooms, and charcoal braziers added their warmth from each corner. The outer room was furnished with a desk, several chairs, and an embroidery frame; the inner held a canopied and curtained bed. Several chests waited in the inner room as well, one of them open, and Ariella caught a glimpse of a familiar dress trailing over the side.

"This will be your set of chambers, Ariella," the chatelaine said. "You won't be expected to share Lord Lyon's rooms, of course; he has men coming and going at all hours of the day and night, and you would be constantly disturbed. He will join you here, at the proper times." Lady Katherine kept her eyes hooded, but Ariella caught a flash of satisfaction when Ariella winced at the mention of Lord Lyon "joining" her. "The maids and I will finish unpacking your possessions and I have sent for some dinner for you. Why don't you warm yourself at the fire while you wait for it?"

Ariella mutely did as she was told, allowing one maid to take her cloak before dropping down into the chair nearest the fire. She knew that she looked much the worse for wear, rumpled and tired, pale and travel- stained, but she didn't care; she was just too exhausted. At least she was somewhere warm and no longer in that cursed horse-litter.

Food came and was presented to her; she ate part of it without tasting it. Lady Katherine sailed out with a tiny smile on her lips; one maid followed the chatelaine with the tray of half-eaten food, the other remained behind. She took Ariella into the inner room, and helped her out of her crumpled, dirty gown and into a night-dress warmed before the fire. The maid sat her down on a stool in front of the hearth, combed out and braided her hair and put her to bed, closing the curtains around her. Ariella heard her footsteps retreating, heard the door open and close, and she was finally alone.

But as tired as she was, she was not at all sleepy; she was too tense and unhappy for that. The warmth and food finally eased the ache in her head and the knot in her stomach, but nothing could help the pain in her heart or the feeling of helpless entrapment.

She clenched her hands together and tried to think of something she could do—there must be some way that she could escape from here!

The only way in or out of these two rooms was the stair—guarded at her door, with probably another guard at the bottom of the staircase. Then there were more guards at the front door, and at the portcullis. How could she ever get past them? Could I disguise myself somehow? Where would she get a disguise, though? This wasn't Swan Manor, where she knew every storage-place and every closet and had the keys to all of them. Lady Katherine was the one in charge here, and Ariella didn't think that Lady Katherine was going to prove to be any kind of an ally.

Could I make a disguise? That seemed a little more likely—she shouldn't have too much difficulty getting Lady Katherine to give her lengths of the common fabrics that the serving-maids wore. I could say I wanted to sew for the poor. I don't think that would make anyone suspicious. But making a disguise would take time and would have to be done in secret—it might be months before she had anything usable.

But it's going to take me months to find out where I am, and figure out where I can go if I do get away. . . . Taking sanctuary at a convent was possible, but risky; if the Sisters found out who and what she was, they'd probably turn her back over to her husband. She wanted to go home, but Lady Magda would be of no help. Dare she seek help from the serfs? Could she ask help of the Faerie? After all, she had been helping them—but would they dare the threat of Lord Lyon's iron swords?

Unprovisioned, she couldn't leave until spring or she'd die in the wilderness or along the road.

By then, what would have happened? She shuddered as she recalled Lord Lyon's crude boast that he would have her with child as soon as the blessing had been pronounced. If she could get her hands on her simples, there were ways to prevent conception—she wasn't supposed to know them, but she did. But would Lord Lyon—or Lady Katherine—know those ways, too, and be guarding against them?

Women died in childbirth all the time. Her own mother had died in childbirth. Lord Lyon didn't need her, once he'd wed her and had a son . . . and Lady Katherine did not look like the kind of woman who was inclined to take second place to anyone.

I have to get away! If she'd been a bird, she'd have beaten her wings bloody against the bars of this, her cage. Her hands pulled at the neck of her bedgown as her throat tightened and it seemed harder to breathe.

It felt as if she had been lying in the stuffy darkness for hours, as if she would lie here forever. Then somehow she crossed from waking into sleep, into restless nightmares in which she tried endlessly to escape from a forest of trees that turned into iron-clad guards who shouted and grabbed at her as she passed them.

Then it was morning and one of the maidservants pulled the bed-curtains wide, startling her into wakefulness.

"You'll be wanting a bath, my Lady, after you break your fast," the maid said cheerfully. "My Lord Lyon will be entertaining his guests without you, so we'll have all day to ready you before your wedding tomorrow. We'll fit your gown to you and make sure you go to the altar shining like a star." She beamed at Ariella. "Lord Lyon is a fine figure of a man, and you will want to look your loveliest for him."

No, I won't!she wanted to scream, but she could only nod numbly.

With her stomach in knots again, it was just as well that they didn't give her much time to eat. The maid brought porridge on a tray, and new milk. She managed to drink the milk and forced a few bites down her throat, then set the tray aside. Before she'd even gotten out of bed, two male servants hauled a huge tub into the first room and set it up before the fire. Right after the tub came a parade of maids with buckets of hot water, a mountain of towels, screens to set up around the tub to hide her from view of the door, soaps, perfumes, and scented oils.

Once again she was treated like a giant doll; two maids stripped her to the skin and unbraided her hair. They assisted her into the tub and wouldn't even let her wash herself; they scrubbed every bit of her as if they suspected she'd never had a thorough bath before, rinsed her with more clean water, then washed her hair three times with three different concoctions, and rinsed it with rose-water. They rubbed her with scented oils, wrapped her in towels, and sat her down beside the fire while three of them combed her hair with ivory combs until it was dry.

By now, the morning was completely gone. They brought her more food, which she pretended to eat while they cleared away the bath-things. As soon as the room was clear, they whisked the food away, then braided up her hair and wound it around her head and assisted her into a thin, clinging silk slip of a chemise.

Now came the dressmakers, bearing the wedding finery, and she shrank inside herself when she saw it. But there was no hope for her; she was surrounded by maidservants and seamstresses, with Lady Katherine to oversee them all, and she didn't have a prayer of escaping from them.

It was a sumptuous gown, but of an antique style, and she suspected it had been the Lyon wedding gown for several generations, carefully preserved and fitted to each new Lyon bride, setting the Lyon stamp on her before the vows were even spoken.

Up onto a stool she went, and the fittings began. First the underdress, a fall of ivory samite with closely fitted sleeves, coming down to points on the backs of each hand, and laced tight about the body. It had a modest train and very little trim, just gold embroidery on the hems and at the neck. But it had to fit perfectly, without a wrinkle, and the seamstresses seemed determined that nothing less than perfection would do. Eventually, Lady Katherine gave a reluctant nod, and the undergown was deemed suitable.

When they were finally satisfied with the underdress, it was time for the gown. This was a heavy silk damask of scarlet, with huge, trailing open sleeves lined and trimmed in ermine, a train longer than she was tall, embroidered all over with sitting lions in gold. This, too, must fit closely to the body, with never a wrinkle or a pucker. It was terribly heavy, and the weight of the train alone was enough to make her shoulders ache. The seamstresses kept fussing around her, taking tiny, invisible tucks and stitches, never satisfied even when she was unable to see anything amiss.

When they finally stood away from her and their frowns turned to smiles, she sighed, thinking that they were done. But they weren't.

Next to be fitted to her was a set of jewels; a heavy belt made of gold lions' heads with ruby eyes, a matching necklace, and matching armbands that clasped about her upper arms, just where the huge sleeves started to bell out. Then came a veil of the same ivory samite as the undergown, also embroidered with gold around the hem and held in place with a circlet of gold studded with tiny rubies. All these required more fussing and fitting until her head throbbed and her vision blurred.

At long last, seamstresses, jewelers, and Lady Katherine all declared themselves satisfied. Once again Ariella was stripped to the skin, the wedding finery arrayed on stands until the morrow, and Ariella was allowed to put on a simple woolen gown and come down off the stool.

But not to rest—no, now came a dozen pairs of silken hose to try on, then shoemakers, who took tracings of her feet and cut soles then and there, which they sewed to the embroidered tops of red damask slippers to match the gown. They had to make a total of a half dozen shoes and fit them to her feet before Lady Katherine judged two of the shoes suitable and permitted them to be placed with the gown.

Lady Katherine left without having said a word directly to her all afternoon. Her captors allowed her to have a little rest; supper arrived, though all Ariella could really eat was the soup and some bread.

She had hardly finished that when the maidservants returned carrying a vast array of cosmetic jars. They stripped her to the skin again, directed her to lie down on a rug in front of the fire, and went to work, rubbing creams and unguents into her skin, unbraiding her hair again and combing perfumes through it. With one maid for each hand and one for each foot, her nails were filed to perfect ovals and buffed until they achieved a pearllike gloss; every trace of a callus had been removed, and her skin was as soft as a rose-petal.

All this would have been very pleasant if she hadn't felt exactly like a pagan sacrifice being prepared for the knife.

While the maids worked, they chattered in high, breathy voices, like the twittering of little birds. Ariella would rather they'd been silent, for all they could talk about was the wedding celebration of the morrow and the feast still going on somewhere below.

"There's a fountain of silver that will be pouring wine for everyone," sighed one. "I watched them setting it up—"

"Well, I've seen the cages of bears for baiting, and you should have heard them roar!" The girl shivered pleasurably. "They are monstrously fierce, and they'll make a fine showing against the dogs!"

"Pooh, who cares for such things when there will be dancing?" asked a third, industriously polishing the nails of Ariella's right hand. "I've heard the hired minstrels, and they are wonderful!"

"Well, I've got a surprise for you all, for I was at the feast tonight, and there's a magician come! Lord Lyon agreed to let him work some splendid magics at the wedding ceremony itself!" crowed the one at Ariella's left hand in triumph.

"What?" "A magician?" "But Lord Lyon doesn't care for magicians—" All the rest spoke at once, and the knowing one waved them to silence.

"He will, I tell you, for I was there!" she declared. "He asked to be admitted to the feast and presented himself to Lord Lyon—and oh! I swear to you that I have never seen a handsomer man except the Lord himself! Hair as long as my arm and so black! Face like a pagan god, with such green eyes! Dressed all in black velvet he was, too; it was clear to see that he was not only a magician, but a man of noble birth." She sighed, and the others twittered to each other. "He made his compliments to the Lord, said he was from some outlandish foreign land, and begged that he might have the honor of performing magic for the wedding to make it the talk of the land. Lord Lyon was suspicious, but the fellow kissed a cross and held a sword, so he wasn't one of—them—so it was all right. Lord Lyon asked what he planned to do, and the man said that he would give the Lord a smaller entertainment right then!"

"Well?" "Then what?"

The maid laughed. "Oh, I wish you had seen it! First he made a fog rise up in the middle of the floor, then a tree grew up through the fog, all bare branches, but shining like gold. Then the branches suddenly burst out in emerald leaves and rosy flowers, then the flowers turned to scarlet fruit, then the fruit burst open to release a flock of birds all in yellow and red and green that flew up to the ceiling and disappeared! Then the leaves on the tree turned red and gold and fell to the floor, and the branches of the tree shot fountains of fire, and then the whole thing vanished into thin air!"

Ariella thought with an aching heart of the beautiful visions that Merod had conjured, and wondered how anything so tawdry as the girl had described could compare to the glimpse she'd had of the Great Ones dancing. Some southern mountebank, likely, with cheap illusions that passed for real magic among those who had never seen the genuine article.

The maids, however, were more than impressed with their fellow servant's description and voiced their envy while speculating on what the foreign magician might produce on the morrow. One girl voted for a troop of knights on winged horses to escort the bride and groom, one for a forest of silver and gold trees with fiery birds singing wedding songs, and one for fountains of sparks and fire, and great fiery bursts of sky-illuminations, with an invisible band of musicians playing in accompaniment.

When they had finished turning Ariella into a soft, primped, perfumed and polished creature she hardly recognized, they assisted her into a fine nightgown, gave her a hot, sweet posset to drink, and put her to bed. There must have been something akin to the Abbot's potion in the drink, for she fell asleep before they finished closing the curtains around her.

The maids woke her at daybreak, singing as they brought the wedding dress to her. It might just as well have been a shroud, for she felt no joy in seeing it, only despair and a wild wish to rend it to pieces and escape.

But there was no escape, and the maids encased her in the heavy, entrapping folds of the dress, then smothered her in the veil, with her hair loose and unbound beneath it. They weighed her down with chains and fetters in the form of jewelry and exclaimed how lovely she was. Then they led her down to meet her doom.

At the foot of the stairs, Lord Lyon waited with a troop of his guards, all garbed for the occasion in splendid red surcoats over their mail like the one the Lord himself had worn the day he came for her. He, for once, was not in armor; he wore a scarlet damask robe that matched her gown, and he took her hand with a smile so feral and hungry that she shrank inside the heavy gown, feeling her heart contract to a hard, cold knot.

He said nothing but simply led her along yet another torchlit hall to another door. This one led to a stone- paved courtyard filled with people in festive array, and a low platform on the opposite side held a portable altar and a man in the robes of a priest.

But a handsome, striking man standing immediately before them was not in the bright peacock colors of the rest of the guests. Instead, he was clothed from head to foot in black velvet, even to boots and gloves of the same material. He bowed when Lord Lyon appeared, and stepped forward, holding out his hands.

"For you, my Lord, to place your seal upon your bride," the man said in a melodious tenor as he placed a massive gold ring in the shape of a lion with ruby eyes in the Lord's hand. "Remembering that some things must be grasped and held against all odds."

Lord Lyon exclaimed with pleasure, for the ring was of such fine workmanship that every hair in the lion's mane had been perfectly formed, and the rubies flashed with far more fire than the ones Ariella wore. But the beauty of the ring gave Ariella no pleasure, only a further sinking of her heart.

But the man had turned to her, and had taken her free hand, placing something into it and clasping her fingers around it. "For you, Wild Swan," he said—and there was something about his voice, and something in his emerald- green eyes, that seemed strangely and tantalizingly familiar. "Remembering that some things are meant to be shared."

He dropped her hand; whatever he had put in it was round, cold and hard—but it didn't feel like a ring. She relaxed her fingers a little, just as he stepped back and raised his hands—

She hadn't felt any real interest in the gift, but his sharp glance at her hand drew her own gaze to what she held. It was a rainbow-filled sphere as transparent as crystal, as fragile as a bubble, and cool and smooth as a sphere of ice.

"And now," he cried, before she could react, "I bring you magic!"

The air exploded with colored lights, flashes of rainbow fire, and showers of sparks. Lord Lyon cried out involuntarily and threw up his arm to shield his eyes, dropping Ariella's hand.

She stepped away, clenched her fingers tightly on the magician's gift, and felt it shatter in her grasp.

A white-hot lance of fire pierced her from head to toe until she thought she saw her own bones shining through the skin, and yet there was no pain—only the fire filling her, spreading through her veins, along her nerves, penetrating every part of her.

The weight of veil and golden band dropped from her head, and she stretched her chin upward—craned her neck up—

—and up, and up—

Her arms pulled in at her sides and grew shorter; her fingers stretched out longer and longer, fanning wide as they lengthened, skin weaving a web between them. The gown vanished, the undergown shredded, tore, became threads of gossamer flowing over her elongated fingers— —became white feathers, clothing her powerful wings. She was light! Lighter than a thistledown, light enough to—

:Fly, Wild Swan!: called a voice in her head.:Fly! Fly for your freedom, fly and follow me!:

Without thinking or wondering how, she launched herself into a sky still filled with showers of sparks and sheets of heatless flame. With powerful beats of her wings, she drove herself upwards, as beside her a swan as black as the deepest velvet matched her wingbeat for wingbeat. She was a swan, a huge swan whiter than snow, flying with strength she did not know she had.

In a moment, they were at the height of the towers. In two, they circled high above the castle roof. In three, they banked together off into the west. The figures of the wedding party below were as small as the painted people in an illumination, and one tiny scarlet-clad manikin gestured wildly and impotently in their direction.

But it was too late, for already they were beyond the reach of human or arrow. Perhaps, if someone had brought a goshawk out and set it after them, perhaps the powerful predatory bird would have caught one of them—but no one had, and in the fifth and sixth moments, they were gone, wings whistling in the chill air, speeding out of the sight of Lord Lyon and Lyon Castle forever.

The wild joy Ariella felt at that moment was only eclipsed by her incredulity as she tried to form her thoughts into words she hoped that her companion would hear.

:Merod?: she gasped, craning her head around on her long, graceful neck to look at him. He looked back at her, the mischief she remembered so well sparkling in his green eyes.

:I wondered how long it would take you to recognize me.: He chuckled.

:But—how? How did you know what happened? How did you find me? Why did you come for me?:

:Follow,: was all he said, and she did, flying until even her powerful wings tired, and he led her down to land on the chill waters of a remote wilderness lake.

He swam straight to the bank without stopping, and she followed in his wake. The moment their feet touched land, she felt a pang, a shiver ran through her, her vision blurred, and she found herself standing in shallow water, the remains of the samite undergown in rags about her.

The black-velvet-clad man lifted her by the waist and deposited her on the bank, wrapping his black cloak about her to shield her from the cold.

"You're—" she said, staring up into his green eyes, dumbfounded. "You're—not a riverhorse."

He chuckled. "Three gifts, my love. I was only mortal long enough to venture into that cold castle and pass your captor's tests. One wish to change, one wish to escape. Now I—we—are swan-folk, less Faerie than Kelpies, but not exactly children of Adam, either. We are swans upon the water and in the air, man and woman on the land, thanks to the Great One's gift."

"I thought you said you never had a reason to become a mortal—" was all she could say.

"I never had anyone I cared to share the other wishes with, either—until now," was his reply, then he bent to kiss her mouth, and she melted into the kiss, and there was no reason to speak again for a very long time.

"Where are we going?" she asked when there was breath and reason to speak.

"Away," Merod replied and laughed. "Anywhere you like, beloved. We have all the world and the wings to take us there."

"Anywhere you like," she told him as he released her from his embrace to lead her into the water again. And as the cold water crept past her knees, she felt that shiver of power pass through her, and she was swimming at his side.:Anywhere at all, so long as it is with you.:

He arched up, wings flapping in triumph, as he trumpeted his pleasure. She echoed his triumph, and then they rose together into the air, wings beating together in time with their hearts, seeking the setting sun.

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