What Do You Say To A Naked Elf?
By Cheryl Sterling

Chapter One
Kabloom! The right front tire blew. The car’s headlights illuminated the rabbit sitting in the middle of the lane. Barreling up the highway entrance ramp, Jane Drysdale didn’t have time to react.
“Oh, damn,” she swore. The animal disappeared between the front tires and the vehicle swung to the right. She heard a sickening thunk thunk and tightened her grip on the steering wheel to wrest back control, but it was too late. Careening down the embankment, still going sixty miles per hour, she watched in horror as she headed for a stand of trees.
Jane stomped on the brakes. The car fishtailed, straightened and, for a few brief seconds, paralleled the road before a line of trees, smaller than the first, rose up before her. She jerked the steering wheel left and ground her foot into the brakes again.
The vehicle veered up the embankment, shuddered and died. Momentum threw Jane forward. The airbag exploded in her face.
Her last conscious thought was the memory of the rabbit shimmering into a more humanlike shape, then reforming just before it slid under her wheels.

An insistent pounding pulled her from the darkness. At first she thought it came from her right temple, where most of the pain in her head centered. It continued, and Jane recognized the sound of someone rapping on glass. With a groan, she twisted and peered out from one eye.
Less than a foot away, a man stared at her, mouthing words she couldn’t understand and beating on the car window. He looked deranged. Automatically she reached to touch the buttons to lock the door and windows, only to remember she’d traded in her beloved Mercury the month before. This older Neon, with smaller payments, didn’t have the luxury of power options.
Jane’s left arm wasn’t working too well, so she reached across with her right to lock the door. She noted that the button, inexplicably, was in the down position. Had Detroit changed how things worked? Still disoriented, she pulled up on the tab.
A moment later, the door jerked open from the outside. The man groped her middle with rough hands and fumbled to unsnap her seat belt. The catch gave, and he wrenched her free.
“Hey!” she yelled, not only from the harsh treatment but also a new set of aches that made themselves known.
“There is a fire!” an accented male voice said in her ear.
Jane twisted in her rescuer’s hold. From the corner of her eye she saw a flicker of orange. She gasped and struggled against his grip.
“Let me go!” she shouted. She made her body go limp. Dead weight isn’t easy to carry off to murder and rape.
Her rescuer released her, and Jane staggered to her feet. The scene before her was nightmarish.
She must have swerved the car too sharply: She’d plowed straight into the embankment, crumpling the car’s front end. The hood had popped open, and under its steel canopy a fire the size of her microwave blazed.
Jane swore. This will be nice explaining to the insurance company - oh my God, the toys! At the thought of her merchandise, packed in Rubbermaid containers in her backseat and trunk, Jane lurched forward. She had a lot of money tied up in inventory, and it would definitely be impossible to explain to State Farm.
“Get back!” the man shouted. “Stay away!”
“Try and stop me!” she called over her shoulder, stumbling and slipping across the dew-drenched grass.
His hand closed over hers on the door handle. She yanked herself free, using the momentum to elbow him in the stomach. She had the satisfaction of hearing his whumf before she pulled open the door and tugged out one of six containers. By the time she had two free, he’d recovered and pushed her aside to get the third.
“Idiot mortal,” he exclaimed under his breath.
“Mortal?” She crawled around him in the almost empty backseat. Smoke filled the interior, and she heard fire crackling. “What does that make you? Witch? Warlock?” She pulled down the split-rear back to expose the opening to the trunk. “Help me with this, will you?” Smoke billowed around them, making it difficult to see.
“Get out of here!” he ordered.
“Not until I get my stuff.” The seat down, she grabbed the closest box and shoved it in his direction. She heard it slide away, accompanied by a string of what sounded like curses in a language she didn’t recognize.
Smoke stung her eyes and burned her lungs, but it didn’t stop her from crawling into the trunk and reaching for its release handle. Pulling it with her good hand, she kicked the lid open. Fresh air hit her. Someone helped her out.
“The boxes!” she cried.
“We have them,” said a new voice, also accented.
Jane twisted around. A man regarded her, older than the first, but with the same build - slight, wiry, an inch or two taller than her five-feet-six. She swiveled her head and saw four other men, similar in appearance, all wearing woolen hats or caps, jeans and lightweight jackets. Jockeys? Chimney sweeps? Circus performers?
“Who are you people?” she asked. She searched for the first guy, the one who’d pulled her from her car.
Backlit by the fire claiming her little Neon, he stood supervising the stacking of her boxes.
“Darrin,” she cried. “Yoo-hoo, Darrin Stephens. Over here.” Technically it wasn’t accurate, Darrin being the mortal in Bewitched, but how many famous warlocks can one name? Jane couldn’t name any. She nodded a thanks to the old guy, a move that made her head ache more, and tramped to her rescuer’s side.
He caught her arm, his eyes bright with the reflection of the flames. “Get back. It will explode.”
She shook her head. “You watch too many movies. It doesn’t happen like that in real-”
A huge boom cut off her words. Her companion threw her to the ground, hurling himself on top of her. Jane cried out at the impact, her bruised body about to mutiny. They rolled several feet before coming to a stop. Shards of burning debris rained around them.
Pandemonium broke out. Shouts filled the air, again in a language she didn’t know. Metal crashed to the ground, some of it very close to Jane and her rescuer. The roar of the fire intensified.
Jane lay for several moments under the stranger, adjusting to his weight, listening to the sound of his harsh breathing in her ear. After what seemed a reasonable time for him to move, she nudged him in the ribs with a pointed finger.
“Hey, Darrin, you mind getting off me?”
He muttered something and rolled away, taking her hand and rising with her in one fluid movement. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
She had a slight ringing in her ears and the beginning of a headache, plus various bumps and bruises. “From the crash? Yes. From the explosion? Not too much. How about you?”
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
Jane looked around. Only the five other men seemed to have stopped at the accident scene. Of course, it was close to one o’clock in the morning. She verified the time on her Indiglo watch and realized Darrin still held her hand.
“Hey,” she cried, pulling free. “Thanks for saving my life and all that, but I’m not giving out rewards. Not the kind you’re thinking of anyway.” She changed the subject. “Did you guys call nine-one-one?”
“Nine-one-one?” he repeated.
“Yeah, like maybe a fire truck or two.” She watched in dismay as the husk of her car continued to burn. “Not that it will do me any good, but those hunky firemen like to practice. Keeps their hormones up.”
“They will be here.”
“Great.” Jane shivered, aware that the temperature had dropped since she’d left Kendra’s party. She’d made a lot of money tonight, and Darrin had helped save what she hadn’t sold. Orders, checks and cash lay tucked in one of the boxes.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“Yes, I am. Also bruised, battered, dirty, smoky and a dozen other things I’m too tired to think about.”
“Come with me. I will give you something to cover you.”
A sweater or a blanket sounded good. It was early April, and she hadn’t thought that it might be cool after the party. Jane followed him a few steps, then stopped.
“I’m not leaving my boxes. As soon as the fire trucks show up, every gawker within a five-mile radius will rouse himself from in front of his television and hop in his pickup truck. I’m surprised there isn’t anyone here yet, what with police scanners and CBs.”
”You are worried about the boxes?”
Hadn’t he heard what she said? “Yes.”
He put two fingers in his mouth and emitted a multi-toned whistle. “My companions will bring them.”
“Your companions? Er, I don’t want to sound ungrateful or anything, but where are you fellows from?”
“Sylthia.” He ducked his head and held a low branch out of her way as they continued their walk.
“Sylthia,” she repeated. “And where is that, exactly?”
“Lowth.”
“Uh-huh. Is that where you learned English? Because you really need to buy a contraction or two, Vanna.”
“My name,” he said, his voice firm, “is Charlie.”
Charlie. Uh-huh. Just her luck to draw a Charlie for a rescuer. If this were a romance novel, his name would be Chase. He’d be six inches taller, forty pounds heavier, have buns to die for and reek of testosterone. Instead, she’d wound up with a reed of a rescuer who looked as if he didn’t shave more than once a week. Without a sense of humor, too. Didn’t he own a television? Of course, not everyone watched reruns night after lonely night as she did. Nevertheless, the guy didn’t seem to have a clue.
At least he’d helped save her merchandise. Jane looked over her shoulder to check on it. The leader followed, one of the boxes in his arms. Good. She couldn’t afford to lose any of her toys. Realm of Pleasures was the latest in her long string of get-rich-quick schemes. At various times she’d moonlighted from her ho-hum secretarial job. She’d tried various products with little success. Realm seemed to be the niche she’d been seeking: selling lotions, potions, massage oils and adult playthings to bored, rich women delivered a slow but steady income.
Not that she had much use for anything that involved a partner, her love life being the way it was, but she could testify to the effectiveness of the vibrators. The Long, Tall Texan was her current favorite.
A gust of cold wind snapped Jane from her thoughts. She looked from the path they’d been following and realized they weren’t anywhere near the highway. Furthermore, they’d been walking for some time.
“Hey,” she called, stopping in her tracks. “Where are you fellows parked, anyway? Why aren’t we up by the road so we can direct the firemen?” She turned, trying to make sense of the landscape. “Where are we?” Mist swirled around them, making it impossible to see more than a few feet. It muffled any noise. She felt as if she’d stepped into a white vacuum.
Charlie stopped, a look of impatience on his face. “We are almost there.”
“How far away is it? Why are you guys out this late?”
Her rescuer touched her arm. “All will be answered.”
Something didn’t sound right about this. Jane tried to pull free from his grip, but he was stronger.
“Let go of me,” she ordered. The mist swallowed her words. Not so much as an echo came back to her. “I don’t like this. Where are your companions? Help!”
“They went ahead.” He tugged on her to follow him. “We are almost there.”
Jane resisted. She hadn’t heard anyone pass them.
“You belong to some kind of cult, don’t you? I could tell by the way you’re dressed, like that Heaven’s Gate guy. Ohmigod, you’re white slavers. You’re going to sell me into a prostitution ring.” Her heart raced faster. She raised her free hand. “Watch out. I know karate.”
“You are wrong.” Charlie looked ready to do the Vulcan neck pinch on her.
“You’re wrong. I’m not taking another step with you.”
He sighed. “As you wish.”
Before she knew what he’d done, she felt a sharp pain, like the bite of a ten-pound mosquito, on her bare arm. She looked down to see him withdraw a small syringe-like thorn from her flesh.
”Ohmigod,” she said again. “You’re into drugs, too.” Then the mist changed to black and swallowed her.

Jane woke in an uncomfortable position. It took a moment for her to realize that the pressure on her stomach, the ground rushing at her, and her body bouncing up and down meant that she lay across someone’s shoulders. Charlie. She thumped his back, hard.
He dropped her. She fell in an ungraceful tangle of legs and arms into a bush, which practically devoured her.
“Hey,” she yelled, trying to clamber from the foliage that was scraping her all over. “What’d you do that for?”
Charlie bent forward, his hands on his knees, wincing in pain. “Why did you hit me?”
“You?” she exclaimed. “I’m the injured party here. I banged up my car, then it caught on fire, and then I was kidnapped by white slavers with drug addictions. On top of everything else, I killed a bunny tonight.”
Charlie straightened, wincing as if he’d pulled a muscle.
“It was not a bunny.”
She extracted herself from the woman-eating plant. “I ought to know one when I see one. He was definitely a Looney-Tunes-union-card-carrying bunny. I creamed him.”
“It was not a bunny.”
“Oh, yeah? What then?”
He looked her in the eye, as serious as an executioner. “An elf.”
Jane burst out laughing. “Are you sure you didn’t shoot up after me?” she asked, trying to catch her breath. “Or maybe I’m going nuts.” She felt her forehead. No fever, but a low throb.
“You’re quite sane.”
“Then you’re the one who’s Looney Tunes. I thought you said I hit an elf.”
”You did. His name was Tivat.”
“Tivat the Elf, hmm? What was his last name, Keebler?”
Charlie shook his head. “I’m not familiar with that name.”
“Of course not. Are you familiar with the term ‘psychiatric treatment’? Because I think you’ve missed a few sessions, buddy.”
“My name is not Buddy. It’s -”
“Charlie. I know. Mine’s Jane Drysdale. Get used to it. You’ll be seeing it on quite a few legal documents after I figure out where I am and get to the nearest lawyer.”
“I am the nearest lawyer,” he said with a slight bow. “And you are in Lowth.”
“Lowth? Your home planet? Go to Mapquest.com, buddy, because we’re in Walker, Michigan. That road” - she pointed in the general vicinity of the way they’d come - “is I-96. There should be a house around here I can call from and get help.”
“You have help, Jane Drysdale. Mine. I am your legal counsel.”
Maybe the air bag hadn’t inflated. Jane felt as if she’d suffered a serious head injury. “And why would I need legal counsel, Perry Mason?”
“For the murder of Tivat.” He looked at her as if she’d forgotten that two plus two equal four.
“Tivat? The elf-turned-rabbit? Okaay. And what is that called? Elficide? Vehicular Fairyslaughter? Reckless Endangerment of a Pixie?”
“It’s called murder. I wouldn’t joke about it, Jane Drysdale. The implications are serious.”
Tenacious little fellow. “Riight. Just call me Jane, okay? Hey, you used a contraction. What’s up with that?”
He sighed. “You’re on Lowth. The sap from the stitchtree thorn also works as a translator. We’re speaking my language.”
”Riight. Very interesting, Charlie-defender-of-elves. Well, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll be going now. It’s been a lovely evening. Let’s try it again some time. Not.”
Disgusted and tired, Jane spun and stalked off the way they’d come. Sooner or later she’d find a house and rouse someone from their toasty bed, then she’d get home and forget this crackpot.
She took a few steps before she noticed the difference in her surroundings. For one thing, it looked a lot lighter than the middle of the night. More pre-dawnish. For another, big trees, like sequoias, surrounded her. She’d lived in Michigan all her life and never seen anything like this. Least of all in Walker, with its industrial sprawl.
“Hey,” she cried, whirling around. Charlie stood where she’d left him. “How long was I out, anyway? Did you and your buddies throw me in the back of a padded wagon and take me someplace different? Where am I?”
“You’re on Lowth,” he repeated, walking over to her. “As I said earlier. My world.”
“Well, beam me back, Scotty, because I don’t want to be here.” She’d had enough of this train wreck. Either Charlie was crazy, or the stuff he’d injected had taken her on a trip to write up in The Junkies’ Home Journal. 
“Jane, there is no way back. The portal has closed.” His eyes - brown, she noticed - filled with empathy.
“Portals don’t close on their own. Turn the key or cast a spell or do whatever you elves do to open it back up.” Jane blinked her eyes, hoping sanity would return.
No such luck. Giant trees still loomed over them. Too much green and too many leaves for the beginning of April told her she’d been transported to another season, as well.
Charlie watched her.
“Are you ready?” he asked with a touch of impatience.
She shook her pounding head. “Not until I get some answers. Who are you?”
”Charles of Sylthia.”
“A lawyer?”
He nodded.
“An elf lawyer?”
“Technically, not an elf. I’m a Whelphite.”
“And what,” she asked slowly, “is a Whelphite?”
“Half elf, half fairy-sprite. Interspecies breeding is not uncommon on Lowth.”
Jane took a step back. “Uh-huh. Don’t get any ideas about breeding with this species, buddy. I’ll show you a Klingon choke hold you won’t forget for a while.”
His brow wrinkled. “I’m not-”
“Familiar with that name,” she finished for him, feeling exasperated. Jeez. Did the guy live in a time capsule or something? “I suppose you have some proof of this preposterous claim of yours?”
In answer, Charlie reached up and removed the wool cap he’d been wearing. She first noticed his hair, gold and long-like Legolas, from the Lord of the Rings movies. The next thing she saw went right along with the first: two pointed ears.
What kind of whacked-out Trekkie had picked her up? She hoped his ears were silicone, not the result of some sick mutilation surgery.
“Nice ears, Spock. Buy them at a convention?” At his look of puzzlement, she waved away the comment. “Never mind. Obviously, they don’t have television on Lowth. I’ll tell you about it sometime over a cappuccino. That explains the elf half of being a Whelphite. I suppose you have proof of the fairy half?”
He frowned. “You won’t take my word for it?”
“The word of a drug-addicted white slaver who thinks he’s an elf? Riight.” Jane snapped her fingers, feeling a twinge in her shoulder at the movement. “Cough up it, Keebler.”
“You’re not going to be satisfied until you’ve seen it all, are you?” he asked, arms crossed in front of him.
”Nope. I’m not budging another step. Don’t even think about sprinkling any pixie dust on me, either.”
Charlie glared at her, then softly swore. He unbuttoned his jacket and shirt. “I don’t do this for everyone,” he grumbled, shrugging them off. “And it’s still cold out.”
“I don’t get to see a fairy strip every day, either. Too bad I don’t have any dollar bills on me.” She tried not to think of her purse, a charred piece of imitation leather somewhere in another world. Or, outside this hallucination.
Charlie’s physique, however, wasn’t an illusion. He wasn’t thin and scrawny as she’d first thought, but simply of a slight build. It had been a long time since Jane had seen a man’s chest, and he had a nice one: chiseled, with golden threads of hair sprinkled across it. Hoo-boy. She was about to let loose with a hoot when he turned his back to her. A pair of glimmering, almost transparent wings unfurled, catching in the morning breeze.
Jane fainted.

Chapter Two
Jane woke to the smell of pine. It tickled her nostrils and made her want to sneeze. Intending to suppress it, she moved her hand in the general vicinity of her nose. On the way, her fingers brushed against something. Someone, she realized. Her eyes snapped open.
Charlie. Elf-man extraordinaire. His face wavered like the start of a cheesy dream sequence in a sitcom. Light filtered through leaves above him.
“Are we flying?” Jane asked.
“No,” he said. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Jane had a feeling he didn’t smile too often and had to stop and read the instructions when he did. “You fainted.”
“Fainted? Ridiculous. I never faint.” She touched her head to explore for bumps and found a large one over her right eye. It throbbed like a bad rap song. “Must be from that drug you gave me.”
“You fainted,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “It’s the third time you’ve been unconscious since I met you.”
“And none of them my fault,” Jane corrected. She struggled to sit, noticing for the first time that she lay on the forest floor and Charlie knelt beside her. He extended a hand. She accepted his offer and swayed to regain her footing.
“Your friend Tivat threw himself in front of my car, then you shot me up with happy juice, then you surprised me with your wings. I’m the most unfaintiest person you’ll ever meet.”
Jane glanced around cautiously. Forest surrounded them, the trees as wide as her Neon, God rest its charred soul, and rising two hundred or more feet in the air. Fern-like plants crowded their bases and spilled into the path.
She swung her gaze in Charlie’s direction. “These trees won’t throw apples at me or anything, will they?”
He wrinkled his brow. “Why would they do that? Is that what the trees do in your world?”
“Only in the movies, Charlie, only in the movies.” At his perplexed look, she added, “Remind me to tell you about it sometime.”
Jane rolled up the sleeves of the jacket he must have put on her. She noticed as she did that he had his shirt on again, his wings no doubt folded underneath like a Japanese fan. Too bad. He had a nice body.
“Do you really have wings?” she asked, unsure she’d seen them now that she’d had time to think. So many strange things had happened to her tonight.
“Yes, I really do,” he confirmed. His eyes, the color of coffee with two creams, filled with amusement.
Kind of cute when he isn’t being so serious. Jane stuck her hands in the pockets of her slacks. “I don’t suppose you’d let me see them again, would you?”
He looked baffled, as though women didn’t ask him to undress every day. Which, come to think of it, they probably didn’t.
She did her best Scarlett O’Hara impression, fluttering her Revlon-enhanced eyelashes at him. “Please, Charlie?”
”Certainly not.” His voice huffy, he took a step back. “I only showed you the first time to prove my point.”
The prude returns. “Oh, good grief. You act like I want you to audition for the Chippendales.” At his usual look of puzzlement, she added, “I don’t want to see you naked.”
Partial truths for one hundred, Alex. She did want another peek at the chest she’d swooned over. Nicely sculpted, if she remembered correctly. As for his wings, she wondered what they felt like. Hoo-boy, did it always get this hot in Lowth, or had her part-time job affected her libido?
Charlie blushed. Charming, she decided. She didn’t meet many men, and none of the ones she knew would be un-macho enough to blush.
“I didn’t think you did, Jane Drysdale.”
Back to the full name. She must have upset him more than she’d realized. Trying not to discomfort him again, she gestured ahead. “What’s next?” she asked.
“We’re almost to Sylthia,” Charlie said, starting up the path, his relief obvious from his haste. He motioned for her to follow.
“Right. Sylthia. Elven city of mystery. Or is that elfish?” She followed alongside and attempted to keep up.
“Elven,” he replied. “And the mystery we have does not concern the city. At least, not directly.”
Her ears perked up. She slowed. “Mystery? What mystery?”
He glanced at her, adjusting his stride. “You must concentrate on your own problems.”
She scratched her nose, which had begun to itch again. “Such as?”
“The murder trial.”
“Oh, right. That.” She’d killed a bunny. Correction, an elf. Tivat. She wondered what he’d been like and why he’d chosen that moment to dive under her tires.
“You hadn’t forgotten it?”
“In one of my many moments of elf-induced coma?” She sneezed and shook her head soberly. “Not hardly. But I have complete confidence in you, Charlie-defender-of-mortals. You’ve probably memorized every law volume in Elfdom - excuse me, Lowth. You do have books, don’t you?”
“Of course we do.” He looked at her, his gaze steady. She’d bet he never got in a fight with anyone. An odd profession he’d picked, then. A thought crossed her mind, chilling her.
“Charlie, what kind of lawyer are you?”
He looked uncomfortable and did not meet her eyes. After a moment he replied, “Trade agreements. Some family practice.”
Shock ran through her. She stopped in her tracks, one hand on her hip. “You’re not a criminal lawyer?”
Charlie shook his head. “We don’t have much crime on Lowth. Petty burglaries, an occasional break-in.”
Jane couldn’t believe her ears. “Are you saying,” she asked, trying to keep her panic in check, “that you’ve never defended anyone in a murder trial?”
He looked over her left shoulder, avoiding her eyes. “The last murder happened two years ago.”
“Great, just great.” She threw up her hands in exasperation and paced the trail. “You might as well lock me up in Elfcatraz now. I have no hope of getting free, let alone back to the real world. I knock over an elf in full view of six witnesses, the judicial system is rusted through with holes, and my defense attorney was in high school when they tried the last murderer.”
“I was twenty-five,” Charlie corrected. “I remember it well.”
“I’m doomed,” she said, finally buying into his story. A cool breeze ruffled her hair and continued downward to blast her heart. He meant what he said. Even scarier, she’d started to believe him. Murder? Her?
Jane took a step forward and caught her slacks on one of the ferns that littered the path. As she jerked free, the pungent smell of pine hit her again and made her sneeze.
“What is this stuff?” she asked when she recovered. The delicate lace plant had taken on the characteristics of a Stephen King creation.
Charlie touched one of the leaves. “Bellefern. A rogue weed. It’s taken over everywhere.”
“Too bad you don’t have Weed ‘N Feed here.” She brushed green dust off her slacks.
As usual, he looked confused.
Jane moved up the path. Action kept her from thinking too deeply about this mess. “What happens when we get to Sylthia?” They had been “almost there” for the last half hour. Of course, she’d delayed them with fainting and the drug coma thing. Inconsiderate of her, she knew. “Do I go on trial right away, or is breakfast my last meal?”
“You will have many meals,” Charlie said with confidence.
“Yes? Why is that?”
“Because there is no body.”

The human woman didn’t say anything for a moment, which came as a welcome relief to Charlie. Growing up with three sisters, he knew how long and convoluted women’s stories could be. But this one, this Jane Drysdale, hadn’t stopped yapping since he met her. Half the time, he didn’t understand what she said. She referred to things of which he had no knowledge. He’d be glad when he could hand her over to Eagar, steward of Sylthia castle, and go home.
Charlie glanced at her and noticed how much of a prisoner she looked already. Her green eyes sported purple bruises above them, the largest on her right temple. Bits of leaves stuck in her short brown curls, making her look like a demented Spriggan. Stains and a small rip in her clothes completed the disheveled effect. She smelled of smoke.
So did he, he imagined. Just his luck to be on community duty when Tivat, arrested for stealing sheep, had escaped and gone through the portal. Otherwise Charlie would be home now, instead of making the last leg to Sylthia with a crazy woman. And saddled with defending her! Maybe, if she kept her mouth shut -
“No body?” she asked. “Bunny body or elf body?”
Charlie didn’t want to go into the intricacies of shape-shifting, or the effects of death on someone caught in another form.
“We didn’t have much time to look. The fire would bring other mortals, and we couldn’t risk discovery. We’d already taken a chance, coming so far. The portal is unstable at the best of times. It had started to weaken after the explosion. You had to be on the other side before that happened.”
She moved in a circle around him. “They have no proof? Then you have to take me home. Case closed, problem solved, I’m free to go.”
She didn’t understand. “No, you have to go on trial.”
“But you don’t even know if the bunny was Tivat. There are thousands of rabbits in Walker.”
“We tracked him from Lowth. We had him in sight when that machine of yours rushed from nowhere and hit him.”
“Hit him, yes. Killed him? No one stayed around long enough to find out. Maybe I just grazed him.” She pulled on Charlie’s arm, tugging him the way they’d come. “Take me back. Even if I killed him - and you can’t prove I did - you’d crossed the state line. It was outside your jurisdiction.”
Charlie shook his head. “I know my duty. There will be a trial, I’ll get you off, and we’ll proceed from there.” She didn’t need to know now that the portal had a mind of its own and might refuse her entry.
Her brows knitted. “How can you be my lawyer if you saw it happen? Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”
”At any other time -”
“I don’t want to hear about another time. Let’s talk about now.” She tapped her foot on the dirt trail.
He sighed. She might as well hear everything. “I was last in line. I didn’t see the murder. Jaspar, the one who helped you from your car, is the team leader. He declared me a nonwitness and your lawyer in the same breath.”
She shook her head. “And they trust you to bring me in? Who’s to say you can’t look away for a minute, and I’ll disappear?”
Charlie bristled. “Do you think me dishonest? That I would break the laws of the land I love?”
Her eyes flashed. “Excuse me, Mr Rules, I thought you were on my side. You don’t want this any more than I do.”
His thought exactly. He’d never met anyone who made him feel awkward the way she did. Talking about wings and nakedness - the idea! The sooner she disappeared from his life, the sooner he could get back to his routine.
“I’m sorry,” he said, placing their fates together. “I really don’t have a choice. I’m bound to the law.”
She regarded him for several moments before nodding. Some of the fire faded from her eyes. “All right,” she acquiesced. “How long can it take? A day or two? I don’t have any parties booked until Thursday. It will be like watching the Discovery Channel. ‘The Secret Lives of Elves’.”
A few minutes later, they came to the edge of the great Malin Forest. The Sentinel, the largest tree in this part of the Malin, stood before them. One of the last of the old growth, it towered over everything. It had watched Charlie’s ancestors build Sylthia thousands of years before. Only the Groke, in Malik Forest, stood taller.
“Wow,” Jane said, craning her neck so far Charlie thought she’d topple over. “That is one whale of a tree.”
He didn’t know what a whale was, but it must be enormous in her world.
”Touch it.” At her quizzical look, he took her hand and laid it on the well-worn bark. “It’s good luck.”
“I can understand luck.” She rubbed the trunk. “Come on, seven. Momma needs a new pair of shoes.”
Puzzled, Charlie looked at her footwear.
“Not literally,” Jane admonished. She looped her arm through his, startling him with her familiarity. “I’ll tell you about it sometime.” She returned to the path to continue their journey, but stopped in her tracks.
“A castle,” she whispered in awe.
“Sylthia,” Charlie corrected. He followed her gaze to his favorite view in the world.
It lay on the other side of a vast plain of hardscrabble rock that had served as defense and battleground in the old times. Rising from the foundation of a hundred-foot plateau, it stretched another two hundred feet into the sky. Unseen from this angle, Charlie knew the other side plunged to the sea and boulders as big as houses. Impenetrable, it had been home to the Malin family of Elves for centuries.
“Walt Disney, eat your heart out,” Jane said. “What a lucky man you are, Charlie, to have such a place to live.”
He felt the warm glow that only Sylthia could give him. He’d come to it as a foundling. The city meant as much to him as his adopted family, maybe more. One of the reasons he’d chosen to be a lawyer was to protect it with the fair interpretation of its laws.
“It’s your home now, Jane,” he said, catching sight of Hugh, his adopted brother, driving a pony-pulled wagon. Eagar accompanied him. Neither looked worried about Charlie’s delay in bringing the prisoner Jane to the place of her trial and possible execution.

Her home? Not by a long shot. As soon as this farce was over, she would head out. If she couldn’t convince Charlie to take her, there ought to be an elf version of Han Solo she could hire to get her back through the portal.
Moving closer to Charlie, Jane eyed the two strangers who neared. So far, Charlie had been her only contact with Sylthia and Lowth, and she’d like to keep it that way. At least, until tomorrow morning when she woke up in intensive care, her head bandaged from her severe concussion.
“Who are they?” she asked her companion.
“The younger is my brother Hugh.”
Hugh was the stereotype in every drawing Jane had ever seen of an elf. He had pointed ears, dark hair and skin, and a stockier build than his brother. They looked nothing alike.
“And the other?” A cold chill not caused by the weather made Jane hug the jacket around her. The smell of woods and smoke drifted from it.
“Eagar, the steward of Sylthia.”
“Eager? What kind of name is Eager? Why is he eager?”
“Eag-aa-r,” Charlie said, emphasizing the long a after the g. “A very wise man and one of our leaders.”
The closer he came, the more uneasy Jane felt. The older man was dressed all in black, in linen trousers, leather boots and a tight shirt that emphasized his lean body. Not one hair grew on his head, making his ears seem more prominent and pointed. His eyes, as dark as his clothing, had three sets of bags under them. Jane’s flesh crawled from the evil flowing from him. He looked like a pedophiliac priest or a satanic Uncle Fester.
She gulped and laid a hand on Charlie’s arm. “Umm, he’s not involved in my trial, is he?”
Charlie looked at her, a surprised expression on his face. “Of course. The elders will hear your case and decide your future.”
This is not good news. She didn’t know why this elf should make a bad impression on her, but she’d learned long ago to trust her instincts, at least about people. Get-rich-quick schemes were another matter. Her people instincts never misled her. “A touch of the fey,” her mother called it. Wouldn’t it be more pronounced in the fairy world?
Her usual bravado deserted her. Jane took a deep breath and put on a wide smile. Eagar, partial holder of her fate, would not see her flinch.
Charlie stepped away from her to catch the bridle of the pony, stopping the wagon. He looked at his brother.
“Well met, Hugh. I did not look forward to the rest of the walk.”
His brother took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “You passed safely?”
“Safely enough.”
Jane caught the look that moved between them. Before she could comment, Charlie turned and drew her to his side.
“Jane, may I present my brother, Hugh Tanner, and Eagar Currge, elder of Sylthia. Gentlemen, this is Jane Drysdale, of who you have no doubt heard.”
Murderess of a shape-shifting elf, plower-downer of a body-sharing rabbit, car destroyer and hostage in Disney World. Or an unconscious victim of a violent accident? She preferred the latter; it seemed more real.
Hugh nodded, touching a finger to his brow as if lifting an invisible cap. Eagar stared at her, not a trace of friendliness showing. Jane gulped, despite her earlier promise to not show fear. She couldn’t help her nerves. After all, she’d been accused of murder. Forgetting to ask Charlie the punishment for such a crime had been a mistake. To know the worst would curtail her wild imagination, which was wilder, seeing eager Eagar already condemning her with the look in his eyes.
Hugh leaned down and extended a hand to help her into the wagon. Jane took it. Already she felt shackles on her ankles and a noose around her neck. She settled behind Eagar, staring at his bald, malevolent head. She waited until Charlie sat down and Hugh turned the wagon.
The castle of Sylthia in front of her, Jane lifted her chin in defiance.
“Lay on, Macduff,” she said.

Chapter Three
“Shabby” best described Sylthia. “Derelict,” maybe. A new coat of paint here, a planter spilling over with geraniums there, indicated some attempts at upkeep, but the place reminded Jane of an elderly neighbor she’d had while growing up. No matter how hard he’d tried, his efforts at taking care of his house and yard couldn’t stop the gradual deterioration.
Jane didn’t know castles outside of movies and the trip she’d made with her family to Disney World the summer she’d turned seven. Those buildings had been clean and well tended. Sylthia looked as if the King couldn’t afford new curtains. Even the pennant at the top of the tallest tower, a blue cross on a white background, flapped in a half-hearted manner.
The wagon pulled through a second gate, then up a hill to the main building of the castle. The keep, Jane reminded herself from the picture book she’d read the week before to her brother Paul’s children. Home of the royal family. Home of the royal dungeons. Jane gulped and tightened her hold on Charlie’s arm. The thought of this being real and her never seeing her family again was sobering.
Hugh stopped the wagon. All three occupants turned to her.
“Is this when I’m clapped in irons and chained to the dungeon wall?” she asked, afraid she spoke the truth. She still couldn’t believe her bad luck.
Eagar looked as if the treatment might be too gentle for her. Charlie squeezed her hand. Hugh, bless him, smiled, dispelling some of her fear.
“The dungeons have been closed for years. We generally put our prisoners in a storeroom while they wait,” he said.
Storeroom? Great. Jane pictured rats gnawing her face while she slept. If she slept. She shivered.
“That’s a relief,” she muttered.
“Come, Jane,” Charlie said. He helped her disembark, his hand on her arm. It did not reassure her.
Eagar followed, brushing dust off his impeccable clothes. Hugh remained in the wagon.
“See you later?” he asked his brother.
Charlie shook his head. “I’m too tired. I’ll stay in my room here. Give my love to Mara.” He stepped back.
Hugh chirruped to the pony and drove off down the hill.
Mara? Jane asked herself. Who is Mara, and to who does she belong? Charlie’s voice had sounded affectionate. A girlfriend? His wife?
She didn’t have time for more speculation. They moved toward the entrance. She counted twenty steps before an iron-pinioned oak door swung open.
Threadbare tapestries and tarnish. Cobwebs and dimness. The rooms they paraded her through reinforced her first impression of the palace: It needed a massive spring-cleaning.
They walked down a hall wider than a four-lane highway to the far back and a carpeted stairway. Eagar hustled them around corners and along corridors to another stairway, inlaid with wood this time. Two flights down found them negotiating narrower halls and plain wooden steps. By the time they reached their destination, Jane felt lost and claustrophobic.
Eagar produced a key from a pocket she hadn’t noticed and shoved it into the keyhole of a windowless door. It opened with a Boris Karloff rusty-hinges squeak. Jane expected bats to fly out, at least one of them a vampire in disguise, intent on sucking away her lifeblood.
“In you go,” Eagar said, the first he’d spoken to her.
You murderous tear-my-liver-out-and-serve-it-to-me-for-breakfast wench, Jane knew he wanted to add.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the room. Sacks of grain, no doubt rodent snacks, reached six feet up the back wall. Barrels sat in one corner. Dust covered everything. There were no signs of rats. Yet.
“Restful and homelike,” Jane said, trying to be brave. Her insides had metamorphosed into enough Jell-O for a church picnic. She looked at Charlie imploringly.
“Leave her a light,” he said to Eagar. “She can’t do any damage, the room’s made of stone.”
Eagar hesitated. Jane bit her lip, knowing this wasn’t the time to beg or plead. That would come later.
She watched the unspoken communication between the two elves and held her breath. At last, Eagar pushed past and walked into the room. From another pocket, he conjured a small torch. With a flick of his wrist, it flared to light. He stuck it into a hole in the wall and spun on his heel.
Panic tore at Jane. “Charlie?” she asked. Her voice wobbled. She clung to his arm, not wanting to let go.
His brown eyes filled with compassion. “It will be all right.” He patted her hand. “Nothing will happen until tomorrow at the earliest.”
 Don’t go, don’t go, her mind begged. Maybe telepathy would work in this strange land.
Maybe not. He didn’t seem to have received her signal.
“All is not lost,” he reassured her. Bending closer, he whispered in her ear, “I still have a few ideas. I’ll take care of you, Jane Drysdale.”
He pulled away. “Try to get some sleep,” he added. With obvious reluctance and a look she knew he meant to make her feel better, he backed into the hall.
Pure satisfaction on his face, Eagar shut the door. Although it was made of wood, it sounded to Jane like a 1940s movie, Jimmy-Cagney-on-death-row, prison-issued, you’re-going-to-fry metal clang. She’d been abandoned to the sputtering of a weak torch and the imminent arrival of several dozen hungry rats.

A short time later, in his office next to the castle’s receiving dock, Charlie was struggling to rid himself of Jane’s image. He felt as if he’d abandoned her. She was alone in a strange land and afraid. Even though a prisoner, she deserved better treatment. A cot, some food-he’d make sure Eagar improved her spare conditions. For that matter, the castle had enough empty guest rooms to accommodate her.
Poor Sylthia. Poor Lowth. Charlie tried to get comfortable. Unable to concentrate on work, he’d been planning to take a nap on the cot he used when business kept him from returning home to the Malin village. Which isn’t often anymore, he reflected. His side business, importing and exporting wool, like all businesses on Lowth, grew less each year.
Because of the Dymynsh. Faceless, an invisible entity, it spread its deadly tentacles to all corners of his world. Not exactly a disease, not exactly a blight, but both; no one could pinpoint when it had started. Old-timers said as long as twenty years before. Speculation on its cause yielded many theories. The current, most popular theory had to do with a spell cast by a wizard in the Malik forest. Charlie didn’t care or wonder. He only knew that, in his ten years of working with the different trades, each harvest, each shearing, brought less to the market.
The Dymynsh didn’t affect only wool, grain and cattle; Lowth’s population had dwindled over the last few years as well. The elderly and infirm died more frequently. Rare illnesses swept the land, taking many victims. Charlie, the middle child in a family of five, belonged to the last generation of multiple-child families. Women couldn’t conceive. A single offspring or, more alarmingly, none at all, seemed normal now.
Lowth was dying. The Dymynsh, insidious and persistent, hindered or prevented life. He’d seen how it had crippled his beautiful world. People, crops, livestock, food: all had suffered. Each brought more repercussions.
He stopped, postponing thoughts of Lowth’s fate until later, after he brought about Jane’s release.
Jane. Her green eyes haunted him. Outspoken, nonsense-speaking, annoying mortal she might be, but he’d never met anyone like her. Wanting to see his wings again-he groaned at the memory of her boldness. Her presence in his world upset his careful routine. He disliked that he had to represent her. But part of him liked being around her.
Charlie twisted on the cot, restless. Despite his reassurances, the lack of a corpse was her only defense. How strong would the prosecutor’s case be? There were five witnesses.
Of course, if the elders found her guilty, her execution would contradict Charlie’s people’s fight against the Dymynsh. Her debt might be paid in another way. He closed his eyes, thinking about it. For the first time in hours, he relaxed. A punishment in Lowth made return to her world impossible. He chuckled. Maybe they’d found a cure for the Dymynsh after all.
He fell asleep to thoughts of Jane battling the scourge. It never had a chance.

 “Move and ye die,” a voice hissed in Jane’s ear, startling her from sleep.
Can’t I ever wake to bluebirds twittering and coffee brewing? she wondered. In the past twenty-four hours, she’d regained consciousness to a car wreck, after being drugged and seeing a man with wings, and now she rode The Disgruntled Pirates of the Caribbean ride, no doubt with Long John S’elf’er.
The cold touch of metal against her throat suppressed her snappy retort. Her heart hammering, she squeezed her eyes shut. There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home. She transmitted the plea in silence. Glinda, hear me. 
“Name’s Muttle, and ye ain’t never goin’ home,” the stranger said.
Jane’s eyes snapped open, despite the command not to move. They change into animals and read minds. What next? Teleportation? 
“Death for ye, that’s what,” came the answer.
Jane stared at the little person in front of her. Not Little Person, like a midget, but a tiny, incredibly detailed miniature person. Or elf, or fairy, or whatever species he might be. Barely two feet tall, in tattered brown clothes, he stared back at her through multicolored eyes. Green and blue and hints of yellow swirled in their depths, like a fiery water opal. Thin brown hair covered his head. Slim, tapered fingers held a knife with a three-inch blade. She assumed its mate lay against her throat, ready to slice her to ribbons.
She’d never seen anything like him, and again the reality of her bizarre situation slammed into her. Last night hadn’t been a dream. Those events had actually taken place-the accident, the murder, her imprisonment. George Lucas wasn’t testing his newest animatronics on her. She’d left Earth. A new world had trapped her. Depression struck.
“You’re real,” she whispered.
“Of course I be real, daft mortal. Did ye expect else?” The creature moved back a step, releasing the pressure on her neck. He pirouetted for her inspection. “Like what ye see? It may be yer last sight.”
Jane doubted he would hurt her. She had a feeling he was all talk and boasts. Slowly, she sat up from her lumpy mattress made of grain sacks. Aches and pains she’d forgotten reintroduced themselves. A car accident, being slung over someone’s shoulder and a nap on a bushel or so of corn contributed to the stiffness of her body. With great care, so as not to alarm the Halfling, she extended one hand.
“I won’t hurt you,” she reassured him.
“Hurt I? Humph.” He twitched his little head. “I be not afraid of the likes of ye.” He brandished twin knives in what should have been a menacing way. Instead, Jane smiled at his comedic attempt at fierceness.
“Who are you? What are you?” she asked.
He rolled his eyes in the same manner she had done to her parents countless times during her adolescence.
“Be ye deaf? I be Muttle, a Belwaith of Malin.”
Belwaith? Was that some kind of fairy? A pixie? Or a half-breed? She wished she could ask Charlie.
“He sleeps,” Muttle said.
How did he know?
“Lots of things I know.”
“Hey,” she said, rolling to her feet, heedless of any danger the creature posed. She towered over him. “Stop that. It’s rude to dip into people’s minds.”
“I stop not.” He thrust out a tiny chin.
“You stop, yes,” Jane retorted, angry. When he flourished a knife in the air, she added, “What are you going to do, stab me in the kneecap? I can pick you up and fling you against the wall if I want. Stay out of my head, Muttle, Belwaith of Malin. I am very, very dangerous.” She emphasized the last sentence by stepping closer to the creature. She’d taken a lot of crap from the citizens of Lowth. If she had to fight back, a mini-Munchkin was as good a place to start as any.
Muttle regarded her through whirling, sea-colored eyes. After a moment, he grinned to reveal surprisingly white teeth.
“I like mortal,” he said. “Mortal not afraid.” The knives disappeared into the folds of his clothes.
“My name is Jane,” she said, relieved the weapons were no longer an immediate threat. She tried to calm her heart. Her mother warned her often enough about the prudence of thinking first and speaking later. Maybe she should listen for once, especially with knives involved.
“Yes. Jane of the dryad’s dale.” He circled around her, no doubt as fascinated by her as she by him.
“Riight. Dryad’s dale.” Why not? Maybe if she claimed kinship to them, she’d be exempt from the death penalty in a murder trial.
“How did you get in here? What do you want?” she asked.
Muttle crooked a finger and shuffled in bare feet to one of the barrels in the corner.
“Here.” He pointed.
Jane fetched the torch and handed it to him. She took hold of the barrel and grappled it aside. A hole the size of a melon lay carved in the stone wall.
“Nice,” she said. “Where does it lead?”
“Him.”
“Him? Him who?” Charlie? God forbid, Eagar?
“No. Him.” Awe filled Muttle’s voice.
“Okaay. Him. Are you going back now?” Maybe she could tie a message to the Belwaith. Help. Save me. I’m being held captive by demented movie characters. 
Muttle took her hand, his skin cool and dry.
”Come, Jane of the dryads. Sent me to get ye.”
“To get me? Who? Him?”
He nodded.
Jane disentangled herself from the creature. “Look, Muttle, as much as I’d like to escape from here and tick off Eagar, I can’t do any of that shape-shifting, voodoo, hocus-pocus stuff.” At his bewildered look, she said in a softer tone, “I don’t fit.”
“Yes.” He nodded vigorously. “Sylthia like Jane. Sylthia move for Jane.” He took her hand again. Tugging, he pulled her over to the opening.
Resigned to whatever he had in mind, Jane knelt down and let the Belwaith guide her. He put her hand on the stone.
“Pull,” he commanded.
Jane sighed. It wouldn’t do any good, but she gripped the rough edge and gave a halfhearted tug.
The stone blurred. She felt the hole expand to twice its previous size. Unable to believe she’d actually changed its shape, she threw all her weight into the next effort.
An opening the size of a refrigerator formed and stabilized.
Jane blinked in surprise. She looked over to Muttle. He smiled, delight dancing across his face.
“Well, bless my buttons,” she exclaimed. “Come on, Scarecrow, we’re off to see the Wizard.” Taking her diminutive rescuer’s hand, she walked through the gap.

Chapter Four
“So, what’s she like?”
Charlie looked up from his evening meal and over at his sister-in-law, Mara. She stood with one hand on an ample hip, regarding him through inquisitive hazel eyes.
“Who?” he asked, his mind on the work undone today. His nap short-lived, he’d tried to involve himself in his duties. Soon, that too had proved futile. Hoping to have better luck the next day, he’d left Sylthia to walk down the hill to the house in Malin Village that he shared with Hugh and Mara.
His sister-in-law blew out a breath in exasperation.
“The human. Jane. Hugh wouldn’t tell me anything other than she has green eyes and shortish brown hair. You spent some time with her in the forest. What’s she like?”
To tell the truth, he didn’t want to think of Jane. Sure, after his nap, he’d tried unsuccessfully to hunt down Eagar to complain about her treatment. Past that, he didn’t want to dwell on her bellefern-green eyes or her talent for irritating him. No, it seemed safer to wonder why the expected shipment of Randolph’s wool hadn’t been received.
He looked across at Mara. From her expression, she had dug in and wasn’t about to be removed without hearing more.
“She talks a lot,” he said. “She’s very ...” He searched for the right word. “Impulsive.”
“Impulsive? How?”
Charlie shrugged. He’d be damned if he’d confess his partial nudity and the subsequent conversations regarding it. He didn’t know what had possessed him to take off his shirt in the first place. Growing up in a family of elves - a whole town of them, in fact - made him self-conscious about his fairy wings. They, along with his light coloring, distinguished him from everyone he knew. He hated being different.
“She jumps to conclusions. She doesn’t listen to anything I say. Her predicament is a joke to her, and she doesn’t like Eagar.” He didn’t know why he’d added that last part.
Mara pursed her lips. “I can see where he might frighten someone who doesn’t know him. Do you think she killed Tivat?”
Charlie sighed. “Mara, you know I can’t talk about that.”
She poked him in the arm so hard it caused a red mark. “Charlie Whelphite, since when did that stop you?”
“Murder is a lot different from how many hides you can trade for an acre of wheat.” For some reason, he didn’t like people speculating on Jane’s guilt. Likely it was the main source of conversation in Malin Village and the castle tonight.
Mara nodded. “Yes, yes, it is. Poor thing, so far from home and accused of murder on top of it all.”
Charlie chastised himself. The least he could have done was visit Jane and reassure her. He knew where Eagar kept the key. He could have moved down his own cot and arranged for a meal. Instead, he’d left the responsibility to others.
“I’m going back,” he announced, surprising himself.
Mara looked shocked. “What? Tonight?”
“Yes, tonight.” Charlie rose and kissed her cheek. “I should check on her. Don’t wait up for me.”
She removed her apron. “I’m going with you.”
He loved his sister-in-law, but didn’t want her involved in the trial, in what might be an ugly situation. To deter her, he said, “It will be full dark soon.” Full dark to Mara meant goblins and sandobbles, two races not often seen in Malin, but a threat in her mind nonetheless.
She hesitated, then after a moment shook her head. “She’ll need a friend. Goodness, she’ll be tired of looking at your gloomy face all the time.” She bustled about the kitchen, putting food into a basket. “When’s the last time she ate? She must be starving. And what about clean clothes and a place to wash? Honestly, you men never think of these things ...”
Charlie, accepting his defeat, sighed and turned away. “I’ll get the pony and wagon. It will save time.”

Despite Jane’s wishes, the opening in the storeroom wall was not another portal. It closed behind them, leaving her and Muttle in a very narrow hallway. No doors opened from it; no adornments hung inside. The walls looked unfinished. Rough boards were nailed in at angles; dust, the accumulation of centuries, lay thick on the floor. Cobwebs hung in profusion. Afraid of their burning, Jane took the torch from her companion.
“Where are we?” she asked, pushing aside a particularly thick swath of webs. How many times had she seen this played out in horror movies? The innocent visitor lost in the catacombs of the sinister castle, led to the villain by an accomplice? And they never suspected a thing.
 Beats the alternative of Eagar, she thought.
“In the walls, Jane of the dryads,” came the reply from her tattered little rescuer. “We be there soon.”
Soon? Such as the all-night “soon” through the forest? She hoped not. Whoever “him” was, he’d better be worth a dark and scary journey. She still ached from the last one.
The longer they walked and the more staircases they climbed, the more certain biological needs made themselves known. Her stomach empty and her bladder full, Jane decided one or the other had better be attended to before she met the esteemed “him” and made a fool of herself.
“Muttle.” She stopped on a landing, clutching her side where a stitch added to her miseries.
Whirling blue-green-yellow eyes regarded her with concern. “Jane of the dryads? Pain do ye have?”
For once she thanked his mind-reading abilities. As clearly as possible, she thought about her discomfort.
Muttle jumped back a step. “Why did ye not say?” he asked, irritation in his voice. “Daft mortal.” He looked around their route. The yellow in his eyes increased.
“Come,” he said after a moment. Taking her hand, he led her up another flight and halfway down the next corridor.
“Here.” He pointed to a spot on the wall, indistinguishable from any other. “Open here.”
Jane handed the torch to the creature and placed her fingers against the rough surface of the wall. “How?” she asked. “It’s not as if I do this every day.” The first time still overwhelmed her. She never expected to perform magic, let alone create openings through solid stone. Had she done it, or had the castle responded to her in some way?
“Put ye fingers in and pull,” Muttle said, impatient.
Feeling like a participant on Candid Camera, Jane curled her fingers and pushed against the wall.
Immediately, her hands sank into the stone.
She felt each individual granule, rough against her flesh, ensnaring it. She felt, also, the thoughts of the workman, long dead, who had set this exact piece in place centuries earlier. She smelled his sweat, tasted it against her lips. Nenius was his name, thirty-two and already dying of kidney failure. Panic gripped her. Trap! she thought. With a cry, she jerked back, freeing herself.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.” She shook her hands with fervor, trying to rid herself of all the emotions she’d experienced. Bile rose from her empty stomach. Her heart hammered into high gear. Sweat broke out on her brow.
“What kind of freaking world do you run here?” She spun around on the tiny landing, desperate to find a way out. No portals presented themselves. Nothing but cobwebs, dust, half-rotted timber and darkness surrounded her.
She wanted to scream. Who had signed her commitment papers to this Cracker Jack sanatorium? All she wanted to do was make a few extra dollars at a second job. Instead, she had to deal with elves that changed into woodland creatures, mind-reading creatures with rainbow-colored eyes, and now this: feelings reaching across millennia. It felt creepy, like being trapped in a pit full of beetles crawling on her flesh.
“Jane of the dryads?” Muttle asked, orange and red now twirling with the yellow in his eyes. The blue and green had disappeared.
Jane gasped, trying to catch her breath. “Why is this happening?” Why hadn’t she felt it the first time? “What are you people doing to me?” Clasping her hands tightly to her chest, she fought for control.
“Sit ye down,” Muttle said, pushing on her thigh.
She slid down the wall in an ungraceful heap. Fleetingly, she thought of the incongruity of taking orders from someone half her size.
“Look at I,” Muttle ordered. Without thought, she obeyed.
For the first time, she was at the same level as the Belwaith. Up close, he looked more fragile, his bones delicate and fine. Concern showed on his face.
“Think not of the others,” he counseled. “Ye must act quick to not feel. Power comes two-edged.”
With great power comes great responsibility. Spider-Man? Why would she think of Spidey now?
“What do you mean, power?” she asked, wiping away tears.
“He explains.”
Ah, he. That helped. Must be related to “him.”
“Okaay.” Jane took a shuddering breath. For several moments she sat still, calming herself. She thought of Charlie, wishing he was with her, knowing he wouldn’t panic. He’d find some placid, rational way to deal with the situation.
Taking comfort from the thought, she rose slowly, brushing the dust off her slacks. It was the same pair of slacks she’d worn for two days now, she reflected. A pair in serious danger of being wet if she didn’t get to a bathroom soon.
“Okaay,” she said again, steeling herself for what she had to do. She gave Muttle the thumbs-up sign. With thoughts of Charlie to give her strength, she plunged her hands into the wall and ripped it apart.
They emerged into another corridor with banners, tapestries and sconces on the walls. Light filtered in from a window at one end. Evening, Jane observed. She’d lost all track of night and day in her imprisonment. She glanced at her watch. Seven-ten. Her stomach growled in response.
“Where to?” she asked, anxious to move again. The journey through the wall had been brief, the impressions of Nenius and his life fleeting. No doubt they’d revisit her dreams tonight.
“This way.” Muttle moved to the left. They walked to the end of the hallway. With a wave of a delicate, four fingered hand he gestured to a small room on the outside wall.
Jane cocked an eyebrow and handed the Belwaith the unneeded torch. The door opened with a light touch.
It was a bathroom, of sorts. A stone bench lay across one end, its edges smoothed by countless human - Elven - bottoms over the years. A hole carved in its middle all too clearly proclaimed its purpose. Jane took a step closer and noticed another hole the size of a half-dollar in the wall above it. A cork, attached to a chain, was jammed into it. Curious, Jane pulled on it. A stream of water gushed out and flowed down the larger hole, presumably to an Elven septic tank far below.
“It flushes,” she exclaimed, delighted at the ingenuity of the device. She replaced the cork.
After taking advantage of the gadget, she washed her hands in a sink, similarly contrived, next to the Elven toilet. A bar of sweet-smelling soap helped Jane feel better. She wished she could jump into a shower and wash away all the grime and the smell of smoke that permeated her clothes, skin and hair.
“I suppose it’s too much to ask for a magic mirror?” she wondered. She leaned against the basin and stared at the stones behind it where one would traditionally hang a mirror. “Ah, well, all in good time.”
She dried her hands on a convenient length of cotton and stepped out to greet Muttle.
“Humph,” he observed, his eyes back to their normal blue-green color. “Better, are ye?”
“Nothing tactful about you, is there?” She wanted to pick him up and hug him. Now, if she only had some food.
They set off down the corridor again.
“How do they get water up this high?” Jane asked, curious. “We must be near the top of the castle.”
Muttle raised two bony shoulders in a shrug.
”Wind.” He made a circular motion with one hand. “Raises water from river below.”
“A windmill?” Yes, that made sense. A pulley and ropes or chains, and buckets to lift the water into a reservoir. “There’s a river below the castle?”
Muttle punched the air. “Through.”
More ingenuity, to build a castle over a permanent water supply. She couldn’t wait until she could explore. She might not be able to return to Earth right away, but no one could imprison her until then. She hoped.
“Cool.” She looked around. They’d come to a more luxurious part of the castle, furnished in dark hardwoods. Intricate designs of colored stones patterned the floor.
“Are we almost there?” she asked, the question common since her arrival.
“We be here.” Muttle stopped in front of a massive door.
“What is it?” Jane knelt in front of the Belwaith. “Muttle?” His eyes spun yellow - a sign of agitation, she was beginning to recognize.
“Him.” He hesitated.
She waited patiently. “Yes?” She watched the struggle in the creature and realized that loyalty prevented him from voicing his usual direct opinion. “There’s something wrong with ‘him’?”
He looked at her with sad eyes.
Jane understood. Whoever “him” was, he needed to be treated with delicacy.
“Okay,” she reassured Muttle. “I won’t say anything or do anything to embarrass you. Pinky swear.” She linked her pinky with the Belwaith’s. At least she assumed it was his pinky. It was hard to tell when he had only four digits.
Muttle looked relieved. He swung away and rotated a small doorknob near the bottom of the door. It opened easily.
They entered a dark room. It took several moments for Jane’s eyes to adjust. Heavy brocade draperies covered windows large enough to drive a bus through. A huge bed stood against one wall, shrouded by a dark canopy. Books were piled on several tables, the floor and numerous chairs. A fire burned in the fireplace. Women’s dresses hung in the maw of an open wardrobe.
Wait. Back up. Women’s dresses? Muttle didn’t say anything about a “her .”
“Welcome, my dear.” The voice, very Vincent Pricish, came from everywhere and nowhere.
Jane whirled, looking for its source.
“This way.”
“This way? Which way?” She turned again. From the corner of her eye she saw movement.
Someone slumped in one of the chairs by the fireplace. Jane drew closer and recognized the form of a man. Him. He was old, bordering on ancient, with pure white hair that was long, thin, and wispy. Skin like parchment covered bones as delicate as Muttle’s and folded onto itself in wrinkles, giving the old man the appearance of an albino shar-pei. Two onyx eyes gazed at her.
He was roly without being poly, a Weeble of a man she guessed to be taller than her own five-six. She counted six rings of various carats and gems on his fingers. His feet were encased in dark grey slippers, the kind old men wear. The rest of him was covered neck to ankle in a woman’s dress.
Holy transvestite, Batman! Jane blinked hard. He still appeared before her in a green velvet dress, long-sleeved and ankle-length, with white lace at the neck and cuffs.
“Hello. Sir.” She remembered her promise to Muttle and added the formality.
“Jane Drysdale.” His voice shook. He motioned in the direction of the Belwaith. “Muttle, bring our young friend something on which to sit.”
Envisioning the struggle the creature would have to move one of the big wing chairs, Jane grabbed the nearest one. She scooted it across from her host and sat down.
At eye level, she could see how much frailer he appeared than she’d first thought. A tremor continually shook his clasped hands as they rested on his little potbelly. His head tilted to one side, a look of permanence to the angle.
A trace of power clung to him. She could see it in the alertness of his dark eyes, the proud set of his mouth and the way he held himself, despite his attire and infirmities. Thirty or forty years earlier he must have been a man with who to reckon. She wondered what would happen if she touched him. Would his memories flow to her the way Nenius’s had?
“So, my dear, how is your stay with us?” he asked.
Peachy keen. That Eagar, he’s quite the host. Jane erased the thought. “I haven’t seen much of the castle. It appears to be magnificent.” Once upon a time. 
“Yes.” He sighed. “Poor Sylthia. She has suffered lately. In my youth, she shone. People came from all over to be within her walls. The fairs we had, the tournaments ...”
He drifted off. Jane wondered if he’d abandoned her for some internal, more comfortable world.
After a few minutes, he shook himself and looked at her, alert again. “My grandmother’s name was Jane,” he said.
“So was mine.” She’d always hated her name, so old-fashioned. “Plain Jane” Drysdale. Her three brothers and her sister, Sheila Perfect, had teased her without mercy. However, they’d been her staunchest supporters if anyone else plagued her. She wondered when she’d see them again.
“So long ago,” her host mused. “Would you like something to eat, my dear? Muttle tells me you’re hungry.”
“Yes, I - Muttle told you?” Possibilities whirled through her mind. How had they communicated? Could this man read minds as well? Had he heard every thought she’d had since entering?
“Sir? Do you and Muttle share thoughts?”
He chuckled, a dry sound, like leaves rustling in November. “Am I telepathic? I’m much better at receiving than transmitting. His thoughts are easy to read.”
Jane twisted to see the Belwaith. She almost fell from her chair when she saw two Belwaiths. Another - a female, by the red bow in her hair - sat next to Muttle on a miniature love seat. They chittered together in a foreign, vowel-filled language.
“You haven’t met Calme yet, have you? Let me introduce you.” He squeaked out a command in their language. The two Belwaiths slid to their feet in unison and presented themselves.
“Jane, this is Calme, lifemate of Muttle. She looks after me most efficiently. Calme, this is the Lady Jane. You are to give her everything she needs.”
Calme bowed her head. A duplicate of Muttle in appearance, dressed in the same brown tatters, only the red ribbon in her hair distinguished her from her mate.
Jane smiled. “I’m happy to meet you, Calme. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d love something to eat.”
“Fruit. Get her fruit,” her host suggested. “Harvalins and tiances. See if there are any more maneuse seeds.”
Calme scuttled off to fill the order, Muttle behind her.
“They’re inseparable when they’re together,” the old man observed. “I shudder to think what would happen if one -”
Trying to make polite conversation until her meal, whatever it might be, arrived, Jane asked, “How long have they been together?”
After some consideration he announced, “Three hundred and ninety-two years.”
Three hundred ...? How long did they live?
“Sometimes to eight hundred,” came the answer, shocking her.
Jane looked up. “You read my mind?”
“Only when your thoughts are so loud.” He paused. “Do you watch the stars, Lady Jane Drysdale? There are some on Lowth who believe one’s destiny is tied to the stars.”
“Astrology.” Jane struggled to keep up with the change in topic. “Where I come from, it’s called astrology,” she clarified.
“Oh, I know. I lived on Earth for a year.”
What? “You did?”
“Certainly. St Louis, in 1962. An interesting city. Help me up, will you?” He rocked back and forth in his chair.
Jane, bombarded with all these pronouncements, leapt up and offered a hand. As the man tottered to his feet, she realized the dress he wore was slit in the back like a hospital gown. She glimpsed Elven versions of boxers and an undershirt, both red, clashing horribly with his green gown. Christmas colors.
Dear God, is this where Santa sends his elves when they retire? 
The man shuffled toward the window and began to putter with a telescope. “Do you watch the stars?” he asked again. “It’s almost dark enough out to see some.”
Jane followed him.
“Sir?” He still hadn’t introduced himself. “Do you know why I’m here?” A murder trial, she thought. Not stargazing. Hi, I’m a Leo, she considered saying.
He looked up from his adjustments. “Killing poor, unfortunate Tivat, wasn’t it?”
Well, yes, that was it. So how much did this guy know? Jane touched the man gently on the shoulder. “Sir, who are you?”
He abandoned his tinkering and drew himself up to his full height. “I should have introduced myself earlier. I am Garmade, Malin the Sixty-sixth.” Strength returned to his voice as he made the declaration.
Malin? The name sounded familiar. Of course, the Malin Forest. She remembered Charlie talking about it.
“You’re connected to the forest and the castle, then?”
If possible, he stood taller.
“I am the forest and the castle.” The sound reverberated in the room. “My name is Garmade, Lord of Sylthia, Ruler of Malin, and King of the Elves.”

Chapter Five
The drive from Malin Village up the long, sloped curve to the castle took too long, Charlie decided. The sun descended behind the imposing structure. Darkness fed the shadows in alleys, corners and shrubbery. He stayed alert for trouble. His remarks to Mara about goblins and sandobbles had been made in half-jest. Dealing with the different factions of the land as he did in his work, he’d heard rumors of unrest. A few outlying farms had been raided.
Goblins, being a nomadic race, had been the first to feel the pinch of hunger caused by the Dymynsh. Sandobbles, mobile splotches of quicksand, required little to survive, but Charlie had heard stories that they were on the move. They’d been contained in the Magwrosin Swamp for too long. Guarded by the dwarves, whose numbers stretched thin nowadays, the sandobbles could push through the barriers and escape.
Elves, dwarves, fairies and other races of Charlie’s generation, though smaller in population than previous years, demanded more foodstuff than Lowth could currently supply. If they didn’t have good harvests this year, they would be decimated when winter returned.
“This is an odd night,” Mara declared. “All kinds of things can happen on a night such as this. I don’t like it.”
Charlie didn’t either. He couldn’t attribute it to Jane’s influence, though she’d certainly upset his carefully crafted world. No, there was something different about the air: a change in the wind he would normally associate with a brewing storm. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see rain clouds marching across the night sky. Instead, the first of Lowth’s two moons, Rest, crested the tops of trees.
Its appearance didn’t reassure him. Something had changed.
Chirruping to the pony to hurry, Charlie pushed his uneasy thoughts to the back of his mind. He’d see to Jane’s needs, then hasten home to the comfort of his bed.
The gates to Sylthia remained open. In times of peace they didn’t close until the appearance of the second moon, Slumber, some two hours hence. There hadn’t been a war in fifty years, but with rumors of unrest, perhaps the guard should be reinforced. Charlie made a mental note to mention it the next day to Jaspar, who was in charge of security.
Charlie headed to the docks, where the closest entry to the storerooms was. He and Mara would be able to slip in and out of the castle quietly. However, as they passed the main door, he heard someone hail him.
Recognizing the voice, he pulled on the reins. The pony and cart stopped. Charlie shifted on the seat.
“Hugh?” He searched the darkness. His brother was on community duty tonight, a task every able-bodied man shared after the disbanding of the army.
A man’s form detached itself from the night and strode closer.
”Well met,” Hugh said. “How did you hear so quickly?”
Confused, Charlie asked, “Hear? About what?” What could have gone wrong in such a short time?
Hugh stopped at the wagon’s side and looked up at him. “The prisoner. The mortal has escaped.”
Jane? Impossible. Charlie had seen her locked away.
“Someone must have let her out.”
But who among the population would do so?
Charlie tossed the reins to Mara and disembarked from the wagon. “Go home, Mara. Get one of the boys to go with you.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” she huffed, struggling to follow him down. “That girl is scared. She needs protection.”
Jane needs as much protection as a mother bear, Charlie thought. He doubted she’d ever been scared, either. She didn’t have enough sense to recognize danger.
His sister-in-law secured the pony to a post. Knowing from experience not to argue with her, Charlie turned and headed into the castle.
Almost at once, he encountered Eagar.
“Have you seen her?” the steward asked, looking upset.
“This morning, when you locked her in the storeroom. How did she escape?”
“That remains the question,” the older man replied. “There is only one way in or out. A short time ago, I sent one of the women with some food. She raced back to say the prisoner was gone.” He shook his head. “Impossible. That room is well constructed. Even mice and insects can’t get in to ruin the stores.” He leveled his gaze at Charlie. “Are you aware of any magic she has?”
Magic? Other than making one lose one’s wits with her incessant chattering? He didn’t think Jane capable of anything other than inflicting temporary dementia on someone. Besides, all students in their fourth primary year of education learned of other races: It was well known humans had no magic. It was a wonder they’d survived as long as they had.
“No,” he replied. “None. How is the search organized?”
“Hmm?” Eagar nodded to Mara, who’d joined them. “Jaspar took three others to the portal, thinking she might try to return to Earth. Ten others have spread out in the castle. You can start in the east wing.”
“She’s not there,” Charlie said, astounding himself. “She’s in the upper quarters.”
The other man eyed him suspiciously. “How do you know that, unless you’ve aided her?”
Charlie held up a hand in protest. “Never. My job is to defend her, not help her escape.” He shook off the feeling that had crept over him. Somehow, he knew the location of her whereabouts. He could feel it, a tingling on his skin, a vibration in his wings. What’s happening here? 
“You sense her, then?” Mara asked, laying a hand on his arm. “Charlie, you never told me of this.”
He’d not been aware of it until now. Unlike most elves, he had no power, no sorcery born into him. Telepathy, the capacity to heal, the ability to move small objects without touching them; almost everyone he knew had something special that set them apart. Hugh was attuned to the weather and could predict a storm days in advance. Mara talked to animals, though that was a talent she rarely used as her husband was a tanner.
But not Charlie. He’d once pretended his ability was latent and would present itself upon his maturity; reality had forced him to lay aside that dream long ago. A half-breed, he only had wings to distinguish him from others. His classmates, who appreciated magical but not physical distinctions, had ridiculed him. Clumsy attempts as a teenager to fly had resulted in his shame about the abnormality of his wings. And Jane has seen them! He still couldn’t believe he’d shown them to her.
”If you feel she is in the upper quarters, go there,” Eagar said. “I was to search it myself.” He looked at Charlie gravely, his eyes sending out a warning. “Remember to be discreet. King Garmade must not be upset.”
Charlie nodded. All of the kingdom knew of their monarch’s dwindling hold on reason. The past few years had seen his deterioration. Charlie wondered if the Dymynsh had affected their King, so closely tied as he was with the land.
Mara tugged on his arm. “Come on. If you can feel Jane’s presence, we had best start. The poor thing must be scared, all alone and lost.”
They moved toward the first of several staircases that led up to the royal suite.
“What if she meets the King?” his sister-in-law whispered.
Charlie shuddered to think of the possibility.

King of the Elves! What had she gotten herself into? All this time Jane had thought she dealt with a doddering old fool. Instead, she’d been patronizing a doddering old King. You’ve put your foot into it now, she thought. A King can cause a lot of trouble, even if he does dress like Klinger on M*A*S*H.
Jane stepped back from Garmade. All the children’s books she’d read and Disney movies she’d seen kicked in. She curtsied. A curtsy followed meeting a King, didn’t it?
“Your Highness,” she said. Twenty-four hours earlier she would have laughed at the phrase.
The old man leaned over and helped her to stand upright.
“No need of that, my dear. I have a feeling there will be no formality between us. Here comes Calme with your dinner.”
Jane followed the monarch to a small, round table. He pulled out a chair for her and waited until she settled before sitting down opposite her.
Calme effortlessly carried in a tray too large for her. She placed it on the table and began spooning fruit into a bowl.
Harvalins, Jane discovered, looked and tasted like pears. Peeled and sliced, they were cooked and covered with a warm vanilla sauce. Tiances proved to be unfamiliar in taste, texture and color. Red mottled with orange and the size of eggs, they reminded her of large grapes. The best were saved for last - red, juicy maneuse seeds. Similar to large raspberries, they melted in her mouth. She had two helpings.
Finally, her hunger sated, she sat back in her chair and looked across at the King.
“Thank you,” she said. “I haven’t eaten in a while.” Not since the previous evening, snacking on what Kendra had stingily put out for her guests.
The thought led to those of the party and the stack of orders Jane had tucked into one of the Rubbermaid containers she’d pulled from her car. Where were her boxes? Had they gone through the portal, or been dumped alongside the path? Fat lot of good they would do her now, unless her jurors were sexually frustrated house elves with disposable incomes.
Jurors! Jane panicked. Charlie had said her trial would start soon. Try as he might, she knew he had no defense for her. She’d killed Tivat as sure as God made little green apples. She was going to fry. Then again, they hadn’t discovered electricity yet. Probably boiling oil or being strung up on the rack would do as well. No doubt Eagar would invent something cruel and torturous with which to kill her.
“Are you well, Lady Jane?” the King asked. “You look pale. Perhaps you are too close to the fire. Is there aught I can get you?” His elderly face was etched with concern.
A pardon from the governor? A one-way ticket back to reality? A movie deal with Steven Spielberg? Jane had a sudden urge to scream in frustration. She’d been too bewildered and tired earlier to vent her anger at her situation. Her life, while boring at times, had been a good one. Mother, brothers, sister, lots of friends, a stifling full-time job - but a stimulating part-time one filled her days. No boyfriend, but only because Todd had run away with the copy-machine repair girl at Christmas. And now, because of circumstances she couldn’t understand, she sat before the King of Elves, charged with murder, eating strange foods and ripping apart walls.
She felt ill. Maybe it was the maneuse seeds. They’d been rich, like honey and Bavarian desserts. Jane laid her hand against her stomach, but it still heaved and lurched. Dear heavens, she was going to ralph all over royalty!
By sheer determination, she kept everything down. The Belwaiths soothed her brow with delicate fingers and offered her a cold cloth. The King, frail and barely able to support his own weight, guided her to lie on the royal bed. He tucked warm, down-filled coverlets around her up to her chin. Jane tried not to move too much until her stomach settled.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m normally very healthy.”
King Garmade, sitting next to her, patted her hand. “It’s perfectly all right, my dear. I’m sure you’ve had a notable turn of events.” He looked at her with a paternal fondness. “You’ve certainly added some spice to my evening. It’s been a long time since a woman visited these chambers. Once this room was filled with scores of bright, beautiful young women. They flitted around Elaine, loving her so.”
Curious, Jane struggled to sit. “Who is Elaine?”
“My daughter,” he replied. “The Princess Elaine.”
That explained the dresses. They must belong to her.
“Where is she now?” she asked. She knew nothing of the occupants of the castle.
“Ah.” The King sighed deeply. “Gone, alas, these thirty years. Taken by the goblins, never to be heard from again.” He looked fragile, as if a slight puff would blow him away. His lower lip trembled. Tears welled in his dark eyes.
His sorrow touched Jane. She took his hand, mindful that he was a grieving father first, a ruler second.
“Tell me of her,” she coaxed. “What was she like?”
“Hmm?” King Garmade looked at her a moment before answering. He relaxed, as if glad of the opportunity to speak of his loved one. “Laughing and singing. She had a sweet, lovely voice and organized contests and performances for the people. I’ll never forget ...” He drifted off.
Jane yearned to know more. Fate had tossed her into this world; from what she’d seen so far, she had much to learn. Elves and goblins and fairies, a real King before her - Malin the Sixty-sixth. How far back did his family go? She’d ask Charlie, but knew the answers would be more interesting coming from the King. Not that Charlie would do a bad job, but he could be weary at times, as if he didn’t want to talk to her.
“Sir? What did she look like? The Princess Elaine?”
Garmade returned from wherever he’d mentally wandered. “Why, her mother, of course.” He patted Jane’s hand again. “You wouldn’t remember her, you’re much too young. Elaine and Helen were very much alike. Tall, with brown eyes and short, curly brown hair.” He peered at Jane. “Similar to you, except your eyes are green. You’re not an elf, are you?”
“No, sir, I’m not. I’m human. My name is Jane Drysdale, and I think I’m your prisoner.”
He chewed over this information as if it were a piece of tough meat.
“Killed Tivat, correct?” he asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.
“Well, not on purpose. I’m sure it’s a huge mistake and it will be changed soon. Er, you don’t suppose you could make that happen, could you?” After all, he was the King.
Garmade dashed her hopes at once. “I’m sure Eagar has everything well in hand,” he said, letting the matter rest.
Riight. Old Eagar, the cat-kicker. He probably had dozens of felines, one for every occasion. Jane bet he’d picked out the cutest, softest kitten around and named it in her honor.
“It’s very confusing,” she said, shaking her head. “Strange things have happened since I arrived. For instance, this evening I created a hole in a wall with my bare hands. I’ve never done anything like that before on Earth.”
“Created a hole?” The monarch sat up, alert for the first time since she’d entered the room. “My, that is interesting. Do you know how you did it?”
“No, sir. Muttle said you’d be able to explain.”
He pondered the problem. “This was here, in Sylthia?” When she nodded, he said, “The castle has ways we cannot fathom. She’s inherited magic from her occupants in addition to her own. She’s either taken a liking to you and allowed you this ability, or she’s bestowed magic on you.”
Taken a liking to her? His statement threw Jane off balance. The thought of the castle as a living entity blew her mind. She struggled with the concept. How many more surprises lay in wait for her?
“I can open walls from now on, or only when I’m within Sylthia?” she asked.
The King chewed on his lower lip. “It’s hard to say.” He shook his head. “Despite the proximity of our worlds, we have very little experience with mortals. The portal to Earth is temperamental. We can go out, but it doesn’t often allow humans through. Few have passed into Lowth in the last hundred years. There was Stewart of Graham, and Lemieaux, and another, a woman, some years back. She returned home, the others stayed and eventually died here. I don’t remember if they gained powers or not. It seems evident, however, that Sylthia has smiled on you. We’ll have to keep an eye on you, my dear.”
Not if you execute me, she thought.
“You say the portal doesn’t allow humans through. Then how did I get here? Weren’t Charlie and his friends taking a risk, hoping it would let them transport me?”
“It’s only because you were with them that you could come. Charlie - he’s the Whelphite, correct? - accompanied you. Only those with Lowth blood are allowed access. You wouldn’t have been able to traverse it on your own. The portal would have refused entry.”
Great. There went her plans of ripping open the gates and making a dash for it. Even if she managed to elude the guards, the portal might not open. She was stuck here until Charlie could prove her innocent.
Depression descended on her like a storm cloud. She was at the mercy of a senile King, a cold-blooded steward and Charlie, who only defended her out of a sense of duty.
Stop being a coward, she told herself. Normally upbeat, Jane didn’t often allow thoughts of self-pity. Tonight was an exception. Torn from her family and facing a grisly death, she let everything get to her.
“It’s not fair,” she sniffled. “All I did was try to go home, and now I’m going to die.” She snuffled and snorted, realizing she was making a terrible impression on the King.
He patted her hand, a gesture he was fond of, and muttered, “There, there.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” she apologized, her head resting on the green velvet bodice of his gown. “I don’t know why I’m acting this way.”
“Nonsense,” he declared. “It’s perfectly normal.”
Jane, about to point out that it wasn’t normal for her, was interrupted by the throat-clearing crescendo of Muttle.
“Visitors have ye,” the Belwaith announced, disapproval clear in his voice.
Jane, still in the King’s arms, looked to the doorway.

Chapter Six
By the first dawn, she’s seduced the King! 
Charlie stared in horror at the scene in front of him. From the strange intuition he’d developed about Jane’s location, he’d expected to find her with the King. But not in his embrace! What was she thinking? Did he need to watch her every minute? It was blasphemy to approach the King thus. If it had been Eagar who found her -
As King Garmade’s hand slipped from Jane’s back, Charlie felt a tightening in his gut. He hadn’t thought of Jane sexually. Not really. Seeing her in another’s arms started a disturbing awareness in him. It didn’t matter if the one holding her was elderly and infirm. And his liege. Charlie fought against the sensation, refusing to name it as attraction to her.
A knot closed over his heart as he took in her appearance. She looked weary, rumpled. The purple bruise above her eye clashed with their bellefern irises, dewy with tears. Why had she cried? Were her tears real or for the King’s benefit?
Charlie forgot his training until he heard a rustling behind him. Mara, panting from the long climb, sank into a curtsy. Aware that he stood in disrespect before his monarch, Charlie dropped to one knee.
“Your majesty,” he said, his head bowed.
“Ah, Charles the Whelphite, is it?”
Charlie nodded, daring a glance.
The King gestured for him to rise. He indicated Jane. “It seems you’ve lost your charge.”
Charlie rose to his feet. Not mine. Eagar’s, he thought.
“Yes, sire,” he agreed. Shock at his lord’s appearance surged in him. They’d spoken on a score of occasions, usually on the subjects of trades, harvests, and the Dymynsh. He had not seen the King in months. The man’s deterioration stunned him. There had been rumors that Garmade had taken to wearing women’s clothing, but Charlie hadn’t believed them. It saddened him that the end of his reign in Malin was at hand.
“She’s been telling me some interesting stories,” King Garmade continued. “It seems Sylthia has given her magic.”
Charlie’s head jerked up. His eyes narrowed on Jane, sitting so casually on the royal bed. Magic? What is this about? He wanted to ask her a thousand questions. Right after he shook her a few times. But at least she hadn’t been seducing the King as he’d first thought.
Jane looked at him and shrugged. “I rip walls apart.”
Walls? He didn’t think he had the strength to ask. With Jane, a long, incomprehensible monologue followed any questions.
“Oh, my.” The words came from Mara.
Jane smiled at her. “Hello. Who are you?”
To his astonishment, Mara dropped into a curtsy again. Why would she do that? And to a mortal?
“I am Mara Tanner, wife of Hugh.”
A look of relief washed over Jane’s face. “Mara? Mara? Wife of Hugh? You don’t know how happy I am to hear that. Charlie didn’t mention a sister-in-law.” She shot a look of reproach in Charlie’s direction.
What? What had he done? When had he had time to go into his family history?
“Are you feeling better, Lady Jane?” the King interrupted, his gaze kind upon her.
Lady? Charlie thought. What exactly had happened here? Jane was royalty now? His head spun in confusion.
“Lady Jane?” Mara inquired, echoing his thoughts.
“A small joke among ourselves,” King Garmade explained.
Joke? Charlie felt as if he’d returned from a journey of many years and he didn’t know anything anymore. When had he so lost control? For that matter, when had he had control with Jane? Only during her unconsciousness.
To his horror, she patted the monarch’s arm in a disturbingly familiar gesture. Charlie didn’t like it. She had no business touching anyone in such an intimate way. If anything - He closed his eyes a moment, imagining the silky feel of her skin, the flowery scent of her hair ... 
Stop, he commanded himself, astonished at his reaction. She murdered another. She is to be tried. 
Charlie pushed away his feelings with steel resolve. He addressed his lord, the words coming through clenched teeth. “Sire, I’ll take charge of the prisoner now.”
King Garmade’s face crumpled, as if the reminder of Jane being a prisoner pained him. He looked at her. “I think you have more to tell me, my dear. But I see the wisdom of your counselor’s words.”
Jane nodded. “Yes, sir. We barely spoke of my newfound power. And I haven’t said anything about Nenius yet.”
Charlie shook his head. Power? What was she talking about? And who was Nenius? He couldn’t wait to get her alone and find out the answers. Disturbing woman. Would she never be out of his life?
He directed his attention back to his lord, who was saying, “I feel there is much to learn from you, Lady Jane. But the night deepens, and you are tired. We will speak again in the morning.” Garmade looked at his audience. “As our young charge has proven to be adept at escape, we cannot return her to where Eagar imprisoned her. She will stay the night in the keep, in a guest room. After that, she is free to stay where she sees fit. Muttle will accompany her.”
What? Eagar would not like this. How would they keep an eye on her? Charlie saw his shock reflected on Jane’s face.
“Sir, that’s kind of you,” she said, clearing her throat. “If you don’t mind, and not to knock your hospitality, I would prefer to await trial someplace else. After our talk, I’m sure you’ll understand how uneasy I feel here. Especially once I tell you of Nenius.”
“Best not,” interjected Muttle, entering the conversation for the first time.
King Garmade looked at his servant. After a moment, the monarch nodded. He turned to his guests.
“Mistress Tanner?”
Mara curtsied again. “Sire?”
“How is your household?”
“Sire?”
“Have you children?”
Mara shuffled her feet. “Alas, sire, none.”
Charlie felt for her. He knew the pain it brought her and his brother that they had not been successful in conceiving a child. Another effect of the Dymynsh.
“You live with your husband?” the monarch continued.
“Aye, sire, and Charlie also lives with us, down in the village.”
“Charlie?” Garmade eyed him. “Ah, that makes it better. You’ll be able to communicate much more easily with your client.”
Charlie had an uneasy feeling of where this conversation was headed. A slight vibration in his wings emphasized the warning.
”Sire?” he asked.
“Yes, it will work out well. Mistress Tanner, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to host Lady Jane in your home. Might she be your guest during her stay with us?”
What? Charlie jerked at the suggestion. Living in the same house with Jane! She’d have the whole village of Malin in an uproar in no time. What had he done to deserve this?
Mara looked taken aback by the request. She fumbled with a response, then said, “Yes, sire, I would be honored.”
King Garmade looked at Charlie. “Do you object, Whelphite?” The monarch’s once-great power steeled his words.
Object to a royal command? Gritting his teeth, Charlie replied, “No, sire. She may live with us.”
“Excellent.” The King clapped his hands. “I’ll see you all in the morning.”
Before Charlie could think to act, Muttle had ushered them out.

 “I want to talk with you.” Jane heard Charlie say as she watched Muttle depart to take his position as guard outside the luxurious suite next to the King’s.
“Ouch.” She pulled away from his touch. He’d grabbed her left arm, which was still sore from the car accident. She could understand his anger at her escape, she supposed, but he was on her side, right?
“I want to talk to you, too,” she hissed. “Why didn’t you tell me about the King, and Princess Elaine, and the portal, and Sylthia being alive?” Her earlier happiness at seeing Charlie again had evaporated with his attitude.
“How much time did you spend with the King?”
“Long enough to learn there’s a lot I don’t know about this land. I’m getting a very Dorothyish feeling here, Charlie Whelphite, and I don’t like it.”
“When was I supposed to tell you about our three thousand years of history? When I pulled you out of your burning wagon? While carrying you in my arms through the Malin wood?”
“Maybe instead of drugging me ...”
They glared at each other. Jane could fight dirty, too. She wanted to hit him with something, preferably something heavy and skull-crushing. Of all the pig-headed men she’d met ... 
Mara stepped between them, her hands raised. “Children, let’s not fight. ‘Tis grown late and we need our rest.”
Jane felt a pang of regret. She’d taken an instant liking to the small, plump woman. She pitied her for living with Charlie on a daily basis. She tried to sweeten her voice to normal.
“I’m sorry, Mara, I shouldn’t drag you into our argument.” She’d rather have Charlie alone. It wouldn’t do to have a witness to the abuse, both verbal and physical, that she wanted to heap on him.
Mara smiled. “I admit I am curious to hear your story.”
Charlie, still visibly fuming, said, “No doubt it will differ from mine.”
“And the truth lies somewhere in the middle,” Mara guessed. “Forget it for now, Charlie Whelphite. The day has been long for you both. I will see Mistress Jane settled for the night, then we will go home.” She turned to Jane. “I’ll come again in the morning with fresh clothes. Charlie’s sister, Tisha, lived with us until her marriage two months ago. She was around your size. I’m sure there is something you may borrow.”
“It’s very thoughtful of you, Mistress Tanner.” Jane appreciated her kindness, some of the first shown to her since she’d arrived in Lowth.
“You must call me Mara.”
Jane ignored Charlie’s deprecating mutter. “All right, Mara. Call me Jane. I’m not a lady or a mistress. Go home to your husband. I’ll see you in the morning.”
”If you’re sure you don’t need anything else?” The woman looked upset, as if she hadn’t fulfilled her duties as hostess yet.
Jane patted her hand. “I’m sure. Muttle will get me anything I need tonight. Besides, you’re right. It’s been a long day, and a long night before that. I’m so tired, I doubt if I have the energy to think about all the strange things that have happened.” Which was true, she realized. Exhaustion had set in. Jane wanted everyone gone so she could crawl into what she hoped would be an angel-soft bed.
Mara studied her face. After a moment, she nodded, as if satisfied with what she saw.
“Good dreams, then,” she said. She grabbed Jane and hustled her to a guestroom. She showed Jane inside, then took Charlie by the arm and manhandled him out the door.
Jane sighed after their departure. She felt guilty that she hadn’t said good night to Charlie. Even though he was an irritating beast, he tried to be kind to her. Most of the time.

Chapter Seven
The next morning, wearing a nightgown Calme had brought her, Jane woke to sunshine streaming in the windows. True to her prediction, she’d slept through the night.
She sat up and surveyed the room the King had gotten for her. Smaller than his, it was decorated in sage green, rose and ivory. She’d needed a stepstool to reach the canopied bed. A private bath lay in one corner, its amenities similar to the one Muttle had shown her the day before.
The day before! Had it only been that? Jane felt as if she’d been in Lowth for weeks. What would today bring? More secrets? A different cast of characters?
So far, when she thought about it, everyone with the exception of Eagar had treated her well. The steward’s malevolence worried her; his membership on the council that would decide her fate gnawed her nerves. But Charlie had said it was a three-member council. Perhaps the other two wouldn’t be fellow members of the Nazi relocation program like Eagar.
A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. Mara entered the room, carrying a tray. “I thought you might be hungry,” she said, a smile on her face, her tone cheery. She bustled over to the bed.
Jane returned her smile. “I am. The King gave me fruit last night, but it was all I had all day.” And it didn’t settle as well as I hoped. She prayed Mara’s food would prove better than the King’s.
“Then you will like what Cook has prepared. Eggs, bread, cheese, coffee.” Mara lifted a metal cover, revealing a plate heaped with food.
Jane smiled at the mention of coffee. After the strange repast the night before, she’d wondered if all food on Lowth would be unfamiliar. She tucked into her breakfast with gusto.
“You slept well?” Mara inquired. At Jane’s nod, she continued, “I’m honored to have you stay at my house. It’s very humble. You’re probably used to much nicer things -”
“It will be fine,” Jane reassured her. “I’m not rich back on Earth.” Far from it. “And I feel so uncomfortable staying in the keep.” She didn’t want to recount her wall-tearing adventures, it was too early in the morning, and she didn’t care to remember it too closely. The experience unnerved her. She’d been lucky she hadn’t had nightmares.
Inexplicably, she yearned to tell Charlie. He’d find a reason for its happening. When she wasn’t upset with him for his logic, his I-love-my-rut stodginess, she admired him for it. Goodness knew she didn’t have much stability in her own life. Her old life, she corrected. The one of the past thirty-six hours had even less.
“How is Charlie?” she blurted, then immediately wished the words back.
Mara didn’t notice. “In a foul mood, let me tell you,” she confided. “He’s worried because he hasn’t received a shipment of wool from Randolph. His business depends on it, and it’s overdue by a week. He works too hard, and is taking on more all the time.”
Including me, Jane noted. She would bet a murder trial in the middle of wool-gathering season really frosted his cake. She still hadn’t explained her escape to him, or received satisfactory answers to the hundred questions floating in her head. She needed to see him again. To see his sexy wings, too, she added. If she could trick him out of his shirt ... 
“How is Hugh?” she asked in a rush, anxious to rid her mind of a half-naked Charlie.
“Hugh?” Mara looked up blankly.
Too late, Jane realized the other woman didn’t often mention her husband. Was there trouble in elf paradise?
“Hugh is fine. I’ve not seen him this morning. He was on guard duty last night.” Mara’s tone was short.
Guard? Against what? Soldiers? Dragons? Jane felt frustrated by her lack of knowledge about this world. She needed a crash course in Lowth 101.
Mara said, “You know, you are lucky to be here at the castle. They have running hot water. At home, I’d have to heat it for you.” She disappeared into the bathroom, and Jane realized the subject of Hugh had been dismissed.
Mara popped back. “Your bath will be ready soon.”
Bath? Jane smiled at the thought. What a luxury. She’d not bathed in forty-eight hours. She scrambled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
She would have preferred to loaf in the marble bath for hours, but she didn’t know when she was to meet the King. She hurried through the process, shampooed her hair and wished for a hair dryer. She toweled off the best she could, wrapped another towel around her head and returned to the bedroom.
“Mara, do you have the clothes you talked about last night?” she asked, preoccupied with the thought of fresh underwear. She could do without a bra, lacking any size in that area, but panties ... 
“Here,” Mara said. “King Garmade sent some with Muttle -” She stopped and stared.
Jane looked over her shoulder toward the bathroom. Had a ghost appeared? “What’s wrong?”
“Mistress Jane, I didn’t mean to stare -”
But she did, making Jane uncomfortable. Jane realized they might have different views on nudity on Lowth, but she wasn’t exactly naked, for heaven’s sake.
“What’s upset you?” she asked.
Mara gulped. “The markings on your skin. There is nothing wrong with such - the dwarves favor them. I did not expect to see them on you, that’s all.”
Jane touched the rose tattoo above the towel line on her left breast. “It’s called a tattoo on Earth. I have this one and another on my ankle.” She lifted her right leg, where Bugs Bunny chewed on a carrot. “Then there’s the design on my arm.” She held out her left arm. A swirling design between two bands encircled it a handbreadth above her elbow.
“It says, ‘Forever joined, heart upon heart, world upon world’.” Mara cocked her head, reading the words. “Very pretty. Did you write it?”
“What?” Jane jumped back. “It says something?” She looked at her arm, trying to see the upside-down lettering. Why hadn’t she noticed it earlier? It looked the same as always, only now she realized she could read it.
“You are shocked.”
Lady, that’s an understatement. Fumbling around until she found a chair, Jane sank into it. She felt ill with the implications coursing through her head. This was unreal. The Twilight Zone had come to life and trapped her in a sickening rerun. She had tattooed Elven on her arm!
“Mistress Jane?” Mara knelt at her side. “Are you well? Should I call Muttle?”
”No.” Jane all but shouted the word. Her fingers trembled as she traced the design, now legible. She fought a rising panic. “Until today, it was a design, nothing more. It had no meaning.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That makes two of us. Look, is there anything I can use to write with?” Chalk? Blood? She couldn’t think coherently.
Mara produced paper and a writing instrument similar to a pencil. Jane wrote down the words in English.
Forever joined, heart upon heart, world upon world. 
What did it mean?
“See, can you read this?” She pointed to the script she’d written, hoping she was wrong, that this was a hellish nightmare. She had to be in a coma in a hospital back on Earth, right? Lewis Carroll would never do this to Alice.
The other woman peered at the words.
“No, ‘tis squiggles.”
Jane winced. This doesn’t make sense. “Mara,” she said, trying to keep her voice even, “until I entered Lowth, the tattoo was squiggles to me, too.”
“Then how did it come to be written on your arm?”
Jane thought back to the first time she’d seen the design. She’d been five or six, learning to read and comprehend the alphabet. A thirst for knowledge had prodded her to copy letters in every free moment. Magazines, the newspaper, even her sister Sheila Perfect’s diary - nothing was sacred.
“The design had fascinated me since I was a small girl,” she explained. “I didn’t know it was writing at first. It didn’t matter when I found out. Its beautiful, flowing lines intrigued me. It was my first choice, years later, when I decided to get a tattoo.” She remembered the anger spewed at her when she’d come home with the fresh markings etched on her arm. At the time she’d thought it was because of the deed, not the design.
The enormity of the words she was about to say caused them to catch in her throat.
“I copied it from something I found in my mother’s journal.”

Chapter Eight
How in hell did her mother know the Elven language? No, there must be some other explanation, Jane reasoned. Marion Drysdale might be flighty at times, but who wouldn’t be, raising five children? She had both feet firmly planted on the ground, and didn’t believe in fairies, sprites, elves, ghosts or things that went bump in the night. She was a solid citizen, ex-PTA member, maker of a pot roast dinner every Sunday, and grandmother of five. How would she know Elven? She’d never been out of the United States!
“Your mother is an elf?” Mara asked, her eyes wide.
“She is not!” Jane exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “She’s American as apple pie.” At the puzzled look on her friend’s face, she sought for a Lowth comparison. “It would be the same as saying you’re as Elven as the Malin.”
Agitated, Jane circled the room. “I don’t understand this. There must be some mistake. Are you sure you read it right? You didn’t make this up to trick me or make me go insane? Because, let me tell you, after all that’s happened the last day or two, I’m about ready to wig out. It’s bad enough I’m trapped in Lowth until the trial, but to think my mother might have been here ...” She shuddered. “It totally creeps me out.”
Mara sat in the chair Jane had vacated, twisting her hands. “I wouldn’t trick you, Jane. I do not lie and I lack imagination to deceive. The marking on your arm says what I said it did. Forever joined, heart - ”
“ ‘Upon heart, world upon world’,” Jane finished. “It sounds like a love letter. Why would she write a love letter in Elven? My father was the only man she ever loved. They were married for over thirty years until he died four years ago.” Their marriage had been too Ozzie and Harriet for her mother to be unfaithful. Especially with an elf. And places on Earth to meet and fool around with pointy-eared men were scarce unless you belonged to the Vulcan Swinging Singles Club.
“Maybe she copied it from someplace, the same as you did,” Mara offered.
“And where would that be? There isn’t much communication between my world and yours.” Precious little. In fact, none that she knew. You couldn’t walk into Waldenbooks and pick up an English/Elven dictionary. Frommer’s didn’t publish The Best Places to Stay in Lowth. And as far as Jane knew, there’d never been any talk of her mother disappearing.
“Elves do go through the portal,” Mara said. “King Garmade himself once lived on Earth. Perhaps he loved an Earthwoman and wrote a poem for her and somehow it came into your mother’s possession -”
Jane blinked at her in surprise. “I thought you said you lacked imagination. No, there are too many coincidences for all those things to happen - and then I show up in the King’s suite with his words tattooed on my arm? That’s a stretch, don’t you think?”
Mara pursed her lips, her forehead lined in concentration. “There must be an explanation.”
Jane plowed her fingers through her damp hair. “I agree, but I’m fresh out.”
“Perhaps Charlie can help. He has a logical mind.”
It’s not logical, Captain Kirk. Jane sighed. Handing the problem over to Charlie smacked of handing her Earth problems over to her brother Kevin: She didn’t want to do it. Closest to her in age, he always complained she took advantage of being the youngest. Still, he helped her out of jams anyway. He’d been with her when she’d had the tattoo done. She wondered what he’d think if he knew it was written in Elven.
“Let’s tell Charlie,” she agreed. “After we see the King. Mara, this is our secret - mine, yours and Charlie’s. If Eagar knew I had this on my arm, well ... he might burn me at the stake.”
She didn’t try to hide her dislike of the steward. She’d gathered that the general population thought he walked on water. Of course, they hadn’t accidentally killed one of his people, either. Such a blemish on an immaculate record would turn him to the dark side. Maybe he’d had a bad hair day yesterday. No, wait, he was bald. It must be too-tight shoes. It had to be the shoes. Like the Grinch.
Thinking of shoes made Jane realize she was still wrapped in a towel. She turned to Mara.
“Help me get ready, would you? What type of clothes did Muttle bring over from the King?” She hoped it wasn’t something the monarch had worn himself. It was bad enough that she had to borrow clothes. To wear the King’s second-hand dresses capped an already Marvin-the-Martian experience.
Mara held out a long, flowing, Kermit-green nightgown.
“Okaay,” Jane said, fighting not to make a face. She realized she lived in a different world, if, she hoped, only temporarily. It was necessary to take advantage of the resources offered, but this poofy dress wasted good fabric. “Is there more?” A six-person tent, maybe? 
“Of course. There’s the bodice.” From underneath the yards of material, Mara unearthed a short, vest-type garment, low cut and laced in front. She handed it to Jane.
Jane touched it gingerly. What a weird bustier. “Is this for under or over?”
Mara looked affronted. “Over. Nothing is worn under.”
“Nothing?” Jane gasped. “As in nothing? You’re naked? No bra? Panties?” Her earlier worry about underclothes returned. She didn’t need a bra, having little to lift and separate, but she wouldn’t walk around with a bare bottom.
Mara stared, perplexed. Jane strode to the bathroom and returned with the clothes she’d worn earlier.
“This is what we wear on Earth,” she said. “At least, some of us do.” She didn’t want to get into a discussion of the natural look or thong underwear. “The bra gives support,” she explained. “Or, in my case, enhancement. The panties are for, well, modesty.”
“Intriguing,” Mara commented. She seemed especially enthralled by the hook-and-eye fasteners on the bra. “Jerrowes the blacksmith could make wire so fine.”
“Of course he could,” Jane said, taking back her clothes. “If you have someone who can sew, you could churn these out for all the women. You’d have a regular Sylthia’s Secret.” Jane thought of the naughty underwear packed in the boxes she’d pulled from her car. She didn’t know if the elves were ready for such a leap of imagination.
“Sharezee is the royal seamstress,” Mara said. “Perhaps she might make you others to wear during your stay.”
The idea had potential. “Sure,” Jane replied. “Knock yourself out. Have her make you some, too. I bequeath the pattern to the women of Lowth. No patent, no copyright, no trademark.”
Tired of the subject of underwear, she gathered together the voluminous folds of the gown and departed to the bathroom.
Mara had failed to mention the Lowth equivalent of panties - knee length white bloomers with a drawstring waist. Jane rolled her eyes when she found them hidden in the folds of fabric. Grumbling, she put them on, followed by the chemise itself, yard after yard of green silk. Finally, she pulled on the bodice which, when laced in front, pushed her breasts up and forward, making her feel very serving-wenchish.
As she entered the bedroom ten minutes later, her feet encased in soft leather slippers, she saw Charlie standing in the doorway to the outside corridor. Their gazes met. Her breath caught. Charlie, her protector, her own Clark Kent.
From his expression she knew he’d forgotten the previous night’s harsh words. The look in his eyes told her everything would be okay. She didn’t have to worry about residual anger from him. Or anything else.
“You look ... pretty,” he said.
Did she? Jane wished there’d been a mirror to check. There didn’t seem to be any in the castle. She twirled, letting her skirts float around her ankles.
“I feel like a fraud. I’m not used to silk and lace.” Or the open admiration in his eyes. Her cheeks warmed. “It’s different from what I normally wear.”
“The color suits you. It complements your eyes. I wondered how you would look in green.”
He’d wondered? The warmth in her cheeks grew to a full-fledged bonfire. This new side to Charlie caught her off guard. She knew the I-like-my-rut Charlie; she liked to goad the what-have-you-done-now Charlie; but the I-wondered Charlie unsettled her. None of her previous boyfriends, though there hadn’t been many, had ever treated her as if she were a cherished glass ornament at the top of the Christmas tree. The look in Charlie’s eyes made her feel delicate and rare.
Jane glanced away in confusion. Across the room, Mara watched, obviously enjoying the encounter.
Don’t start matchmaking yet, Jane thought. We still have to weave an OJ defense before we break out the bubbly. 
Her pleasure at Charlie’s gaze spiraled back to reality. The trial. Eagar sitting in judgment. A presumed-dead elf. Hoo-boy. Yes, flirtation would have to wait.
“Right, then,” she said. “Let’s go see the King. Afterward, Charlie, Mara and I have a surprise for you that will rock your world.”

Bemused, Charlie took her arm. Half the time he didn’t know what she talked about, the other half he regretted asking. He didn’t need another surprise, but with Jane it was like telling the wind not to blow.
He approved of her change in attire. The pants she’d worn earlier distracted him. Rarely did an Elven woman clothe herself in anything other than a dress. The gown suited Jane. Along with her coloring and the triangular shape of her face, she looked more Elven. It would be a slim advantage in proving her innocence, he decided.
Muttle met them at the door to King Garmade’s suite.
“He be not well,” he warned, his eyes whirling shades of yellow and green.
“Does he want to see us?” Charlie asked. He’d wondered if the previous night’s excitement had been too much for the monarch, precipitating a breakdown of an already weak mind.
The Belwaith nodded. “Aye. But be quick.” He stepped aside to let them enter.
Jane’s sharp intake of breath prepared Charlie for the worst, but Garmade’s deterioration still shocked him. The night before, the man had been semi-energetic and coherent. Now, lying with almost deathlike stillness on the royal bed, he was feeble and barely lucid.
“Come closer,” the monarch said before the three could make obeisance to him. He gestured them forward, his shaking hand not rising from the mattress.
Charlie, Jane and Mara took positions at his side.
“Speak, my lady,” King Garmade whispered, his gaze on Jane.
The compassion in her face bordered on tears. “Sir,” she said, dropping into a curtsy. “Of what? So much has happened to me.”
“Powers.” A rattle shook the King’s chest as he exhaled on the word.
She nodded and took a deep breath. “Twice yesterday the castle did what I wanted. The first time, when you sent Muttle to my cell, I reached into a small hole in the wall and stretched it large enough to pass through. The second time ...” She hesitated, steadying herself. “The second time, when I made a hole, I could feel the thoughts of Nenius, the man who set the stone in place some three thousand years ago. Sir, it frightened me.”
Magic. Charlie stared, looking for physical proof of a change in Jane. She remained the same, with tousled honey-brown hair and eyes moist with suppressed tears.
Magic bestowed itself unpredictably. Still, without checking Lowth’s history books, Charlie knew not of a mortal with magic. What did it mean?
“A great gift,” King Garmade wheezed. “More is to come. Guard it well. A strength returns to the land.” He closed his eyes. His breathing continued laboriously.
“Enough,” said Muttle, cutting off their chance to learn more. “He sleeps.”
Calme appeared to stand at the King’s side. Her mate all but pushed the others into the corridor.
“We go to the village.” From his tone of voice, Charlie could tell Muttle’s reluctance to abandon his King. Only the direct order from Garmade to watch over Jane would keep the Belwaith from his master’s side.
The door shut behind them. Charlie looked at his sister-in-law and his charge, and saw both weeping copiously.
“Don’t cry,” he said, digging in his pocket to find a handkerchief for Jane. Mara had one of her own.
“Will he die?” Jane asked, scrubbing away the tears and blowing her nose in the white linen.
“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “He’s been sick a long time.” Charlie knew the King had become obsessed with ending the Dymynsh, but to see him weakened to such a state -
“What will happen to the monarchy without heirs?”
“I don’t know that, either.” He turned a corner and started down a staircase. The others trailed behind him. “Legend tells that there have been Malins at Sylthia since the time of your Nenius. Two brothers, Malin and Malik, fought over the land. Malik lost and moved north, to christen the Malik Forest and build the castle of Shallen. Malin stayed here, to become the first King and build Sylthia.”
“Then there are heirs in Shallen?”
Charlie shook his head. “The two families have fought for centuries. The last battle was fifty years ago, in King Garmade’s prime. He slew King Rodom, Malik the Sixty-third. No heirs exist.” They descended more stairs.
“Who rules Shallen?” Jane asked, trying to keep up with him. Mara and Muttle followed farther back.
“Blacwin, a wizard. Rumor has it that he is the source of the Dymynsh.”
“The Dymynsh? Charlie, what are you talking about?”
He didn’t have time to answer. They rounded the last corner to the level where his office was located. Eagar stood outside his door. The steward looked angry.
Instinctively, Charlie placed himself in front of Jane, protecting her. She’d had enough to upset her over the past two days. Eagar’s wrath, while rare, was formidable.
“Why was I not informed of the new plans for the prisoner?” Eagar spat the last word as if it tasted bitter.
“It was late when the King changed them. You were not around this morning.” Charlie knew Eagar lived by a precise schedule; he’d been at the stables for a routine inspection when Charlie arrived at the castle. Instead of taking time to inform the steward, Charlie’s first thought had been to see Jane again. She needed more than Muttle’s surveillance to keep out of trouble.
“Humph,” Eagar commented. “It should have been brought to my attention. She is in my charge.”
“No,” Charlie said, annoyed. “She is in Muttle’s. And mine.” He didn’t like the idea of Eagar claiming possession of Jane, any more than he’d liked seeing her in King Garmade’s arms the previous night.
“Now wait a minute,” Jane said, elbowing Charlie out of the way to push herself in front of Eagar. “I’m not some toy you boys can fight over. I’m a person, with thoughts and feelings.” She punctuated her words by thumping the older man’s chest with her finger. Charlie tried to catch her hand, but she slipped through his grasp.
“I have certain rights,” she continued. “It’s in the Geneva Convention. Okay, maybe you don’t have the same rules here on Lowth, but I know you obey your King, and he says I’m free to go wherever I want. Muttle is to look after me.” She touched the Belwaith gently on his shoulder.
“I think -”
She interrupted Eagar. “Don’t. It will get you in more trouble. This whole thing is your fault, you know. If you’d run a decent prison, Colonel Klink, your prisoners wouldn’t escape all the time and I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Charlie smiled at her spirit in defying the most respected man in the kingdom. He admired her ability to defend herself, though he didn’t need her bravery upsetting one of the men who would decide her fate.
“Jane,” he said, laying a hand on her arm. “Let’s go.”
She snapped her head around to look at him. Fire blazed in her eyes. “But Charlie -”
“It’s time to go,” he said, treading the fine line between voicing a suggestion and telling her what to do, an action that would probably direct her temper at him.
Their gaze held for an intense moment. She looked away first, but her anger didn’t stay dampened for long.
“Where are my boxes?” she demanded of Eagar.
“Boxes?” The steward looked confused.
“My boxes. I realize they might not mean anything to you, but I had a lot of money tied up in their contents. I’d like to get it back when I return to Earth.”
“I’ve not touched your boxes or their contents,” Eagar declared.
Jane looked him up and down. “No, you probably wouldn’t know what to do with the stuff inside,” she sniffed.
Charlie thought it best to intercede before another argument started. “I have your boxes. They’re in one of the storerooms.” Jaspar had placed them there after they all had returned from the portal.
Jane nodded. “Good. Let’s get them and blow this popcorn stand. This place gives me the creeps.” She looked directly at Eagar as she said the words.
Charlie slipped between the two and took her arm in a firm grip. Before she could say another word, he pulled her in the direction of the storeroom, leaving Eagar behind.
“Watch yourself, Jane Drysdale,” he warned. “The King can be your friend to a point. Past that, others decide your fate.”

“What do you have to say to me?” Charlie asked an hour later, as Jane settled into Hugh and Mara’s cottage.
Jane smiled at him, feeling more comfortable now that she’d left the castle. They’d collected her boxes and stored them in an unused corner of the barn behind the house. She’d successfully argued with Mara about not taking the main floor bedroom. Instead, she’d been shown the half of the loft recently vacated by Tisha, Hugh and Charlie’s younger sister. A cot, a chair and a few pegs on the wall comprised the new quarters. And a curtain of fabric separated it from Charlie’s similarly almost-bare half.
Interesting, Jane thought, sitting in a chair in the main room after descending the ladder. The firm set of his jaw confirmed that Charlie wasn’t thrilled by the plan. Well, too bad. She was looking forward to it. Her attraction to him had only grown. Still waters ran deep, and all that. Fire and passion lay below his surface. She wanted to churn them into the open. The sleeping arrangements only made it easier.
“Do I have something to say to you?” she asked, all innocence and batting lashes.
“When we left to see the King, you mentioned you had a surprise that would change my world.”
“Rock your world,” she corrected. She exchanged glances with Mara, who stood at the stove cooking. Muttle kept guard outside the door, so Jane was free to talk. As free as she could be with a mind-reading Belwaith nearby.
“I do have a secret, but you have to promise not to freak out over it. This is as much a mystery to me as to you.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if battling a headache. “I’m almost afraid to ask,” he muttered.
“Better to know now than later,” Mara declared.
Jane began to unlace the front of her bodice.
“What are you doing?” Charlie asked, bolting from his chair.
Her fingers stilled. “You have seen a woman’s body before, haven’t you, Charlie?” She hoped he had; it would make things easier in the future. She wasn’t promiscuous by any means, but the seduction of the strait-laced Charlie held more and more appeal. Those wings had been playing in her mind ... 
“Of course I have,” he stammered. He indicated the open room and Mara. “Only not yours, and not like this.”
“I’m afraid it’s necessary,” she explained. Even her clients at her Realm of Pleasures parties had never been more flustered. She continued unlacing her bodice and slipped from it. “I promise to be discreet.”
With exaggerated care, she loosened the neck of her chemise and drew out her left arm, exposing the tattoo. Charlie approached slowly, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. He knelt at her side and touched the writing with a delicacy that sent a tingle along Jane’s skin. She almost jerked away at her body’s reaction.
“How long have you had this?” he asked, his eyes solemn. He continued to trace the lettering with his fingers, sending major goosebumps down her spine.
Jane wet her lips before answering, her mouth suddenly dry. “About five years.”
“Do you know what it says?” He gripped her arm just below the tattoo. His gaze, mocha-brown and steady, held hers.
The stillness in him frightened her. The room telescoped into itself, leaving her alone with him in a claustrophobic container. She fought to breathe.
“Not until today. Charlie, I copied it from something of my mother’s.”
“Does anyone else know of this?” he asked, looking from her to Mara and back again.
“No one,” Jane answered.
He nodded. “Good. It must be kept secret.”
“What does it mean? Why would my mother have an Elven verse in her possession?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I can tell you two things about it, though. First, somewhere since I started working in Sylthia, I’ve seen this before. And second” - Charlie tapped the inscription - “it’s not written in pure Elven. From its construction, I’m sure it’s Malik.”

Chapter Nine
A sharp whistle from outside canceled any further talk.
“Muttle,” Charlie explained. “Hugh returns.” He stood quickly, placing himself between Jane and the cottage door. She scrambled to rearrange her clothing, tying the last lacing on her bodice as Hugh walked in.
Lunch followed. Talk of Tivat’s death and the trial dominated the conversation, as did discussion of the delayed arrival of Wesant. The third member of the council to preside at Jane’s trial, he was away on a hunting trip.
Jane tried to concentrate on the lunchtime discussion, but her mind returned to the words tattooed on her arm. The many conclusions whirling in her head finally narrowed to two. Either someone from Malik had contacted her mother on Earth or, scarier yet, Marion Drysdale had traveled to Lowth and back again. Neither explained why nothing had been said about the otherworld contact. Of course, on Earth, unless one wanted a lifetime of psychiatric treatment, it was best to stay quiet.
At the end of the meal, the men rose to return to work: Hugh to his tanning sheds and Charlie to the castle.
”Don’t worry too much about this,” Charlie advised as Jane walked him to the front gate. “I’ll remember where I saw the inscription. It may give us more insight into this newest mystery of yours.” He turned, casually waving good-bye.
Newest mystery. If she had any more mystery in her life, she’d need her own shelf at the library.
Jane returned and entered the cottage, intent on helping Mara with washing up. She stacked the dishes and watched with interest as the other woman added heated water from the stove to the cold water she’d pumped into the sink. The amenities here were clearly not the same as at Sylthia.
“Mara, what’s the Dymynsh?”
“Ah, the Dymynsh.” Mara plunged her hands into the dishwater. “An evil, Jane. A nasty evil come over the land.” She explained the effect of the scourge - how everything was fading and dying - and the popular belief that Blacwin, the wizard of Malik, was behind it.
“You know this for a fact?” Jane asked.
“Well, no, it being so far away and all, but rumor has it the crops in Malik don’t suffer. And I haven’t heard of any Malik women losing babies,” Mara added, her words sharp.
“I’m sorry.” Jane touched her arm. “You and Hugh?”
“Nothing, after five years of trying.” Mara twisted away, her expression bitter. “Not much of a marriage, either.”
Jane suspected as much from observing the two, but she didn’t want to get into a discussion of their marital woes.
“Tell me about Charlie,” she said in an attempt to distract her friend. “It will be a long day before he opens up to me. Is he the only Whelphite in the family?”
“He’s a quiet one, is Charlie,” Mara agreed. “He needs to get out and enjoy life more.”
“Oh, I think he’ll soon have plenty of enjoyment,” Jane predicted. Charlie intrigued her, what with his reserved manner, in contrast to her own get-out-of-my-way attitude. He had layers she wanted to uncover. Many layers. She glanced at Mara and grinned.
“Good, then.” Mara returned to Jane’s question. “Charlie’s a foundling. In truth, Hugh’s the one who found him. Named him, too. I would have picked different, but Hugh was eight at the time. Charlie’s an odd name for an elf.” She shook her head as if she didn’t approve. “Anyway, Hugh was hunting with his father, heard a noise and investigated. It was Charlie, a few months old, lying next to the one they think was his real father.”
“His real father?”
“They never knew for sure. A man of the fairy race. Dead, poor thing, from a bad heart. So far from Isleighah, the land of the fairies, it was thought he was on his way to the child’s Elven relatives.”
Poor Charlie. “The mother?”
Mara shook her head. “Unknown. Hugh’s family took him in and raised him as an elf.”
“But he isn’t,” Jane observed. “Though he pretends to be. He’s more fairy than he wants. His wings” - she paused, stilled by her one and only, but she hoped not last, glimpse of them - “are magnificent.”
Mara raised an eyebrow. “Seen them, have you? Charlie, there may be hope for you yet.”
The woman dumped her dirty dishwater into a bucket and opened the back door. In the yard, she carefully poured the water into the window boxes hanging against the cottage. Sad-looking petunias and geraniums struggled to grow in them.
“The Dymynsh reaches even my poor flowers,” Mara remarked, setting down the empty bucket.
Jane, remembering her mother’s flourishing garden back on Earth, touched the leaves on a couple of the plants.
”I hope the water helps,” she said, homesick for her family. When would she see them again?
As if sensing her mood, Mara linked her arm with Jane’s. “Come on. It’s time to meet the people in the village.”

Chapter Ten
A few days later, Charlie, bone weary, returned late to his family cottage. Lowth’s second moon, Slumber, crested over the Malin forest to the east. Its companion, Rest, neared its zenith. An occasional dog bark or muffled voice disturbed the quiet of the village. A nocturnal breeze lifted the edges of his hair and tipped leaves from their anchors. A week had passed since Jane had turned his world upside down.
The delayed trial loomed closer. Wesant would return from his hunting trip the next day, and Charlie dreaded telling Jane the news.
His day had been hectic, starting with a confrontation with Eagar, an uncommon event. The steward’s irritation at Jane’s liberty manifested itself in paperwork that demanded Charlie’s time. In addition, he’d been drawn into a protracted meeting with some of the village leaders, discussing the Dymynsh. Today, he’d talked them out of sending a small party to Shallen to speak with Blacwin the wizard and demand a reversal of the spell he’d cast.
Work lay on his desk, but Charlie didn’t care anymore. He was tired of not sleeping in his own bed. Twice, he’d set up his cot in his office. Fine for an occasional late night, it lost its appeal after a couple of uses.
He missed his family. Up early and returning late, he rarely saw Hugh or Mara. Or Jane. At the thought of her, his heart tripped. His wings, folded beneath his shirt, vibrated.
She hadn’t caused any major catastrophes yet. From what Mara told him, Jane helped with the housework, fit in with the villagers and tried hard to adjust to a new world.
But she still sleeps in the next room, he reminded himself. He heard her even breathing as he lay down each night, imagined the dreams that made her sigh, and wondered what she looked like in moonlight.
He didn’t have to wait long for the last. As he approached the cottage from the rear, he saw Jane sitting on a bench near the back door.
“Well met, Charlie,” she said in a soft voice. “You’re out late tonight.”
He stopped at her side, struck by her casual use of an Elven expression. “There’s much work to be done at the castle,” he admitted.
“Ah, yes, wool-gathering time. Literally.” She patted the bench.
He hesitated. He’d not been close to her since the day she’d shown him her tattoo. Though preoccupied with its implications, he’d still been aware of her lightly tanned skin and the delicate scent of her tousled hair. A repeat of those distractions appeared inevitable, especially as she was dressed in something tighter and shorter than what he remembered women wearing to bed.
“I won’t bite,” she said, looking at him with wide eyes, her face luminescent in the moons’ soft light.
Gingerly, he sat next to her.
“You have two moons,” she remarked.
He glanced at the night sky. “Rest and Slumber. They follow each other, two hours apart, never to meet.”
”Forgive the pun, but they sound like star-crossed lovers.” She placed one ankle over the other, exposing enough bare leg to stop Charlie’s heart for several seconds.
The word “lovers” conjured up myriad images in his mind, none decent or proper. He shook them away and cleared his throat.
“You have a moon on Earth,” he said, remembering his fourth-year education on different races and worlds.
“With a dull, uninspired name of ‘Moon.’ Not as pretty or romantic as Lowth’s.”
Lovers. Pretty. Romantic. Was she trying to incite his emotions on purpose?
“I’m sure there are things on Earth that outweigh the attraction of our moons.”
Jane sighed. “Walks on the beach always seem popular in the singles ads. But you have a beach, don’t you? Tell me, Charlie, do lovers in Sylthia walk there in the moonlight? Make love in the sand?”
Charlie shifted uncomfortably on the bench. How had the conversation changed to sex? “I’m sure they do,” he answered, wondering how to propel himself from the edge of the chasm where he teetered.
“You sound as if you don’t know.”
She turned. He swallowed hard. The front of her shift was cut low and hugged her body, leaving nothing to the imagination. Or leaving too much to it.
He struggled to remember what she’d said.
“I ... I assume they do. Walk by the water, that is.”
“Do you? Walk there with your sweetheart?”
She crossed her legs again. Charlie pivoted away, taking a sudden interest in the moons and stars. He willed his thoughts from breasts and legs and bare flesh and anything else that involved Jane and nakedness.
He cleared his throat again. “I’m not courting anyone.” She must know this. Mara had probably told her his life history by now - his broken engagement three years before, the smattering of girls since then, his dismal love life lately. Though dating held a sudden appeal, he decided. He needed to find someone to take his mind off this troublesome Earthwoman. Someone he could hold and plow his -
Charlie stopped, stunned. He didn’t mean it. It was the moons’ light and a half-dressed woman and the change in weather that made the air thick and hard to breathe.
“What are you wearing?” he blurted, wishing the words back even as he spoke them. Idiot! 
“This?” Jane glanced down at herself. “This is an Earth-style chemise. Sharezee, the seamstress, made it for me. She already has orders from some of the village women who’ve seen it. Sexy, isn’t it?”
Sexy? Charlie wasn’t about to comment on that. As for her other news, he closed his eyes and tried not to think of Elven women for miles around clothed in such attire. Or the effect it would have on their men. He’d been premature with his opinion that Jane hadn’t yet caused a catastrophe.
“She’s going to start making bras for them next week,” she added, her tone proud.
He didn’t know what a bra was and didn’t have the courage to ask. With Jane, sometimes ignorance was best.
“The trial starts the day after tomorrow.” The words escaped before he could stop them.
Her expression darkened. The spark in her eyes died. Charlie could have kicked himself for the callous way he’d presented the news. They had a slim hope of winning; he should have let her enjoy her freedom while she could.
She drew in a shuddering breath, and he thought her about to cry. He watched as she controlled her emotions and said, “Is it boiling oil, or does Eagar toss me from one of the towers?”
His heart squeezed in compassion. He felt an idiot, upsetting her and not being able to comfort her.
“Jane.” He touched her arm, surprised by its coolness. “Jane, it won’t come to that. I promise.”
”How can you promise?” Her voice quavered. “You were there. I killed Tivat. It was an accident and I’m sorry, but the fact remains he’s dead.”
“We still have no body.”
“But Eagar has five witnesses, including himself. How unbiased can his judgment be when he knows the truth?”
Charlie knew she was right, but only the King had the authority to remove Eagar from the deciding council. And the King was not in the best of health.
“I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “We can only hope the other two will listen to our reasoning and give you a fair trial. Jane -” He tilted her head up so he could see her eyes. “We still have a chance.”
Her smile floated to him through layers of tears and worry. “If only I could bring him back to life, like the garden.”
The garden? What? Okay, now he would have to ask.
“What are you talking about?”
“The garden,” she sniffed, gesturing around her. “I thought I was done with my ‘powers’ when I left Sylthia, but they’ve only taken a new direction. I’m the anti-Dymynsh.”
He closed his eyes a moment and willed the strength to understand. “What do you mean, the anti-Dymynsh?”
Her hand lay on his arm, insistent, disturbing, too warm.
“Just that. Everything I touch grows.” The worry in her eyes deepened. “The day I came here, Mara commented on the ill health of her plants. I said something, I don’t know, about how I wished they’d grow for her. When we returned from the market, the plants were in perfect health.”
He didn’t want to hear this. He did not want to know she was changing the planet.
“Perhaps it was something else,” he ventured.
“No. I tried an experiment to see if it was me or not. I took two plants and told one to grow and one to die.”
“And?” He dreaded the answer.
“The second died.”
Shades! Couldn’t the woman be like other females? He pinched the bridge of his nose where an ache spread upward.
“Does anyone know of this?” he asked in despair.
“How many secrets do you think I can keep? Without tearing Mara’s garden apart, it’s obvious something is happening here that isn’t in the rest of the village. So far, I’ve used the others’ ignorance of Earth to say I have special growing methods.” Jane leaned closer to him, her face distraught. “But I’m starting to get requests for help. How can I say no?”
She couldn’t, and he wouldn’t want her to. Not with the way the Dymynsh reduced the food supplies.
“Can you control it?” he asked.
Jane shook her head. “I’ve tried. The plants act like puppies, overeager to please me. I can’t turn them off.”
She sagged against him, dispirited and exhausted. Somehow his arm slipped around her waist to support her. She felt incredible, right, fitting to his side like she belonged. Charlie’s heart raced and his breathing came hard. A low vibration started in his wings, tingling and evocative.
He held her for long moments, wondering how to remove himself gracefully from the situation. It wasn’t worth getting involved with her. She would be out of his life one way or another in a few days. Never mind that her breath warmed the side of his neck and stirred his senses. Forget the clean, apple scent of her hair, and her breasts almost exposed to his view. And her hand against the flat of his stomach, creeping upward. It wasn’t going to happen. Not tonight. He thrust himself away from her and stood.
“We should talk about this in the morning,” he said, pushing his fingers through his hair in agitation. “We’ll ask Hugh and Mara’s advice.”
Jane looked disheartened. He hoped it was because he didn’t have an answer for her, not because of her failed seduction.
She stood, brushing specks off her body-hugging shift. Charlie glanced away and thought of cold streams and winter nights and ugly women.
“Are you coming up to the loft?” she asked.
“No,” he said quickly, his throat dry. The shirt on his back rippled from the movement of his wings. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
To his great relief, she nodded and moved away, disappearing into the cottage.

Charlie watched the light from her window come on, then fade. He waited until he felt sure she’d fallen asleep. He waited some more, until Slumber reached its zenith. Then, with the stealth of the best thief, he followed her.
At his bedside, he hesitated, listening. Hearing nothing, he took off his shoes and stockings. Then, in a nightly ritual he both dreaded and anticipated, he removed his shirt and spread his wings.
Oh, to not have the appendages. To be a normal elf, with the sameness of others. No one else he knew had both Elven and fairy features. Countless times since his adolescence he’d wished his wings gone. But how good it felt to stretch them, to free them from concealment and release them from constraint.
A slight shuffling noise froze his movements.
“Charlie?”
He spun to see Jane standing by the curtain separating their rooms.
“Jane? Did I disturb you?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said softly.
Charlie flexed his back muscles. His wings started to fold.
“No, don’t.” She took a step into the room, releasing the curtain.
He feigned ignorance. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t hide your wings. They’re nothing to be ashamed of.”
He hesitated. It was rare to remain exposed like this. Only at night did he allow himself freedom.
“You say that only to make me feel more at ease,” he said angrily, reaching for his shirt. Twice now she’d caught him off guard. He didn’t like the loss of control he experienced around her. “And ease is -”
“No, don’t,” she cried, stepping farther into the room. She grabbed the bunched fabric from his hands. “I say it to make you feel uneasy.” She inched closer. He felt the heat from her body. “Charlie, your wings turn me on.”
Her phrasing might have been foreign, but not her intent. He couldn’t look at her without his gaze straying to the fabric pulled tight against her breasts, outlining her nipples. The moons’ light washed over her and illuminated her lithe figure, glinted on her lips, wet and dewy and ripe.
Charlie backed away.
“I don’t know that expression.” Safety in retreat, he decided.
“How do you feel at this moment?” she asked. “Hot? Bothered? Uncomfortable?” She closed in on him with the intensity of a predator.
“Insane,” he admitted. He took another step back. “You shouldn’t be here.” It was insane what she was doing, the surge of emotions she caused in him.
“ ‘Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain’? Nope. Sorry. I don’t think so. Can you deny your attraction to me?”
She’d backed him against the wall. He had no place to go.
“You said something once about interspecies breeding. Want to give it a try, Charlie?”
She bumped her hip against his. All the breath rushed from him in a whoosh. He’d never felt so many temperatures racing around in his body.
“I think at the time you mentioned a choke hold -”
“Klingon. They have some interesting mating rituals of their own.” She bumped him again and laughed as he jumped out of the way.
“Shh,” he said. “The others will hear you.” All he needed was an audience to intensify his humiliation.
“I have it on good authority that they’re sound sleepers.” She tossed her head, exposing a long line of flesh from her jaw to the tips of her breasts.
“Jane,” he warned. “This isn’t a good idea.”
Her fingers glided up the wall of his bare chest. He caught her hand, his grip stronger than his crumbling resolve.
“Jane, I mean it.”
“So do I.” She tilted her face upward, her lips open and inviting. “Kiss me, Charlie.”
He laid a finger against her mouth, intending only to stop the next flow of words. As it rested against her firm, luscious lower lip, her hand snaked behind him. He felt the sensation a moment before she touched his wings, caressing the delicate, sensitive band that joined them to his back.
Explosions shook him, convulsing from the spot in divergent waves. His body trembled in her arms.
“Cool,” she whispered, her tongue at the corner of his mouth, seeking entrance.
Cool? No, hot. Melting. Sizzling.
She moved her hand and rolled it across the rim of his left wing. His knees buckled at the force of his response.
It didn’t matter what she’d done or where she’d come from, he decided. He wanted release - to hold her, to breathe her scent and watch her animated face while he made love to her.
He had only so much willpower. She’d shredded his restraint bit by bit over the past two hours. I’ll regret this, I know I will. 
With a groan of surrender, he lowered his mouth to hers.

Chapter Eleven
“Oh, Charlie,” Jane sighed. “You are a live wire, aren’t you?” She moved against him, grateful his natural reserve wasn’t from inexperience. She’d practically had to hit him, caveman style, to implement phase one of his seduction.
A tough nut to crack. She threw her head back and chuckled at the double entendre.
“What?” He looked up from the newly exposed distraction of her throat.
“Nothing. Don’t let me stop you.” Placing both hands on the sides of his head, she guided his kisses lower and lower. She gasped when he used his teeth to nudge aside her chemise and capture a nipple in his mouth.
“Don’t tear the fabric,” she warned, not caring whether he did or not. White spots danced in front of her, and her lungs must have collapsed because there wasn’t room in them for air.
“I’ll get you another,” he growled.
Riight, like there’s a Victoria’s Secret around the -
Jane stifled a cry of surprise as he swung her into his arms. He strode to his bed and sank into it with her. It gave a traitorous squeak at their combined weight.
“We’re going to have to take care of that in the morning,” she observed. “A little WD-40 -”
“Be quiet,” he said and kissed her, his mouth hard and demanding, his hands moving across her.
“I can be very quiet,” she whispered, assuring him that their lovemaking wouldn’t be loud.
He grinned. “I wondered.”
“Brat.” She tugged gently on a lock of his hair.
In response, he flipped her onto her back and stretched himself on top of her. All the right body parts aligned with precision. She gasped as he ground his hardness against her. Two layers of fabric separated them, but she felt his heat and wanted to quench it with her moistness.
His wings haloed behind him in the moonlight, spread full in their grandeur, a host of contradictions. Transparent, but blue-green in color. Whole, yet segmented. Clear, but with whorls of watercolor design. Like liquid stained glass or a window made of seawater.
Remembering his earlier reaction, Jane stretched her hand toward their beauty. Charlie, intent on freeing her other breast, shuddered at her touch.
“Shades!” He labored for breath. “You don’t know what that does to me.”
Oh, she had a good idea. A new and unexplored erogenous zone. She smiled at the challenge and power she controlled.
“Do they get in the way when you sleep?” she asked, curious as to the logistics of making love to a man with wings.
“Does your leg get in the way? Or your breast?” He cupped the latter in his hand, a perfect fit. She moaned as his fingers played with her nipple.
“Make love to me, Charlie,” she whispered, anxious, heated and needy.
His eyes darkened with full-blown Elven lust. “With pleasure.” He kissed her, a long, slow invasion. His fingers stopped tinkering with the fabric around her breast and descended to more explosive uses.
“Sweet heaven,” she breathed against his mouth. “You are a wonder.” Damn, she might not need the edible lotion she’d retrieved from her cartons. On the other hand -
Be ye aware. Danger. 
What the hell? “Muttle, your timing is way off,” Jane growled, angry with the Belwaith. For the past week, she’d seen little of him but was aware he patrolled the perimeter of the cottage. Now was not the time to renew acquaintances. Three’s a crowd, she added emphatically. Take care of it yourself. You’re always flashing those knives of yours around. 
Charlie lifted his head from her breast. “What’s wrong?” he murmured.
“Nothing.” She pushed him back to his interrupted task. “Don’t stop.”
I come. Danger. Now. Flee. 
Charlie stilled. “I heard that.” He dragged her with him into a sitting position. In a split second, his manner had changed, become alert and intent.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Get dressed.”
Dressed? Not by a long shot. She hadn’t spent all this time seducing him to let some demented Jiminy Cricket stop her.
Then she heard it. A shout from outside, angry and loud. Muttle’s cry of pain. A whooshing sound.
“Get down,” Charlie yelled.
Glass shattered. An explosion hurled Jane through the air. The roar of fire obliterated other noises. Charlie slammed into her as they hit the far wall. Intense heat spiked into the room. Screams filled the air.
“Charlie!” she cried.
What in the hell had happened? She reached for him, confused, afraid he’d been hurt. Orange flames licked across the ceiling, originating from her side of the loft. Acrid smoke burned her lungs and stung her eyes.
“Charlie!” she shouted again. “Are you okay?”
“Here.” She felt his hand on her leg. They lay in a heap, but not the type of tangled limbs she’d planned earlier.
“What happened?” she asked, her throat raw.
“I don’t know.” He coughed. “Let’s get out of here.”
“You’ve got my vote, elf-man.” She freed herself, rolling away, keeping low.
His hand at her back, he guided her toward the ladder. Smoke rolled over them, hot and reeking. Fire spurted from her room, the curtain aflame.
She found the ladder and blindly edged down, feeling Charlie’s presence a step above. Six rungs from the top, strong hands grasped her waist and swung her to the floor.
She screeched and lashed out, connecting solidly with bone and muscle. The bomber-she was convinced it was a bomb thrown through her bedroom window-must have entered the house to finish them off. But why? And who?
“Hold, hold,” Hugh said in her ear, his arms tight around her to keep her from flailing at him. “Tis Hugh. Follow me.”
“Hugh.” She relaxed. “Charlie’s behind me.” She felt disoriented. Smoke billowed from above, choking, burning her eyes and throat, her lungs tight, spastic. The corner of the house-her room-crackled in fiery anger.
“Come then.” He released her.
Charlie dropped down. They fought through the smoke to the front door. Jane stumbled to the grass outside, overcome with the potency of the clear night air.
“Jane, are you well?” Charlie stood over her, his hand on her elbow, righting her.
Dazed, she nodded weakly.
”Stay well,” he commanded. Cupping her face, he kissed her hard on the mouth, then stepped back.
Before she could say a word, he spun around, shouting orders to the emerging villagers, organizing a detail of men to put out the fire. His wings, not burnt from what she could see in the moonlight, did not fold tightly to his back. Neither did he have them fully extended. Instead, in a half-mast position, they proclaimed to her, and she hoped to others, that he was Fairy. Pride caught in her throat.
Standing in the darkness, watching Charlie work to save the house he shared with Hugh, tiny details sank into Jane’s mind like coins into a slot machine. The crackle of flame as it pushed through the roof from the inside. The thatch catching as dry tinder, the fire racing across the top of the house. Villagers were pulled from their beds, reacting to the terror that this could spread to their own dwellings. Night air, warm and light, slid across her body, some of which shouldn’t have been exposed to its touch. She’d forgotten her state of dress, or undress. She hastened to rearrange her clothes.
“Jane!”
She turned to see Mara rushing toward her, pulling a light blanket off her shoulders when she saw Jane’s semi-nakedness.
“Are you all right?” the woman asked.
Jane dismissed the question. Time and a long bath would restore her to normal, but the cottage ... 
“Oh, your poor house,” she said, laying a hand on Mara’s arm. “What happened?”
Mara shook her head. “I don’t know. I woke at the sound of the explosion. Hugh pushed me out the door and went back to help you and Charlie.” Near tears, she watched the flames eat at her home.
Jane stood next to her, helpless. The men brought water from neighboring cottages, passing it bucket brigade style to others perched dangerously on ladders near the fire. To her eyes, it looked like a losing battle. The cottage would be ruined, and there wouldn’t be any State Farm agent writing a check for its replacement.
A snuffling sound tore her attention from the destruction. Mara twisted away, her body shaking with tears.
“I can’t look anymore,” she sobbed.
Several of the women moved to comfort her.
Jane cursed under her breath. It wasn’t fair. The whole planet, or world, or whatever one called Lowth, was not fair.
She scanned the night sky for a wisp of cloud. “If only it would rain,” she said, hoping for a miracle.
“Tis the wrong season,” Mara sniffed. “Hugh says it won’t rain for days -”
A flash of lightning cut off her words, followed immediately by a crack of thunder. The women around them looked at Jane. Two stepped back. In the next instant, a deluge poured from the sky.
God in heaven, what is happening? Jane stared in astonishment at the sudden change in the elements. A cold fear replaced her anger as she acknowledged that her remark had triggered the storm.
A storm without wind. Rain drove straight down without variance. Jane flexed her hand and tried to bend it with a flick of her fingers. No response. Mind control came next as she attempted to harness whatever force created the downpour. Again, no response.
Was she wrong in her assumption? She felt no different. Nothing magical coursed through her body. Her eyes didn’t glow and sparks didn’t shoot from her fingertips. She didn’t own a mystical amulet that pulsed around her neck. None of the talismans common in the fantasy fiction she’d read applied. Yet she knew she’d caused the storm.
What was she supposed to do with this information? How could she control it? Worse yet, what affect would the knowledge have on her trial?
The flames sizzled and disappeared, replaced briefly by puffs of smoke. Still the rain came down, drenching the blanket she held around her, seeping through its thickness to the thin cotton of her chemise.
Jane lifted her face to the sky.
“Enough already,” she said, at this point not caring who heard her. The damage had been done.
The torrent stopped almost immediately, sputtering out like the flame on a gas stove. The villagers, many shaking their heads, drifted off, no doubt to gossip about her. Mara stayed at her side, loyal to the last. Hugh and Charlie, after checking that the fire had been extinguished, joined them. All three turned to her as if she were the Sorceress of All Things Strange. Which, as far as she knew, she was.
She met their gaze, chin up, waiting for accusations and blame. Charlie approached her first.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice gentle. The light from the two moons, sinking toward the horizon, showed the concern in his eyes. Individual drops of rain, not yet evaporated, shimmered on his wings.
Jane’s bravado faltered. She wasn’t okay. She felt out of control. Things happened so fast in this strange place that she couldn’t assimilate one before another took place. She shook her head.
Wordlessly, Charlie enfolded her in his arms. She slipped into his embrace, seeking comfort and understanding, leaning on his strength. He was her anchor. She needed his calm.
“What’s wrong?” he asked after a moment.
She couldn’t answer.
“Jane.” He tilted her face up. “What is it?”
Hadn’t he heard? Tears choked her throat at the thought of telling him something that would complicate his life more than she already had.
”Jane?”
She took a deep breath. If she had to hurt him, she’d make it quick and painless.
“I caused the rain.”
He didn’t rant and rave as she expected, but waited patiently for an explanation. His attitude helped her tell the story. When she finished, he looked over her head as if he expected to see a host of eavesdroppers taking notes.
“Who knows of this?” he asked.
“The whole village by now, I’m sure. You know how quickly word of this will spread.”
Charlie closed his eyes for a moment, his fatigue visible. “This makes everything more complex.” He took her hand. “Come, you’ll have to return to the castle.”
Jane pulled away, panic building. “Sylthia! No, Charlie, I can’t go back.” Memories of her wall-tearing incidents and Eagar’s dislike fueled her fear.
“You don’t understand,” Charlie said, his voice fierce, almost scary. He forced her to look at him. “You’re not safe here.”
Hugh, standing quietly with Mara next to their damaged house, spoke out. “He’s right. You can’t remain here.”
She looked between the two men, sensing an underlying tension. The marrow in her bones chilled.
“What happened here tonight?” she demanded.
“Jane.” Charlie moved his hand to touch her cheek.
She knocked it aside.
“Don’t ‘Jane’ me. I grew up with the six o’clock news. Tell me why someone threw a bomb into the house. Was it because of me?”
Their silence confirmed her suspicions. A cold hollow spread in her stomach.
“Why?” She turned to the one she trusted the most. “Charlie?” She watched his struggle, saw him sigh and accept defeat.
“It was one man,” he said. “Capp’ear.”
A sharp intake of breath came from Mara.
“He wasn’t serious,” Hugh said. “Don’t take notice of his ramblings. He’s ill in the head, has been since the death of his wife and child this past winter.”
Jane felt like stamping her foot. What were they protecting her from?
“Why won’t anyone tell me what happened?”
“Capp’ear heard about the incident in the castle, when you tore the walls apart,” Charlie said in a rush. “I don’t know how he found out. He also heard of your talent for growing things.”
“I don’t understand.” This made no sense to her.
“He thinks you’re a witch,” Hugh said. “That you’re out to kill us all, like you did Tivat.”
“A witch! Ridiculous. Witches have warts and fly around on brooms. I’m the most unwitchiest person in the world.” If she had any powers at all, she’d use them to go home. And her, kill other elves?
“Capp’ear was at the tavern tonight,” Charlie explained. “He blamed you for his misfortunes and vowed retribution. Most there excused his ramblings as too much drink. Alfted even walked him home to make sure he stayed out of trouble.”
“But he didn’t,” Jane said.
Charlie shook his head. “He came here and stood beneath your window, calling you a witch and waking the neighbors.”
She’d been so focused on getting Charlie in bed that she hadn’t heard. If it hadn’t been for Muttle ... She glanced around, looking for the Belwaith.
“Where’s Muttle?”
“He’s been watching you all night,” Charlie said.
A full-time job, with my knack for getting into trouble. 
Charlie pointed to her protector, sitting on the garden bench, his arm wrapped in a makeshift sling.
“He’s hurt!” Jane cried. It was her fault. All of it was her fault.
 I be fine, the creature answered with confidence.
“Before he could be stopped, Capp’ear tossed a bomb through your window,” Charlie explained, drawing her attention.
If she’d been asleep in her own bed - Jane shuddered at the thought.
“You have bombs on Lowth?’ she asked, suddenly surprised by the fact.
“They’re simple enough to make,” he replied. “An empty bottle, a rag, oil or whiskey or something else that burns. And anger at something one doesn’t understand -”
Jane didn’t understand it herself. She felt cold despite the warmth of the summer night.
Someone tried to kill me. Death as punishment for a crime she’d committed was one thing. That was logical, something she could understand. But this, it had the stamp of evil on it. To want to hurt her just because of who she was or what they thought her to be ...? She shivered.
Charlie broke through her musings. “We have to go to the castle, Jane. There is no other choice.”
Numbly, she nodded. She looked to the other two. “Mara? Hugh?”
“We’ll be fine. Friends will take us in,” Hugh reassured her. “In the morning we can look at the damage and decide what needs to be done.”
Jane wished she could drive him to Home Depot and order what he needed, charging the supplies on her maxed-out, lying-in-charred-ruins credit card. As long as she was asking for the impossible, she wished she lived in a world of tangibles.
Fate had a funny way of kicking you in the rear. Jane held out her hands to Charlie, as if expecting handcuffs to clamp down on them.
“Book me, Danno,” she said.

Chapter Twelve
Jane lay in bed at the top of the castle, in her room next to the King’s chambers. Elaine must have been a morning person, she decided, noticing the dawn light cutting through the window and falling with precision across her pillows.
It was the morning of her trial. Over a day had passed since Charlie and Hugh had accompanied her to Sylthia’s gates, causing an uproar. Only the brothers’ familiarity with Jaspar and the others on community watch had won them entry as well.
Calme, who must have been alerted telepathically by Muttle, had met them at the front door. Hugh returned home. Charlie had taken up a guard position outside her room. Not in her room, or in her bed, she’d noted at the time. His behavior toward her didn’t come from a tenderness in his heart, as she expected after their interrupted lovemaking. Instead, she felt as if she’d been diagnosed with a terminal disease, and he didn’t know how to treat her.
She’d slept little since then. An early morning confrontation with Eagar, with Charlie hotly defending her, had upset her. Combined with the impact of the bombing, she couldn’t rest. When she wasn’t thinking about her powers, she worried about the trial.
Calme brought her breakfast, which Jane didn’t touch. She dressed in one of Elaine’s gowns, a slate-blue linen the wrong hue for her coloring. She felt dull, devoid of life and vitality.
Charlie knocked on her door midmorning. The concern in his eyes undermined her remaining confidence.
“Is it that bad?” Jane asked, her bottom lip trembling.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “We have a chance.”
“On Earth, it’s called a snowball’s chance in hell.” She didn’t have the strength to explain when she saw his puzzlement. It didn’t matter, anyway. In a few hours she’d be dead, burned at a stake or boiled alive. She imagined Eagar had spent countless hours devising her torture.
Charlie squeezed her hand and repeated their defense. “They can’t convict you of murder without a body.” He started to walk down the corridor, toward the great hall where the trial would be held.
She wanted to believe him. However, she’d seen enough movies and late-night television to know that justice wasn’t always just.
“Smile,” he commanded. “You must present a positive appearance.”
“Instead of being the homicidal witch that I am?” she asked, a bitter edge to her voice.
“Don’t think that,” he said harshly. “It was one man’s ranting, that’s all.”
“Ranting? Or truth? Maybe I am a witch. I have powers I can’t begin to understand or control in a world that is as foreign to me as Earth must be to you. Forget? Can you forget you have wings?”
She hadn’t meant to be cruel; the words slipped out from frustration and fear. His jaw tightened, and he took the next staircase two steps at a time.
”Charlie,” she called after him, skipping to keep up. “Charlie, I didn’t mean it.” She stopped him at the bottom of the stairwell, a hand on his arm. She searched his eyes and wanted to kick herself for hurting him. “I’m sorry. You’re the closest thing I have to a friend in Lowth. You must know by now that I speak first and think later.” A sound of exasperation left her. “Don’t close up on me now. I need you.”
He looked at her. She could almost see his thought process, but that was Charlie-deliberate, careful, and achingly endearing at times.
“Please,” she added.
“Jane.” He shook his head and smiled, as if he couldn’t help himself. “I’ll always be there for you.” Gently, he touched her cheek.
She wanted to close her eyes and sink into his embrace, to feel safe. He’d make it right, whatever problems ensnared her.
A roar from a large number of people erupted around them. Jane turned her head, surprised that they stood outside the door to the great hall.
“What is it?” she asked, pulling away from him.
“Capp’ear’s trial,” Charlie answered. “The council put it before yours.”
Capp’ear? The drunk who’d called her a witch? Not the opening act she would have chosen.
“A trial?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Why didn’t they just pop him last night? They caught him red-handed.”
“For the same reason they didn’t ‘pop’ you,” Charlie answered. “He’s entitled to a fair trial.”
A large crowd had gathered, only about half of them Elven.
“Where are they from?” she whispered, afraid to make noise and attract attention. As if she wouldn’t soon enough.
“All over.” Concern darkened Charlie’s eyes. “Dwarves, sprites, even a fairy or two. Your trial is of great interest to them.”
Wonderful! Not only was she the headliner of this circus, but half the planet would see the show.
At the other end of the hall, far enough away that she recognized the council only by Eagar’s all-black attire, her judges sat. Their attention was concentrated on a small ferret-like man with stringy hair and ill-fitting clothes. Capp’ear.
“It is the decision of the council -” said one of the judges, a florid, rotund man. Was it Wesant, returned from his hunting trip, or Tellise? “- that the willful destruction of property and the endangerment of lives deserve the strictest punishment available. If not for the timely appearance of the storm -” He paused. Jane felt as if everyone pivoted in accusation at her meddling with the weather. But the man only wet his lips and continued. “- the entire village might have been destroyed. Therefore, Capp’ear of Malin, you are sentenced to exile in the Magwrosin Swamp. May you die quickly.”
A collective gasp rose from the crowd. Chatter began at once. Jane looked at Charlie.
“Is that bad?” she asked.
“It’s certain death. It is the home of the sandobbles,” he explained. “They are a race of mobile lumps of quicksand. Alone they are harmless, but when they group together, they form quagmires that will smother a man. They’ve been contained in the Swamp for the last hundred years by the Dwarves. Capp’ear will be escorted to the border and forced to enter. If he survives a day, he’ll be free. If he doesn’t -”
Jane shuddered. A cold chill rushed through her. If a drunken act of arson triggered such a horrid death, what hope did she have for her own life?
Others behind them jostled her, tilting her off balance. As she straightened, grabbing Charlie for support, she heard Eagar speak.
“Will the accused, Jane Drysdale of Earth, come forward?”
Her throat closed as if a noose already tightened around it. Eagar’s words echoed in her ears. The crowd rumbled in anticipation, some swiveling to look at her. She felt exposed, naked to their stares. Panic grabbed her, and she clutched Charlie harder, afraid he’d vaporize in this topsy-turvy world.
“Steady,” he said. “Show courage, Jane.” His warm brown gaze helped pull her together.
Okay, she decided, she could do this. For Charlie, she’d be brave. She’d show Eagar what Earthwomen were made of. She’d dredge up every late-night black-and-white prison movie ever made and be the unflinching convict headed to the chair. Jimmy Cagney, eat your heart out.
Jane straightened, twitching her long skirt into place. She loosened her grip on Charlie’s arm and pushed forward.
The crowd parted before her as the Red Sea had for Moses. Curious stares watched her, hands covered mouths to hide whispered remarks. The sun shone through windows thirty feet up the stone walls, casting a spotlight on the council.
Jane refused to be intimidated. After all, she had powers. Okay, so she didn’t understand them, but they grew stronger. Whoever or whatever gave them to her must have a master plan, right? If not, she’d wing it. If Eagar found her guilty, she’d drop a house on him. The same for Eagar-to-be numbers two and three.
The walk to the judges passed too quickly. She and Charlie stopped behind a dark wooden table and waited. Jane’s chin tilted, she gazed at the three men before her.
Men? Two elves and one dwarf, that was. Eagar sat in the center, impeccable, his eyebrows drawn together. To his right sat the round flushed elf who had pronounced Capp’ear’s sentence. On the far left sat a Dwarf. He was short, maybe four feet tall standing, with bushy white eyebrows and a full beard. He was thin but with the jowls and neck wattle of someone who had lost a lot of weight. Disney’s Doc does Jenny Craig.
Eagar spoke, his voice resonating through the hall.
“Jane Drysdale of Earth, you are brought before us to stand trial for the murder of John Tivat of Sylthia. I, Eagar Currge, along with Wesant the Hunter” - he nodded to the florid man - “and Tellise Rootshearer” - he gestured in the Dwarf’s direction - “will hear evidence, your defending arguments, and then judge you. Are you prepared for trial?”
And if I’m not? Jane pushed away the thought. She squared her shoulders.
“I am, sir.” She hoped her voice expressed confidence.
“Do you have adequate council?”
As if he didn’t know. Was he irritatingly stupid on purpose? Or just plain irritating, trying to throw her off balance?
‘Tis a game he plays. 
Thank you, Muttle. It heartened her to know the Belwaith was close by and shared her opinion. You must be quiet now. 
Eagar looked at her expectantly.
“Charles Whelphite is my lawyer,” she said with pride.
He marked something in front of him. What, a checklist? The top ten things to do before legally snuffing out an annoying Earth woman’s life? She badly wanted to take a peek. Only the seriousness of the situation and Charlie’s disapproval kept her in place.
“Jane Drysdale of Earth,” Eagar continued. “In the matter of the murder of Tivat of Sylthia, how do you plead?”
“Not guilty.” She infused the words with as much strength as possible.
“Then we begin,” he said, making another note on his checklist. “Your prosecutor is Elowall, of the Malin Forest. You may be seated.”
Jane stole a glance at her opponent as she settled into a tall, uncomfortable chair. Elowall was an Elf, lighter in complexion than those she’d seen in the village or castle. His hair was almost caramel in color, his eyebrows thin and sharply arched over amber eyes.
The first witness was Jaspar, the leader of Tivat’s search party. “The old guy,” she remembered calling him when he’d helped her from the Neon’s trunk. She knew Charlie considered him a friend, but duty called for his testimony.
Jaspar sat in a chair apart from but next to the judges. “Tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth” didn’t apply on Lowth. Nor did they swear on a Bible, their mothers’ graves or any other icon. Elowall plunged in with questions, leading his witness from the discovery of Tivat’s escape to the last sight of him under Jane’s wheels.
He skillfully played up the drama of the pursuit - the decision to enter the portal, despite its lack of stability, the bravery of those who bridged the two worlds, knowing they might be trapped, the shape-shifting abilities of Tivat and the almost immediate change in footprints from Elf to rabbit. By the time the court adjourned for lunch, he’d made Jane sound as if she’d been waiting on the road, gunning her motor for the opportunity to mow down a poor, defenseless bunny.
Mara and Hugh joined them for a meal no one seemed able to eat. They waited until a harried castle worker had served them before speaking.
“Don’t mind Elowall,” Mara reassured Jane. “He owed Eagar a favor. Taking on the task of prosecutor cancels his debt. He no more wants to be here than you.”
Jane glanced at the man in question, sitting at an adjacent table. “For someone who doesn’t care whether he wins or loses, he’s showing a remarkable killer instinct. I’d hate to take him on when he’s passionate about something.”
“We still have to cross-examine his witnesses,” Charlie said. He’d already told her that he would not present his own witnesses, as she’d been so shortly in Lowth.
“Charlie is very good in the courtroom,” Hugh added.
Jane wanted to believe in her Whelphite. She hoped his expertise in the bedroom carried over into court. Too bad I have to wait for his legal mind to triumph before I take advantage of his physical body. 

Court resumed as soon as the staff cleared the lunch remains. The crowd, many of who had eaten in the courtyard, abandoned their wagering on the trial outcome and returned to the hall. Without air conditioning, the temperature soon rose from a combination of the slant of the sun and the output of several hundred bodies - some unwashed, Jane noticed, trying not wrinkle her nose in disgust. Not everyone has running hot water, she reminded herself, thinking of the work involved in the baths she’d taken every other day at the cottage.
Charlie cross-examined. With deceptive craft, he tore apart Elowall’s earlier work. He made Tivat’s flight sound like the result of an inept prison system, the same system that had later allowed Jane to escape. The late-night pursuit became a comedy of errors as the tracking team argued, adding time to a ticking clock. He questioned Tivat’s “certain” transformation from Elf to animal. The last sighting of the prisoner’s footprints coincided with the appearance of a small stream able to obscure the direction of flight.
No proof. Charlie honed in on his angle. No proof. No body. No murder.
Wow. My lawyer’s like Columbo, Jane thought, her eyes opened to another of Charlie’s layers. So many of his techniques mirrored the TV detective’s: the casual phrase that made the crowd pause and think, his cunning allusion to Jane’s magic - a gift? A threat? The lack of a body when, according to earlier testimony, death had been instantaneous. The time elapsed from escape to the rabbit sighting, and more importantly, the time available to look for a corpse before the fluctuation in the portal had prompted the group’s return.
Jane felt the crowd’s mood shift perceptibly in her favor. By the time the story had been retold by the others on duty that night, Tivat’s skill at trickery had grown wildly in proportion to his pursuers’ ineptitude. Of course, the crowd didn’t decide her fate, but she saw enough doubt on Wesant and Tellise’s faces to think they’d vote in her favor.
The day wore on. The staff silently provided illumination which they placed in holders around the hall. Backlit in such a way, everything took on a more sinister cast, tightening Jane’s throat.
Nonsense. It’s nerves, that’s all. She couldn’t stop a shiver from sliding down her spine, a gesture she attributed to the evening air.
They broke for supper, a meal Jane picked at with half-hearted interest. Her companions chatted optimistically. Several times someone detached him or herself from the crowd and gave her words of encouragement or congratulated Charlie for a job well done. Almost all their comments ended with, “It can’t be certain without a body, can it?”
It ain’t over ‘til the fat lady sings. Her napkin worried into a crumpled ball, the hem nervously picked apart, Jane waited for the next stage of her ordeal.

Elowall and Charlie made their closing statements, both powerful and able to persuade anyone still sitting on the fence. A restless quiet descended on the crowd as the three judges rose and retired to another room.
“Let’s get some fresh air,” Charlie suggested. He helped Jane from her chair. Her knees creaked in protest.
“How long does this usually take?” Jane asked, thinking of Earth verdicts, sometimes days in the making.
Charlie looked at her, his eyes a dark brown reassurance. “It will be soon,” he said. “Eagar will not have the castle house and feed this crowd overnight.”
Rather cheap of him. Expediency in justice to save serving a few more chicken dinners?
They walked the short distance to the courtyard, already thronged with what seemed half the population of Lowth. The sun had set, but the apricot-hued Rest was not yet out. Soft lights from the castle suffused the darkness. Small clusters of people gathered, first by species, then by gender. Jane and Charlie stood near a group of Elven women, some of who she recognized from the night the cottage had burned.
No one approached as they had at supper. With the verdict imminent, Jane figured they didn’t want any death cooties on them in case she was found guilty. Not that she could blame them. She wouldn’t snuggle up to a soon-to-be-convicted killer, either.
Stone benches littered the courtyard, placed strategically to view the central gardens. She and Charlie found an unoccupied one in a far corner, tucked against a wall. She sat on it and leaned back, tentative at first because she feared another Nenius episode. No more séances with dead masons, thank you very much. 
The golden-rose brick, warmed earlier by the sun, felt good through her gown. In contrast, the cool evening air slipped across her cheeks and ruffled her hair. She lifted her hair off her nape, wishing for a cold, wet cloth for her neck.
I don’t know how these women do it, she thought, imagining shorts and halter tops, wispy dresses and two-piece swimsuits. She looked at some of the women moving in and around the courtyard and imagined them in scantier clothing. They’d taken to the idea of chemises and bras; perhaps she could talk them into shorter skirts ... 
 If I have time. I might not get it. By tomorrow ... She sighed.
Charlie, sitting quietly next to her, asked, “What troubles you? Anything more than the trial?”
“How much time do you have?” she asked, keeping her tone light. “To tell the truth, I was thinking how different our worlds are. I don’t fit in here, do I?”
“You’ve adapted well,” he said.
“Yeah, right. Touching dead people’s lives, inciting a bombing and becoming the trial of the century. Not exactly a stellar beginning, or a quiet one. It’s harder when you look different, when you don’t know how to do the most basic chores because machines have always done them for you.” She paused. “How do you do it, Charlie?”
“What?” He looked genuinely perplexed.
“Fit in.” They’d never talked of it. “How hard is it to be a Whelphite in an Elf world?”
He looked away, watching the crowd so long she thought she’d bungled their friendship. Someone near the hall played a stringed instrument: a guitar, she thought. Its music, slow and melodic, drifted to them.
“When I was younger,” he said slowly, “it bothered me that others could predict the weather a week in advance, levitate small objects or overhear a conversation a mile away. I ... I couldn’t fly, so I couldn’t awe them. After a while, it became less important. I adapted, found my strengths and concentrated on making those better. Now I can’t imagine another life.”
He sounded forlorn. Jane squeezed his hand. “I heard about the other day when you stopped a posse of men from going after that wizard. Hugh told me you changed their minds. People look up to you, respect you. Have pride in that.”
Charlie smiled ruefully, returning the pressure of her hand squeezes. “I doubt my advice will stay with them. They’ll think of Blacwin the next time the Dymynsh causes another hardship.”
“But you stopped them this time and probably saved their lives in the process.” She warmed to the theme. “Imagine taking on a wizard! Are they crazy?”
He chuckled. “I suppose I did them a favor.”
“There you go.” For a few minutes, they slipped into a more companionable silence. Jane felt compelled to ask, as long as he was so open about his Whelphite origins, “Did you ever want to find the truth about your birth? Who your parents were?”
“My parents are Owen and Claire Tanner,” he said evenly.
Careful now, she told herself, but pressed anyway. “Your father was on his way to Malin. You might have blood relatives here, people you see every day. Wouldn’t it be nice to claim them as a family?”
“I have a family, Jane.” Anger colored his voice.
See past the trees, into the forest, she wanted to shout.
“What of your father?” she persisted. “Surely, Charlie, if you went to his homeland and inquired, someone would remember a baby born to a Fairy father and an Elf mother. You could get in touch with your roots.”
“My roots? No.” He rose, agitated. He raked his hand through his hair and paced back and forth. “My family is here. Just as yours is on Earth. Would you trade for another?”
No, but her situation was different. “Your true kin -”
“These people are my true kin.” He gestured wildly at the others in the courtyard. “Do I feel alienated at times because we’re different? Yes. Does it matter anymore? Not a bit. I am what I am.”
And that’s all that I yam. Popeye aside, Jane disagreed with Charlie’s decision.
“Then why don’t you show your wings?” She jumped up. “You’ll flaunt them to me, an outsider, but no one else.”
“Flaunt?” His nostrils flared. “You overestimate your importance in my life. Would you like things sprouting from your back? I keep them hidden because it makes others uncomfortable.”
“Yeah, right. I’m so uncomfortable.” She wiggled her fingers in front of her face, as if mocking him. “Does my being the youngest child make you uncomfortable?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“They’re both accidents of birth.”
“Mine’s physical,” Charlie bit out. He turned his back on her and strode away a few steps.
She’d never win this argument. He wouldn’t acknowledge his true self. If only he would see himself as she did. Influential. Important. A leader. Able to be who he really was, all the time.
“Okay.” Unwilling to argue anymore, she crossed to his side. “I was curious, that’s all. I’m sorry. Let’s not fight.”
Charlie tipped up his head, as if looking for answers in the sky. He sighed and turned. “I don’t want to fight, either. Time is too precious.”
He took her hand and led her back to their seats.
Jane leaned against the wall and thought of families and the profound effect they had on one’s character. She’d been lucky, growing up. Three annoying brothers, even her sister, Sheila Perfect - oh, how she missed them. She fought tears, trying not to think about it. She’d see them soon. They wouldn’t believe her story - except her mother. Jane had unfinished business with her mother, to the tune of an Elven love poem.
Sounds of the night washed over her. The guitar music, soft laughs and Charlie’s presence calmed her. She tried to concentrate on them instead of things she couldn’t change.
The breeze, fragrant with late roses, teased her, playing with her hair. She relaxed, controlling her breathing, inhaling the good and releasing the bad. Magic and love and the cosmic universe filtered in through an invisible beam at the top of her head, pulling it in, filling her lungs, and shooting it through her arteries. Her veins collected all the bad, the uncertainty and tension, pushing it through an equally invisible pipeline down her leg, to absorb into and be healed by the earth.
Jane practiced the relaxing technique her brother Kevin had taught her. She drifted on the edge of consciousness. Not asleep. Relaxed. On the verge of twilight between two states. Still aware of this world - the muffled voices, the music, a dog’s bark-but pulled to another. Quieter. Calmer.
The wind in her hair. This world or that? A moon in the sky. The soft rustle of grain, the lap of waves. Leaves talking to the heavens. A voice, the merest wisp, the smallest presence, like a bean blossom three fields over.
Anjinaine. 
Hmm? Too far away to pull it toward her and mingle with the other good.
It came again, a sigh on the breeze. Lethargic, she tried to grasp it. Elusive, it slipped away.
Anjinaine. 
A caress against her cheek, the barest brush. Warmth suffused her. Acceptance. Love. Understanding. Exquisite tenderness.
Welcome, Anjinaine. 
Then it was gone.
Jerked from the other world, snapped as quickly as a camera shutter, traveling back at an incredible rate of speed, she was dumped into her body on the bench. She heard a cry in the air and recognized it as her own. A tremor rolled over her.
“Jane.” Charlie shook her. “What is it?”
She looked at him with fear and awe. “Someone called my name.”
Charlie scanned the area, but he and Jane sat in a remote spot with few others around.
“It could be anyone,” he said.
Jane shook her head as if to clear it. “Forget about it. I must have fallen asleep.” She felt him tense. “What?”
He stood, his gaze scanning the crowd. In the darkness she couldn’t see his expression.
“The crowd gathers,” he said a moment later. “The judges must have made a decision.”
Oh, God. Oh, God. Her palms sweated; her heart raced. She looked at him in panic. “Charlie?” Her voice wavered.
He took her hand in his, rubbing the back with his thumbs. “It will be all right. We can always appeal to the King.”
Garmade? Jane remembered her last meeting with him when he’d been too weak and infirm to speak for more than a few minutes. “Where is he?”
Charlie looked up at the balconies surrounding the courtyard, though little could be seen in the darkness. “You can be sure he’s aware of everything that happens.”
Strength returns to the land, the King had told her. More is to come, he’d said about her power. She hoped she would have a chance to prove him right.
They followed the tired crowd into the hall and took their seats, Mara, Hugh and Muttle close by. The judges sat at their table, lined up like penguins, black and white and serious.
Muttle? Jane reached out to the Belwaith.
He refused to tell her the decision. Best to know on your own. 
Bad news then. She gulped and tried to keep down what little supper she’d eaten.
“Jane Drysdale of Earth.” Eagar’s voice startled her.
She stood, Charlie rising with her. “Sir?”
“In the allegation of the murder of John Tivat of Sylthia ...” He paused. The crowd held its breath. Hell, she held her breath.
Get it over with. 
“We find you guilty as charged.”
She sagged against Charlie. His arms came around her to take her weight. A murmur of disbelief rose from the crowd. Mara touched her, tears flowing down her cheeks.
Jane closed her eyes and clung to Charlie, burying her face in his shirt. She tried hard not to cry out. Her family - she’d never see them again.
“- unaware of the laws of Lowth,” Eagar was saying. She tried to focus on his words, but they sounded so distant. “If a majority vote had been reached, the sentence would have been carried out at once. Because there was a dissension, you will not be punished to the full extent of the law.”
More murmurs filled the room, intensifying as those assembled absorbed his words. Eagar banged repeatedly with his gavel to restore order.
What did he mean, dissension? Who had voted for her? Jane scanned the judges’ faces, looking for a telltale sign, a wink, or the thumbs-up gesture. Nothing.
Eagar continued. “Due to your unusual abilities, sentencing will be delayed until an appropriate answer is found. The court will reconvene at a later date.” He struck his gavel with a fierceness that made her jump again.
Confused, she looked at Charlie.
“What does it mean? I don’t understand.”
He grinned at her, his eyes dancing. “A reprieve. And don’t you see? They can’t sentence you. If they tried to burn you, you could call the rain again. If they ‘tossed you out the castle window,’ you’d bring the wind to lift you to safety. If they imprison you, you can make holes in walls. Jane, they’re afraid of you.”
“They don’t know how to kill me?” Truth and irony started to sink in.
”Exactly. They don’t know of a way that will work.”
“They can’t do it in my sleep?” What am I doing, giving them ideas? 
“You must be aware of the punishment before they can carry it out. That’s justice.” Charlie nudged her toward the door. “You’re free to go.”
“Home? Earth?” Hope sprang in her chest, radiating outward.
His expression darkened. “No. Not there.”
She felt as if she’d found a treasure map, only to have it snatched away. Her heart cracked in disappointment.
“Jeesh. What kind of -”
“Freaking world do we run here?” Charlie finished. “Come. Let’s celebrate.”
Riight. Champagne laced with arsenic, compliments of Eagar’s wine cellars.
Oh, what the heck. A reprieve was a reprieve. At least she’d have time to make another stab at seducing Charlie ... 

Chapter Thirteen
“I have to get out of here,” Jane whined from inside the doorway of Charlie’s office.
He didn’t look up, but concentrated on the papers in front of him. He’d heard her litany over the past two days, since the end of the trial. “I’m bored.” “I hate this place.” “Why can’t I visit Mara?” She repeated them at every opportunity. He wondered if she ever returned to her room. She seemed forever underfoot. The day before, she’d followed him to the gates of Sylthia, where she’d had a tantrum because he wouldn’t let her go farther.
The verdict and lack of sentencing had put the burden of responsibility for Jane back on Charlie’s shoulders. While grateful she’d been spared, the situation didn’t make his life easier. Her constant presence aggravated him in more than one way - he, who prided himself on his calm, logical approach to life. Every one of her sighs, every toss of her apple-scented hair reminded him of the night in the cottage.
What madness! How had he lost control so quickly? Yes, she’d seduced him with her scant attire, big doe eyes and brazenness, but he’d allowed it to happen. If it hadn’t been for the fire ... He pushed away the thought. He didn’t want to repeat either event, especially that of holding her in his arms. He’d survived without Jane Drysdale for twenty-seven years; he could do so for a few more days until Eagar and the others decided what to do with her.
“Charlie, are you listening to me?”
“No, I’m not,” he replied, amazed at how easy it was to be rude to her. He continued with his work, avoiding looking at her. “You want to visit Mara. I’m sorry, it’s not possible until Hugh or I can escort you. You’re still in danger, more so as the trial exposed your ‘powers’ to a broader audience.”
He sighed and reached for a tablet on the corner of the desk. He needed the latest currency rate for Dwarf pelfins against Sylthian indrans. He hadn’t told Jane yet, but his experience with the back trails on Lowth was needed. He’d been asked to accompany the group of men who would escort Capp’ear to the Magwrosin Swamp.
“You’re bored,” he continued, finding the figures he needed and writing them down. “I can’t help that, either. I have a job to do, and it becomes more complicated every day. Why don’t you visit Sharezee and check the progress on the undergarments she’s making?” He said it with sarcasm, wishing for about the thousandth time in the past two and a half weeks that he’d never been on duty the night of Tivat’s escape.
“I did,” she replied. “She had some things done for me.”
He nodded, intent on completing his work so he could go home. It had been a long day.
“Charlie, look at me. Charlie?”
“What?” he asked, slamming the tablet down, angry at her constant interruptions. He glanced up, about to add more of his wrath.
And stopped, mouth agape, blood draining to a pool at his feet then slamming back with force to his groin.
”Wha - what ...” He struggled to find words. “What do you have on?” Or, to be more precise, what did she almost have on?
The top ... the bodice ... shades, he didn’t know what to call it. A triangle of fabric, bright blue, exposed her midriff, bare arms, the throb of her pulse at her neck. And below her waist! Bloomers, stopping above her knees, but tighter, obscenely tight. Charlie pulled the neck of his shirt open with two fingers. This defied logic. What was she thinking?
“You like?” She pirouetted for him.
Shades, the top had no back, just a tie at the neck and above her waist. More bare skin gleamed at him. His anger building, he noticed her shoulder blades, a mole above her waist, the tattoo on her arm -
“I don’t like,” he barked, jumping to his feet. “Are you mad? Haven’t you caused enough trouble without inciting a riot? Can you - will you -” Taking firm control of himself, he said through gritted teeth, “You are not wearing that.”
“But, Dad, all the girls are wearing halters and shorts. Don’t you want me to have a date for the prom?” She batted her eyelashes.
He couldn’t concentrate with so much flesh showing.
“I. Don’t. Care. Take. It. Off.”
Expecting an argument, he was unprepared for her next move. Jane shrugged, reached up and untied the fabric.
“No!” Charlie yelled, leaping the short distance to her. He caught a glimpse of her breasts, small and pale and perfect, before he grabbed the top and savagely retied it.
Jane made a gurgling noise, her hands at her throat. “You’re choking me.”
“If only I could,” he muttered. He pulled his shirt off and shoved it over her head. Spinning her around, he all but threw her into his chair.
A muscle twitched over his left eye. His head pounded, and he could not erase the vision of her breasts from his mind.
“Charlie.” She leaned forward.
“Quiet.” Pacing the floor, he forced himself to breathe deeply. He avoided looking directly at her.
Several minutes passed while she fidgeted in the chair, but she stayed uncharacteristically silent. When he felt calm enough to speak, Charlie perched on the edge of the desk.
“Jane,” he said, trying logic first. “People dress a certain way here for a reason. Protection, modesty, practicality, tradition. To change that invites ridicule and gossip. I know you feel trapped. It’s understandable that you want to be more comfortable by surrounding yourself with familiar things. But, Jane, your Earth wardrobe can’t be one of them. It’s unacceptable behavior.”
“Charlie,” she said, her tone mocking his. “I’ll dress however I damn well please. You people need to be brought out of the Middle Ages. I don’t know how long you’ve had your present wardrobe, but it’s hot and uncomfortable. It’s impossible to do chores with skirts wrapped around your legs, let alone keep them clean after dragging them in the dust. If others are offended by what I wear, it’s too damn bad.”
He felt his temper rising. “You will present yourself to this world by wearing appropriate attire. You forget that you are a guest of the King.”
“And you forget that I’m going to die. Or be imprisoned. Maybe today. I don’t care what I should or should not do, King or not. What has he done for me lately? I don’t hear the phone ringing off the hook with a royal pardon.”
“Treason!”
“Ignorant, backward people! Stay out of my way, Charlie Whelphite. You don’t want to see me mad.”
“Nor do you want to see my temper.”
”As if.” She laughed. “You don’t scare me.”
“No,” he said, determined to have the last word. “But I can issue an order to keep you in the castle, locked in your room until it’s time for your death.”
“Mary, Queen of Scots.” She shot to her feet.
“Whoever. Jane, Queen of Earth, prisoner of Lowth, you will obey me.”
“Make me!”
Something snapped in him - sanity, temper, desire, he didn’t know which. He did the only thing he could. He kissed her. Hard, demanding, tasting her blood and not caring. He leaned back against the desk, pulling her with him. Her shirt rubbed against his bare chest, making him aware of her breasts underneath. At their memory, he groaned, moving his hand to cup one, thumbing the tip to arousal.
Jane responded with a low moan.
“Oh, Fly Boy,” she whispered, taking his bottom lip between her teeth and tugging. “You need to do this more often.” She slid one arm behind him and touched his forewing, tracing the raised pattern on the membrane.
Charlie shuddered in reaction. A sharpness, two-edged, a tormenting ecstasy, bisected him like a sword blade. Generated by her fingertips, it convulsed his body, slamming back and forth, looping and knotting before it refocused and shot to his sex.
With a swipe of his hand, he cleared his perfectly organized desk. He lowered her onto its surface, his mouth on hers again, fumbling with the tie at the back of her waist, eager to free it and gain access to her breasts.
“You drive me mad,” he growled between kisses. “You tempt me, invade my thoughts, distract me beyond reason. I wonder how you survived on Earth, the way you act with men.”
She smiled and traced his ear with one hand, the other wrapped around his neck. “I didn’t act this way with Earthmen. Just you, Charlie.” She licked her lips, a long, slow movement calculated, he was sure, to ensnare him.
He shifted one knee between her legs, uncaring of the time or place. He would have her. Perhaps then he would have release from the torment she put him through.
A sound of pleasure escaped her. She closed her eyes, her beautiful, bellefern-green eyes, long-lashed and honeyed. Charlie traced an eyelid with one finger, across her cheekbone and down to her lips, swollen from his kisses. He brushed them lightly, knowing she wanted his touch, teasing her in return, and moved across her cheek again. His fingers tangled in her hair, found the shell of her ear and outlined it upward from the lobe to the bud of a point at the top ... 
Point? It took a moment to sink in, for the implication to rise through the fog of desire and make sense. Sprawled on top of her, moments from taking advantage of her open invitation, he knew he should deal with this abnormality later, after sating his hunger. But it didn’t make sense.
Curiosity won over lust. Shaking, Charlie parted the curls around one ear and stared at the developing point. An Elven point.
“By the first dawn,” he swore. He didn’t bother looking at the other ear; it would be the same. And what in the two moons was he to do?
Jane, unaware of the discovery, chuckled at his outburst. “Too much for you, elf-man?” When he didn’t respond, she opened her eyes.
To Charlie, they blazed at him. For an instant, for the tiniest part of an instant, an act of his imagination and not reality, a spark of green lit and extinguished.
He jumped back - away from her, off of her, his desire gone.
“Witch,” he grunted, scrubbing at her kisses with the back of his hand. “Capp’ear was right. You mean to enslave me.”
Jane sat up on his desk and smiled, amused. “Don’t go weird on me, Charlie. I’m no more a witch than you are. If you don’t want to have sex with me, then say so, but I don’t believe that’s the case. I think you like your stuffy little rut, and you’re afraid to lose control and let go.”
Afraid? Yes, he was afraid. He was involved in something he couldn’t handle. Not just lust for her. He couldn’t deny that anymore. He’d been pulled into something deeper. It lay at a higher level, perhaps beyond magic, or the beginning of a magic of unparalleled strength in Lowth.
“Fine,” he said, drawing a hand over his eyes to block out the picture of her half-dressed. “Believe what you will. I cannot help you with your needs, Jane.”
“I can help you with yours, Charlie,” she said softly.
His eyes flew open, and he half expected to see her stripping again. Relief flooded him. She sat demurely atop his desk.
“What’s it going to be, cowboy?” she asked.
“A respite,” he said. “A little time to breathe.” And sort out, maybe, what all this meant-ears, eyes, tattoos, and rainstorms. And his feelings. He couldn’t shake the conviction that her tattoo held the key. Its familiarity haunted him, but he’d been unsuccessful in remembering where he’d seen it before.
“Okay.” Jane scooted off the desk. “I can’t give you too long because I don’t know how long I have. Tonight, however, you’re safe from attack.” Her smile promised another story for tomorrow.
“Now,” she said, brushing her hands together. “When am I going to see Mara again?”
Charlie groaned. He didn’t have the strength to deal with this argument again. “I’ll take you there in the morning. But only if you don’t wear those ridiculous clothes.”
“Deal,” she said quickly, too quickly. She walked to the door and reached for a package she must have placed there earlier. Unwrapping it on the open surface of the desk, she pulled out a skirt and blouse.
“How about these?” she asked, holding them up. “I call it the modified Dale Evans look.”
The skirt was full, midcalf in length. The blouse had short sleeves, long enough to cover her tattoo, but shorter than what most women wore. With a sinking realization, Charlie knew he’d been tricked. If she’d originally asked to wear these, he would have refused. But in comparison to what she wore under his shirt, they looked almost matronly.
“Jane,” he warned, taking a step toward her.
“I knew you’d see reason,” she said, moving backward to the door. “See you tomorrow. By the way - nice wings.” She blew him a kiss and disappeared.

 “It looks like rain,” she said the next morning, peering through the cottage window at the clouded western sky. She and Mara sat in the main room after a squealing, joyous reunion.
Charlie had abandoned her. He’d driven Jane and Muttle to the village. Still miffed by her antics of the previous day, he’d hardly spoken to her. Soon after dropping her off, he declared he had business in town. He rationalized her need for extra safety by declaring Muttle more than capable for the job. If danger came too close, the Belwaith would call him.
So much for guarding her. Riight. I’ll just flash the Bat Signal over Gotham City and you can fire up the old Batmobile and come to the rescue. 
“Hugh says the rain will clear by tonight,” Mara said.
“Oh, yes?” Jane shoved Charlie to the back of her mind. Let him pout. At least it showed he thought about her.
“He predicts the weather,” the other woman continued. “Except for the night of the fire.”
“That was all my doing.” Well, not exactly; Jane felt sure she hadn’t been alone in drenching the blaze.
”He says it will be clear for tonight’s festivities.”
Festivities? Jane snapped to attention. Whoa, Nelly. She had to leave the castle more often.
Mara looked at her oddly. “Charlie didn’t say anything about them?” She paused. “No, he wouldn’t, would he?”
“What do you mean? Why would he keep it secret?”
“It’s Midsummer’s Eve.”
“And?” Jane fished for more details.
Mara looked up, down, and in every direction but Jane’s. After hesitating for as long as she could, she said vaguely, “A time of renewal. Both moons will be full ...”
Jane leaned forward. Something was definitely strange. “Not getting your drift here, Mara.”
The woman cleared her throat. In a rush she said, “In the olden days it was a fertility rite, to ensure a good harvest in the fall.”
Fertility? Ah, yes, and all its accompaniments. No wonder Charlie hadn’t mentioned it. Jane’s interest escalated, her mind revving to high gear. Full moons, parties, Charlie. Charlie’s wings. Hoo-boy.
“They serve mead,” Mara added.
Mead? Oh, beer. Yes, that would help speed the process.
“Is it still a fertility rite?” Jane tried to remember what pagan festivals entailed-drinking, bonfires, nudity, and wanton lovemaking.
Mara blushed, obviously thinking the same.
“Say no more, say no more.” A sudden thought occurred to Jane. “Not to sound nosy or anything, but are there other women in the village trying to conceive?”
Her friend’s face darkened, as if she didn’t like thinking about this aspect of her marriage and the Dymynsh. “Several,” she said tersely.
“And are there some who might need help, beside the full moons and the mead and the general toga party ambiance?” Jane’s mind was going click, click, click. She had no use for her merchandise now that her could-have-been lucrative part-time job had crashed to a halt. What better way to dispose of it than to the benefit of the local women?
She looked around as if expecting Charlie to return. He’d probably be gone for hours, which would give her more than enough time. Two could play this game. She’d attack the Dymynsh in her own way.
“How many women can you get here in the next few minutes?” she asked, trying to remember what remained in her boxes after Kendra s party.
“I don’t understand.”
Jane rose and threw her arm around the other woman’s shoulders. “Let me introduce you to the double-A battery.”

It was the best party she’d ever hosted. The women of Malin, after their initial shock at the premise of the impromptu Realm of Pleasures party, dove in with enthusiasm. About thirty in all crowded Mara’s cottage, stuffed and wedged in every available spot. More trickled in as word spread that the Earthwoman, famous for making gardens grow and rain appear, was selling devices to improve relations. In their minds it meant one thing - conception, especially on the prophetic day of Midsummer’s Eve.
Jane, feeling generous, cleared out her merchandise at rock-bottom prices. Lowth prices, that was, consisting of the currency of indrans and using the bartering skills of Mara. Clothes, jewelry, favors and even a chicken or two were traded for the contents of her Rubbermaid containers that the Elven men had unwittingly transported through the portal.
Foregoing her usual practice of privately filling orders, Jane opened all the boxes and let the women go at it. Soon they argued over body glitter, massage oils, edible undies, fantasy candles and lubricants. They fought and traded them as actively as they would eggs on market day.
The vibrators sold the most quickly, the partygoers comparing them to their husbands’ sizes and abilities. Jane passed around samples of her products, gave out door prizes and explained some of the more obscure items, such as nipple chains and love beads.
Two hours of bawdy remarks later, the room finally cleared. All that remained were a couple of novelty ice cube trays and some board games, unintelligible in English.
“Charlie won’t like this,” Mara said, picking up discarded paper, boxes and plastic. “Hugh probably won’t, either.”
“Charlie doesn’t like a lot of what I do,” Jane replied. “But I can guarantee he’ll like what I’m going to do tonight.” She’d kept a few items for herself. She planned on getting him semisnookered with mead and retreating to the castle for Charlie’s Seduction, Phase Three.
The women exchanged glances, grinning in the Cheshire Cat-grassy knoll type of conspirators’ way.
“We’ll leave you and Hugh to yourselves,” Jane added, trying not to laugh at Mara’s embarrassment. “If it’s a girl, I want you to name her after me.”
Mara blushed. “If anyone can help with our problem, it’s you, Jane. After what you did to my garden ...”
“Well, a geranium and a baby are two different things, but I’ll cast my spell on you.” She proceeded to make a hocus-pocus sign with two fingers in the general vicinity of her friend’s womb.
“It will have to be magical, because after tonight, Hugh is gone.” Mara picked the last scrap of paper up off the floor.
Jane grabbed her arm, not liking her tone. Had her sentence been determined? “What do you mean?”
Mara blinked, as if she might have said something out of turn. “He and Charlie and three others are taking Capp’ear to the Magwrosin Swamp.”
Anger flooded Jane. “What!? Charlie never said anything.”
”Charlie is too quiet. You should have been told.”
“Damn straight! He’s traipsing off to some swamp for another prisoner’s punishment while I’m left alone to meet mine? Oh, that crisps my fries. Where is he?”
Tavern, Muttle interjected quietly, the first she’d heard from him in hours.
“Hanging out at the bar? Muttle, you’re the only one I can trust anymore.” She pulled on Mara’s arm. “Come on, we’re going downtown.”

“Charlie?”
It sounded sweet, but he knew the tone too well. He’d done something wrong in her eyes and was about to pay the price.
“Jane?” He turned to look at her. Uh-oh. He recognized trouble in the sparks flying in all directions. “I thought you were at the cottage.”
She came to a stop in front of him, her revolutionary attire garnering more than a few glances. “And I thought I could trust you.”
“You can.” He took a sip of mead, fortifying himself. What had he done?
A hand on one hip, the other pointed at him, she said, “Why are you leaving me alone with Eagar?”
Charlie didn’t understand. The raw talk in the tavern had been about tonight’s couplings. He couldn’t imagine her and Eagar together. Truth be told, he couldn’t imagine Eagar with anyone, and Jane with no one but himself. The thought of her hands moving over his naked body -
“I heard what you’re up to,” she continued, growing more heated by the second. “How dare you desert me? I need you here, not throwing the Unabomber in a swamp.”
“Oh, that.” He’d not planned on telling her until the last minute, knowing they’d have this scene.
“Yes, that. Why can’t they burn him at the stake here instead of transporting him so far?”
”Now, Jane,” he said, taking her arm and hustling her out of the tavern. The street might have as many spectators but they’d sensibly keep their distance, unlike the louts inside. “The laws may seem complicated at times -”
“Don’t patronize me, Charlie,” she said, pulling herself free. She blinked several times, adjusting to the bright midday sun. “When, exactly, were you going to tell me?”
“Never” seemed the incorrect answer. Instead he fumbled, wishing for inspiration, determined to keep his temper.
Activity at the end of the street saved him from answering. He heard shouts, and people appeared from different buildings, drawn toward the commotion. A few from the tavern stepped out, shading their eyes.
“What’s going on?” Jane asked, clearly upset that her tantrum had been interrupted.
“I don’t know.” Whatever it was, it was timely. “I’m sure I need to find out.”
Jane followed behind him. Charlie tried to ignore her, hoping that whatever had caused the halt in activity was trade-related, requiring his immediate attention. He pushed through the crowd that surrounded a bulky shape in the middle of the road. It took him a moment to fathom that the shape was two full-grown sheep harnessed together, with a man tied to their backs. A man with an arrow in his back.
“Tis Randolph,” Patrance, the local cartwright, said. He knelt by the man’s head, laying it back where he’d lifted it for identification.
Randolph! A coldness pierced Charlie. The man had been due at the castle three weeks earlier with his shipment of wool. He was not three weeks dead, but he was certainly dead.
“What type of arrow killed him?” Charlie asked. He knew the answer, recognized the design on the shaft, the length of the fletching. The type was rare in this part of Lowth, but he knew where it had been made.
”Not Malin.”
“Nor Goblin.”
“Dwarvish neither.”
The guesses from the crowd didn’t come close. None but perhaps Wesant the Hunter traveled as much as Charlie and would know it came from Malik. To make sure he was correct, Charlie leaned forward to inspect it. Shock hit him when he realized a piece of paper was wound tightly around the shaft.
“Give me a knife,” he said, holding out his hand. He knelt by the body, trying to ignore the stench. Carefully, he cut the strings that held the paper, pulling it free. He stood and unrolled it.
Shock hit him a third time, this one the most terrifying. Shaking, he looked over at Jane. He held the page out so she could read:
Return the mortal to me. 
- Blacwin 

Chapter Fourteen
“I can’t believe I’m here again,” Jane said under her breath. “I can’t believe an arrow and a freakin’ wizard are incentive enough to get the Supreme Court to reconvene.”
She stretched her neck to see the crowd filter into Sylthia’s great hall and sit on benches. They numbered fewer than at the trial. Oh, God, had it only been three days ago? After all the talk of her “powers,” Jane expected the council to take a long time to find the correct punishment for her. Maybe fifty or sixty years. Instead, the appearance of two smelly sheep and an even smellier dead guy spurred them to action.
Within an hour after the commotion in the village, word had reached her and Charlie to report to Sylthia. Once there, they’d had to wait more. It was three o’clock on a blistering afternoon, and she hadn’t eaten yet, a fact proclaimed by her grumbling stomach.
“Hush,” she warned at its latest protest. “You’re still entitled to your last meal.” She asked Charlie for the twentieth time, “How much longer do you think they’ll take?”
“I do not know,” he replied for the twentieth time. He didn’t look up from the paperwork he’d grabbed from his desk on the way in. No doubt it was some important schedule that needed to be completed before his journey. The castle couldn’t function without his schedules.
“Don’t get in a snit, Charlie,” Jane said, pulling a piece of paper from the pile and holding it close to read. It made no sense whatsoever. “I know you’re mad at me.”
“I am not mad at you.” He snatched the document back and returned it to its proper position. “I am busy.” His tone suggested she’d never been busy.
“Hey, I work, too, you know. At least I did.” She couldn’t count the number of boring insurance forms she’d filled out during the day for her boss, Bernie Toulouse, owner of the Toulouse Insurance Agency. What a stupid name. What a stupid job. Who named their kid Bernie when he’d have a hard enough time with Toulouse-Lautrec jokes all his life?
Charlie glanced at her.
“I drew a paycheck,” she protested. Two paychecks, if she included her income from Realm of Pleasures. Too bad she wouldn’t get any commissions for this morning’s party. That would have been a fun check to cash.
“I know you’re mad at me,” she repeated, goading him. He could be so stick-in-the-muddish sometimes. “You drop your contractions when you’re upset. That’s something I’ve noticed about you.” One of the few non-wing-related things, such as that he wrote left-handed, and his eyes were the same color as the way he liked his coffee-black with cream. A nice latte brown.
“So, what do you think Eagar is going to do with me?”
Charlie stopped writing and stared at her. She didn’t understand how someone could make it look as if they rolled their eyes without actually doing so, but he had it down to an art.
“Whaat?” she asked, all innocence.
“You talk too much.”
”It’s nerves. You should know that about me by now. I get nervous, I talk. They’re a pair, like coffee and cream, bread and butter -”
“Gags and mouths?” he suggested.
“Yeah.” She smiled. “Kinky, but yeah. You into that kind of thing?” Jane tried to remember if she’d kept a pair of handcuffs.
He acted as if he hadn’t heard. Oh, well, tonight she’d find out his level of kinkiness. Tonight. Her insides warmed at the thought.
“If they ever get this circus on the road,” she muttered. “What possible connection can an arrow and a wizard have to do with me? What did the note mean? ‘Return the mortal to me.’ I’ve never been to Malik. How can I return?”
Charlie did the non-rolling eye roll again. “I do not know.”
“Take a guess. What do Eagar and Company have planned for me? Are they going to chain me to a goat until I suffocate from the smell? Trade me to the wiz-” Jane stopped, appalled by the thought that popped into her head. “That’s it!”
“What’s what?” He looked annoyed, his usual expression when she went on a tangent.
“They’re trading me to the wizard. They can’t kill me, so they’ll let him do it for them.”
“Jane, what are you talking about?”
“I figured it out. The wizard wants me bad enough to kill Randolph, the messenger. And what does Sylthia need in exchange? What do we need that he has?”
She had his full attention now. She could see the gears working in his mind.
“The means to stop the Dymynsh,” he said slowly.
“Bingo. Give the man a prize. Charlie, they’re going to use me as a bargaining chip. My life for the end of the Dymynsh.”
She watched his disbelief war with the possibility. He shook his head. “No, they wouldn’t -”
“Give me a good reason. This is a win-win-win situation. The wizard gets what he wants, Eagar is rid of me, and he looks good by doing something about the Dymynsh. Who loses?”
His eyes darkened. “You do, Jane.”
She’d already thought of that. She smiled. “That’s why I have you, Charlie. To negotiate better terms with Blacwin.”
“Negotiate? With a wiz-,” he blustered.
Jane patted his hand. “I trust you. I have from the start. Who knows where I’d be if you hadn’t argued so well in court? Did you ever find out who voted in my favor?” Her money was on Tellise, the Dwarf, with his double chins and blue eyes. Wesant the Hunter had a hardened look to him, and Eagar had expressed his opinion on more than one occasion.
“No,” Charlie answered. “They’re not required to tell. We may never -”
A murmur rose from the crowd. Jane swung toward the room where the judges had retreated. They came through the door and walked to a raised platform.
Charlie slipped his arm through hers as they stood.
“Jane Drysdale of Earth,” Eagar spoke. She wished he’d drop the Earth part. She’d never see it again, and his use of the term rubbed salt in that wound.
“Sir.” Her backbone couldn’t be any straighter. Ha. Take that, you old goat. I know your plan. I’m going to win. 
“Your imprisonment and trial have cost the Kingdom of Malin considerable expense.” He paused, as if expecting an apology.
Expenses? What, some wall spackle for the storeroom and a few hundred chicken salad sandwiches during the trial? Hang the expense. She knew his words were for the audience. The witch Earthwoman takes precious gold from the royal treasure, gold that can save us from starvation. Ergo, send her somewhere else so she can use their gold.
“Your presence in Malin continues to drain our resources.” Again, then came a pause to let the words sink in with the crowd.
Jane stood rigid. Damned if she’d let him see his effect. She ate no more than he did. The hypocrite.
“Considerable time has been spent devising your punishment.”
Spent, drain, cost ... did she sense a theme here?
“Unfortunately, we have been unable to find an appropriate penalty for your crime. Until today.”
Drum roll, please. 
“In a unanimous vote, we have decided to comply with the wishes of Blacwin, guardian of Malik. Negotiations will be made to turn you over to his custody.”
Reaction swept over the crowd, building in intensity as they mulled over Eagar’s words. A communal light bulb went off in the hall. Comments started again; stares focused her way.
Eagar spoke again. “We depart tomorrow. This case is closed.”
Wait! We? We, as in Eagar and Co?
“I object!”
Oh, God, had that come from her?
Charlie’s hand tightened on hers with such force she almost cried out, which would have defeated his purpose.
“Sirs? If I may?” He waited for a nod from Eagar before continuing. “If there is a plan regarding my client, I would like knowledge of it.”
Eagar stared at him, his eyes sharp, black stones. Charlie, who had worked with him for ten years, wondered for the first time if he really knew the steward.
“There is always a plan,” he answered. “A party of twelve leaves tomorrow, including the prisoners Capp’ear and Jane Drysdale. Capp’ear will be escorted east to the Magwrosin Swamp. From there we will proceed to Gaelen, home of the Dwarves. Then north and west to Malik, to begin negotiations with the wizard Blacwin.”
A party of twelve. Twice the number six, supposedly a lucky symbol in Malin. But tomorrow? And Jane’s entourage tacked onto Capp’ear’s, the man who had tried to kill her?
“You are to join us?” Charlie asked.
Eagar nodded. “Wesant remains at Sylthia. Tellise will join us until we enter Gaelen.”
Wesant was sound, solid, a good defender of the castle, a friend of King Garmade. A wise choice.
Charlie directed his attention to Jane. Under her calm exterior he saw the grip she had on her fear. She held tight control on her shock at making the voyage in Eagar’s company. He needed to get her out of here before she said or did something to jeopardize her trip.
He turned back to the elders, who waited for him to say more. Instead, he nodded to them, took Jane’s arm and hustled her from the hall.

He led her up a flight of stairs to a small room with tapestries on the walls and an informal arrangement of chairs. She sat in one of them, and he knelt in front of her. She hunched over, her hands covering her face, shoulders shaking.
“Jane,” he said. “Jane, calm down. It isn’t that bad. It’s but a few days’ journey to the swamp, and two weeks at the most from there to Malik. You won’t be in Eagar’s company long. I’ll keep him from you.” In truth, he’d never been to Malik, but he knew a good guide. They could travel swiftly, but to what end? He did not want her death. As much as he hated to admit it, her vibrancy and courage brightened his days. She twisted his life upside down, and he couldn’t imagine it without a new daily calamity.
“Jane, don’t cry.” The light fragrance of flowers driftedfrom her hair. He lifted a curl between his fingers and let its softness slip through them.
“I’m not crying,” she said, tilting her head. Tears glistened in her bright green eyes. “I’m laughing.”
“Laughing?” He couldn’t keep up with her mood changes. “Why?”
“I’ve beaten the bastard,” she crowed. “He doesn’t know what to do with me, so he’s turned me loose on a wizard. A wizard! As if that would stop me.”
“A wizard is a serious thing -”
“You’re a serious thing.” She poked him hard in the chest. “Have you ever known me to be beaten? I’m going to win at this. Watch me.”
There had been the time when she’d cried in King Garmade’s arms, but Charlie thought it best not to mention it. “Never,” he lied.
“Oh, Charlie.” She launched herself at him, knocking him off balance. They fell in a heap on the floor, Jane laughing.
His body reacted immediately to her nearness. Desire drove into him with a startling intensity. He wanted no entanglements, and he would have none with her. Soon, she’d be gone, either destroyed by Blacwin or, if she won, sent back through the portal to Earth. He couldn’t imagine her fate but knew he was tied to it in some cataclysmic, almost horrific way. He had been from the start and would be, it seemed, to the end. He might as well get some enjoyment from it. Why struggle with himself? They both wanted a physical relationship. Why deny it?
“Jane,” he whispered, touching her cheek gently.
“Isn’t this the best?” she asked, her face alight. “To win? I can stand Eagar’s presence because I know I’ve bested him.”
Charlie cleared his throat. “Let’s not talk of Eagar.”
“No, let’s not.” To his amazement, she scooted off him and sat up, crossing her legs under her sheared-off dress. “Let’s talk about tonight.”
Tonight? He had plans with her for tonight. But he had plans for right now. Couldn’t she see his desire?
Apparently not. She reached over and, with a tug and him scrambling to hide his erection, she got him into a seated position opposite her.
“Is it romantic?” she asked. “The full moons and the dancing and the summer heat?”
He wanted to show her romance. Now, not hours away. But Jane had an agenda of her own, and with Jane it was wise to stick with her wishes. To do otherwise opened up only possibilities for disaster.
“Yes,” he said, pushing away thoughts of her naked body beneath his, and concentrating instead on the intricacies of pagan fertility rites. It was a shift that brought the same results. “It’s romantic. It will rock your world.”
He’d bet on it.

Eight hours later, Charlie’s desire nearly overcame him. He stood with Jane in a meadow above Malin Village, on the banks of the river that rushed from the heights of the forest to join the Tarradine Sea. The young and elderly had been taken home. As midnight loomed, those remaining hastened to lose their inhibitions. Mead and wine overflowed all cups. Music pulsated, wild and frenzied, the crowd thinning as couples paired off.
Charlie fought his throbbing need. His palms sweated and his heart banged in his chest. The memory of Jane’s perfect, creamy breasts engulfed him. The intricate cross-weaving of her silk dress covered them. He could only think of the fastest way to rip the garment from her body.
A bonfire burned in the center of the meadow, the flames scratching the black sky. Kindled with ferns and pine needles, it crackled from the fuel of nine different woods. Dancers gyrated around it in an urgent rhythm, spinning faster as the night grew. From experience, he knew that many of the women tonight wore nothing under their gowns, bringing them closer to the earth and sky. He wondered if Jane followed the tradition. Waiting to find out nearly killed him.
“It’s beautiful,” Jane whispered. She craned her neck to look at the twin full moons. Rest, larger and closer, hung like an apricot-and-coral engorged globe. Slumber came after, a marbled lavender. They’d cleared the trees and cast a glow on lust-filled features and guided lovers to hidden trysts and wild couplings.
Charlie’s loins twitched at the thought of his planned rendezvous with Jane. How could he get her back to the castle? She seemed intent on staying the night, to join in the ceremony of watching Lowth’s highest spire pierce the moons, the way a man would take a woman.
“Is it like this every Midsummer’s Eve?” she asked, her gaze on the whirling dancers.
“No.” He could barely speak. His throat felt raw with desire. “There’s a frantic energy tonight, as if this will be the last time, as if the Dymynsh will claim us all by next year.”
“Live for tonight, for tomorrow we die?” she asked.
“Yes,” he ground out. “Who knows what will happen?”
The thrumming of the drums matched that in his body. He needed her. Now. He wanted her hot and shameless and under him.
“Can we go back to the castle?” Impatience drove the question.
She looked at him, startled.
He watched her. Yes, this is Charlie, who usually runs from you. You don’t know him at all. 
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice husky.
Charlie knocked back the last of his wine and threw the empty cup on the ground. The path to town dipped and rose again to the castle. He knew a quicker way, across the hill, through short grasses and hard rock. His footsteps were hurried as they crossed it, the moons lighting their way.
On some level he was aware of Muttle trailing them. The Belwaith, as the King’s servant, was trained to be discreet. He would say nothing.
Charlie’s wings hummed in anticipation. His hand on Jane’s bare back burned at the touch. If he didn’t get into her bed, into her soon, he’d burst into flames. Damn her for making him feel this way.
They reached Sylthia’s gates, and long minutes later the keep. In darkness, he led her up the many staircases. Hunger gnawed at him. His heart pounded like the distant drums.

He picked her up and swung through the archway, kicking the door closed behind them. Her windows faced the wrong way to catch the moonlight. A fraction of Slumber’s lavender blush glossed the room. It would have to do; he had no time to light candles.
“You strive to tease me,” he growled, his control breaking. His hands tugged at the intricate lacing of her gown. “You think you’re safe, that boring old Charlie will remain unmoved.” He trembled, shaken by the violence of the emotions beating in him. Frustration. Desperation. Need. “You’re not safe with me, Jane Drysdale. There is only so much I can take, and I have reached that point.”
The fabric of her dress ripped, splitting at the seams as he jerked on it. With a grunt of satisfaction, he peeled it over her head to expose her pale skin, dusted with a glimmer of gold. Her breasts, the perfect size to cup in his hand, budded in welcome. He lowered his head and sampled them, the taste of her honeyed skin lingering on his lips.
Jane whimpered and pulled him nearer, her arms reaching around him.
”Wings,” he whispered harshly. “You like them, don’t you, Jane? Touch them. Feel them.” He pulled off his shirt, stepped from his pants. His wings unfurled, encircling her, undulating over the skin on her back.
His breath died in his lungs. He’d never felt anything so erotic in his life.
Charlie pushed her against the door, pinning her against his erection. Through the roar in his head he was dimly aware she wore no other clothing. It made him want her more. Her smooth skin, the look on her face -
Pale moonlight bathed her features. Her eyes, glazed with passion, watched him, unafraid. The beginnings of a smile curved her lips.
“Not Charlie mild and meek,” she breathed. With deliberate slowness, she stretched to touch his left forewing.
An explosion rocked him. If he couldn’t have her soon -
She laughed softly. He stopped it with a kiss, taking her mouth by force, seeking, wanting, grasping for her sweetness. She kissed him fiercely, her tongue invading him. Her low, desperate cries escaped into the shadows.
Yes, that’s what he wanted. Her surrender. She intruded into his life. He resented her, was fascinated by her, desired her. Needed her.
She touched him again, sending a shudder to the core of his being.
So close. He shoved her against the door, his hand reaching for her slickness, parting her to make an opening.
“Charlie,” she gasped in response. She turned her head, her lips hot on his throat, kissing his jaw, seeking his mouth.
He plunged his hardness into her, taking her against the door, gaining entry at last.
It was more than he dreamed, wild and wet, a raging storm. His whole body vibrated in rhythm with hers. Jane moved against him, her nipples pebbled against his chest, her hands in his hair, scratching his back, tracing the edge of his forewing.
Charlie thrust harder, fighting for control, aching for release. He wanted to fly with her, to soar on the drafts of the night wind, coupled in flight.
“Yes, yes,” she breathed, curling one leg around him, granting him better access. She gasped as he plunged deeper.
Her cries incited him. He picked her up, molding contours, opening, delving to inmost folds. Buckling, sure he would break before he climaxed, trembling at this madness. He wanted more - softness, roughness, ecstasy, wetness, her touch. This was what he wanted, needed - to be with her.
She called his name. Charlie felt her convulse around him.
“I can’t wait,” he gasped. He tried to hold on longer, to give her release. Her intense pleasure broke his control. He exploded, hot, wild, and violent.
“Anjinaine,” he cried, and fell into darkness.

Chapter Fifteen
Oh my God, I’ve killed him! 
Charlie lay motionless on her bedroom floor. Moments earlier, he’d slumped against Jane, pulling out of her right when things had started to get interesting. Blind luck, dexterity and one foot almost on the ground had saved her from tumbling down with him.
“Charlie, don’t die on me,” she cried, tears in her eyes. She dropped to her knees at his side, trying to remember the CPR her brother Kevin had taught her. Lowth didn’t have an equivalent of 911, and anyone with medical experience was probably passed out from too much midsummer partying.
She shook him, and when he didn’t respond she clamped her ear to his naked chest. Wha-thump. Yes, a definite heartbeat. Thank God!
Muttle had probably heard their violent lovemaking through the door, thick as it was, but Jane hesitated to call him. If Charlie had simply fainted, he’d be embarrassed by the attention.
Speaking of bare asses, he was completely exposed to her. At any other time she’d have enjoyed the sight, but it would be voyeuristic, not to mention sick, to ogle an unconscious man. She wrestled him back into his pants and snatched a blanket off the bed, grabbing her robe at the same time.
“Don’t die on me,” she sobbed, covering him. “I need you, Charlie Whelphite. That crack about Klingon love-making was a joke. How was I to know I’m too much woman for you? No wonder you fled from me.” She slipped her arms into the robe and belted it. “I promise to be gentle next time. I love you, Charlie.”
And there it was, as simple as that. She’d fallen in love with an Elf. An I-love-my-rut-don’t-mess-up-my-day Elf who happened to be half fairy. And a lawyer. And a dozen other important things to a small kingdom in a parallel universe. Who said love was easy?
You really know how to pick ‘em. Tears rolled down Jane’s cheeks, and she halted a sniffle before it could escape. It was hopeless. She’d finally found a man to love and instead of celebrating, she was headed into a battle with a wizard.
Well, she wasn’t going to lose that fight, and she wasn’t going to lose this man, either. Not for a wizard, the Dymynsh or any other curveballs Lowth threw at her. Jane shook herself, ashamed of giving in to weakness.
“Charlie, wake up.” She patted his cheek gently.
He groaned and moved his head.
“Jane?” he asked, his voice thin and distant.
“How are you?” She bunched a corner of the blanket into a pillow under his head.
Charlie opened his eyes, blinking several times, as if trying to focus. “Confused. What happened?”
She winced. “I’m not sure, but I think I knocked you out. We were making love and you fainted. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was so potent.” Jane brushed his hair from his face. It fell through her fingers like fine threads.
He struggled to sit, looking sheepish. “That’s the first time I’ve fainted during sex.”
“I’m sorry.” She helped him stand, catching him under the arm when he wobbled.
“Don’t apologize. Unless you used your ‘powers’ on me,” he said in a half-joking manner.
Jane bit her lip to keep from replying. She’d have to be more careful next time, at least until he built up some tolerance to her vigorous lovemaking. There went her plan for using her vibrator for mutual satisfaction. He’d probably go into cardiac arrest.
Charlie lurched, throwing her off balance.
“Dizzy,” he murmured. With one hand he reached for the edge of the bed.
Jane steered him toward it. “Maybe you should lie down for a while.”
“Maybe I should.”
Carefully she helped him, then retrieved the blanket. Fascinated, she watched him fold his wings so they didn’t take up much room. Jane scrunched in bed next to him, her back to his front, spoon-fashion.
“This isn’t so bad, is it?” she asked when they’d settled, the blanket covering them.
“No, it’s nice.”
His breath ruffled her hair, the sprinkling of hairs on his chest rubbing through the thin fabric of her robe. Knowing he couldn’t see her, she smiled, her heart doubling in size with her love. Who would have imagined she’d fall for a levelheaded, brown-eyed Elf? Her mother had worried about her taking off with a biker or a circus performer, and instead she’d tumbled for a lawyer. A rock of the community: he’d done so much for the kingdom. If only he realized it.
“Why did you call me Anjinaine?” she asked, entwining her fingers with his.
”Did I? I don’t remember.” His voice sounded tired.
“It’s the second time this week I’ve been called by that name. Someone’s trying to tell me something important. Did you grab it out of the air, or what?”
“I think it was in a dream,” he murmured. He shifted her in his arms, pulling her closer.
A warm purr escaped from Jane. I could get used to this. She knew when she’d dressed for the festivities that she’d end in bed with him. It was a matter of time and patience. It sure helped when he took matters into his own hands. And what capable hands! Stick-in-the-mud Charlie had depths she’d never dreamed about. It’s always the quiet ones. 
She rolled over, intent on interesting him in an encore.
He slept.

Jane stirred softly, a weight pressing against her back, side and stomach. She opened her eyes; the grey predawn light outlined an arm across her. Charlie. Oh, this is interesting. Morning sex? 
Her head hurt from too much wine the night before, but she knew of an effective hangover treatment. Endorphins. The best way to get the little chemicals - she thought of them as mini Pac-Men-shooting through her blood involved some heavy breathing. An adrenaline rush. Definitely some arm wrestling. Toe, foot, and tongue wrestling while they were at it. Oh, and fingers. Wings, too. A tingle started in her middle and spread outward.
“I’m awake, you know,” Charlie said from behind her.
“Oh,” she squeaked, half-turning to look at him. Guilty thoughts made her blush. “You scared me.”
“You scared me last night.” His eyes looked incredibly brown and sexy and dangerous. “What was that about?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I think ... it’s outside the both of us.”
”Lowth playing more tricks on you?”
“Yeah.” Jane found it difficult to lie in his arms and not shout out that she loved him. Restraint came hard to her. “I wish I knew what it all meant.”
He moved his hand so that his fingers played in her hair and touched her face. “I think we’ll find out soon. We leave today.”
Reality. Such a cruel intrusion. She wanted nothing more than to stay here in his arms for a long, long time. “I know.” She rubbed her cheek against his palm. “How soon?”
Charlie glanced at the sun’s location.
“Oh, I think there’s time,” he said, smiling.
“Time for what?”
“For what was interrupted last night.” In a quick movement, he flipped her onto her back, the sheet falling away to expose his naked form. Jane gulped at the sight of his erection. When had he shed his pants?
“My, my,” she said, reaching to cup him. “Mrs Claus needs to say hello to Santa’s big helper.”
Gentle, gentle ... Jane tried to convince herself to go easy, but in reality, she wanted to savor loving him. His caresses, his nakedness, the brush of his long hair against her nipples - every movement created new sensations.
She closed her eyes as he rained sweet kisses from her mouth to the inside arch of her foot. She cried in passion as he raised her to him, bare thigh against bare thigh, his fingers massaging her throbbing need. They twisted in the bed, limbs entangled, heated mouths against even hotter skin. Pulses raced in unison. He slid into her as if he’d been there a hundred times. But she’d never felt this way before - whole, bursting, fused with another into one being. Charlie. Her love. Her reason for living. How strange the way she had found him.
As the sun broke into the room, Jane crested in a series of increasingly larger waves. She took Charlie with her on the last, their combined cries splintering the dawn.
They drifted into day, satisfied aftershocks rippling through them. Jane sighed and fell asleep, one arm wrapped around the man she loved.

Chapter Sixteen
“A little more,” she said, raising her arms to let the cooler air flow over them. “Ah, that’s perfect. I love it. Don’t stop.” She wanted to purr in satisfaction.
“Jane?”
Charlie’s voice snapped her from her contentment. She spun, her eyes seeking to distinguish his form from the other half-shadowed objects around her.
It was after dusk, almost fourteen hours since they’d departed that morning from Sylthia’s gates. Fourteen hours of unrelenting heat. She couldn’t remember being so hot, even during Michigan summers, when the temperature and the humidity battled to reach the nineties.
The sun blazed in the sky. The air, vibrating from the heat, shimmered with hallucinogenic irradiation. Even during the short time they traveled under the canopy of the Malin Forest, they saw the lack of vegetation, the effect of the Dymynsh. Whirlpools of dust kicked up from the path, and all the shadows had a tawny cast to them.
Eagar drove them relentlessly. Breaks were short and infrequent. They hiked until Hugh protested they would not have light enough to strike camp.
God, she’d hated camping since she was little. Cooking over an open fire and sleeping under the stars sounded romantic until the first time you needed to go to the bathroom or take a shower. It sucked then, and it sucked now.
“Jane?” Charlie called again. She heard the dry undergrowth crack as he made his way through the small stand of trees Hugh had selected as their campsite.
“Over here,” she directed. Darkness hid him so well he seemed to spring from nowhere. The moons’ light had not found its way into the valley.
“What are you doing so far from the others?” he asked, taking her hand.
Her heart zinged at his touch. Last night and this morning had been wonderful, but she doubted they’d have any opportunity to make love on this trip. Not with ten pairs of eyes watching.
“You shouldn’t stray,” Charlie said, his other hand cradling her head, drawing her against him. “It’s dangerous.”
She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Like a moth to a flame. She had such an obsession with him now. She ached to feel his touch. His mouth, hand, anything, it didn’t matter.
“It’s more dangerous at camp,” she confessed, tossing her head back so she could see him in the dying light. “I thought Eagar was going to skin me for dinner. Capp’ear’s not much different. They hate me.”
Charlie’s fingers made slow circles against the base of her neck. She leaned into him.
“I don’t understand Eagar. He’s acted strangely since you came to Lowth.” He chuckled. “I’ve acted strangely.”
“Charlie ...” She stopped herself from confessing her feelings. Bad timing. He might act tender to her, he definitely wanted her, but he’d freak if she said she loved him.It hurt to keep the secret. He was her anchor, the eye of the hurricane raging around her.
“Shh.” His thumb rolled across her bottom lip. “We’re alone, and I don’t want to spend the time talking about Eagar.” He lowered his head and kissed her.
A low, desperate sound escaped Jane. It felt so right to be in Charlie’s arms. They might come from different worlds, but nothing would separate them. She’d find a way to make it work.
“Do we have to go to the swamp?” she asked later, snuggled in his arms. He leaned against a tree, and they waited for the appearance of the first moon before going back to the others. The camp wasn’t far, but they’d agreed on the moon’s rising as their measure for returning.
“We don’t have to,” he stressed. “Though I suppose, formally, we should be there for Capp’ear’s punishment. Eagar likes things tied up neatly.”
“Can’t we skip going to the swamp? And Malik?” Jane watched him as she drove her point home. “Can’t we run to the portal, Charlie, and slip away to Earth? I’ve probably lost my job by now, but we can start over, find a new living for you.”
He shook his head. “We can’t do that. We have to see this through, good or bad. And it will be good, Jane.”
“Can you promise?” His words had dashed away any hopes of escape, but she didn’t expect less of him. He’d always do the honest thing. It was another thing she loved about him.
“All I know is that there is something better planned for you than death at a wizard’s hands,” he said firmly, an intensity to his voice that almost convinced her. “Why else would you have these strange powers?”
Why indeed? But Jane had spent too many sleepless nights thinking about them to believe they might be for the best.
“Maybe King Garmade does want me to overpower Blacwin and end the Dymynsh,” she confessed. “But if I don’t, I’m condemned to die anyway. Tossing me at the wizard loses nothing. Except my life,” she ended softly.
“Oh, Jane.” Charlie drew her closer, kissing the top of the head. “There’s more to it than that.”
She laughed harshly and stepped away, overwhelmed and depressed by her out-of-control circumstances. “Yeah? I’ll show you what good it is, what I was doing when you came. It’s so damn hot that I was using my ‘powers’ to cool down.”
She raised her arms with a flourish. “Lowth, do you hear me? Step up the wind a notch. No, make that six notches. I want to see Charlie’s hair blow.”
A gust of air tore around the trees, whipping small branches and rustling leaves. It hit them full force. Jane, who’d had time to brace herself, tilted slightly at the impact. It pushed Charlie back a step, against the tree he’d been leaning on earlier. To her satisfaction, his long blond hair streamed out behind him.
“What are you doing?” he shouted, reaching for her. “Are you insane?”
“This whole freakin’ world is insane,” she yelled over the roar of the wind. She looked up at the night sky and said one word. “Enough.” The gale died to the gentle, cooling breeze she’d ordered earlier.
“If I wished for the sun to come out right now, would it?”
He grabbed her arm. “Don’t.”
The fear in his voice sobered her. “You don’t seriously believe I could do it?”
“Do you want to try?” he countered.
No, she didn’t. That would be too weird.
Jane shook her head. “Some things are better not known.”
“I agree. Please don’t do that trick again. If you want to make a small breeze to stay cooler during the day, fine. Bringing a high wind is not a good idea. You’ll draw attention to yourself with such antics.”
”It’s a little late for that,” she muttered, her mind on her past “antics,” namely the party she’d hosted yesterday morning. She had no doubt that the past night’s boisterous celebrating was due in part to her toys and the women of Malin’s enjoyment of them.
“Jane,” Charlie said in that tone of voice she dreaded. She felt as if she were seven and caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“Umm, yeah?” She wanted to scrunch to the size of a bug and hide under a leaf.
“What have you been doing? Have you already been drawing attention to yourself?” The moon had edged over the hilltop, and she read the annoyance on his face.
“Confession time?” she asked in a small voice.
“Definitely confession time.”
“Hugh didn’t say anything about last night?” She knew the brothers were close but hoped it didn’t include boasting about their sex lives. Eww. How humiliating if it did.
“Should he have?” Charlie narrowed his eyes. “I assume you don’t mean our last night, but last night in general?”
Jane nodded.
“Something to do with the celebrations?” he guessed.
“I kind of enhanced them,” she admitted, ducking her head.
“And how,” he asked evenly, “did you do that?”
She took a deep breath. “Do you know what I did on Earth? To make a living?”
He furrowed his brow. “You were some kind of scribe?”
A scribe. An unusual way to explain being a secretary-clerk-gopher to an idiot insurance agent.
“Yes, you could say so. That’s what I did during the day. It didn’t pay well, and to make extra, I hosted Realm of Pleasures parties.”
“I’m afraid to ask,” he said under his breath. “What is Realm of Pleasures, and why do I not want to know?”
Selling the products involved some explicit explanations. Holding the toys occasionally made her blush and stumble over the words, but she’d always plunged ahead. Jane had given over a dozen parties, sometimes in mixed company, but she’d never had a more difficult time than now. When she’d finished telling Charlie what she did during her free evenings, and how her merchandise just happened to be in Lowth, she could barely talk. Her throat had closed from a major case of humiliation.

Halfway through her story, Charlie found a log and sank onto it. During the last few minutes he watched her, mouth open. Disbelief and outrage joined the shock on his face.
“Is this a common habit on Earth, to boast of sexual inadequacies and buy aids for them?” he asked when she’d finished.
Jane wished to take back the last three months of her life. Had the little bit of money been worth his disgust?
“We’re a liberal society, Charlie. I admit I was reluctant at first, but everyone has a good time -”
“I bet they do.” He rose to his feet. “Gossiping about such matters. You’re no better than the village women when they get together ...” He paused at her sharp intake of breath.
“Jane,” he said in a dangerous tone. “Please don’t tell me you had one of your parties here.”
She held one hand in front of her face and peeked at him through her fingers. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?” He was calm, too calm. She liked him better when he acted all prudish.
“Yesterday,” she admitted, taking a backward step. “While you were down at the tavern, before Blacwin’s message was found. I kind of had a Midsummer’s Eve clearance sale.”
“A sale,” he repeated. “You had a sale.” He shook his head, as if trying to understand a foreign language. “I suppose all of the village women were there?”
”I don’t know,” she confessed, taking another step back. He was ready to erupt, and she wanted a running start. She’d rather face Eagar than have Charlie upset with her. “We probably had thirty or forty. How big is the village?”
“Thirty?” he sputtered. He groaned and held his head. “I’m ruined. Utterly. Completely. Forever.”
“Sorry,” she said in a small voice.
He looked up. “You’re sorry? No, I think you have that wrong. I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t want to defend you, but I did, and probably saved your life in the process. What do I get in return?”
He was building to a climax of epic proportions. In a sick way, Jane admired his technique. If she had been the one ranting, it would have been her best performance. For Charlie, who didn’t let go often enough, this was a major breakthrough.
“I get,” he continued, ticking off the items on his fingers, “a woman who opens stone walls with her bare hands, is found in the King’s bed the first night she’s here -”
“I never touched him!” she blurted.
His gaze drilled into her. Jane shut up.
“A woman with Elven tattooing on her arm. My brother’s house almost burns down within two weeks of her arriving. She starts rainstorms, controls the wind and seduces gullible lawyers. Did I mention that she gave away sex toys to most of our female population?”
“I didn’t give them away,” Jane protested. “Mara traded for them.”
“Wonderful. You’ve corrupted her as well. It makes it easier to bear, knowing my brother is away from her side, escorting you and the man who tried to kill you to your deaths. At least she’ll have new curtains and fresh meat in exchange.”
Jane’s anger burst forth, rivaling his. She’d never seen him in this sarcastic mood, and she didn’t like it.
”Listen, buddy,” she said, closing the distance between them and poking him in the chest. “This is who I am. Half the stuff you’ve listed I had no control over. I was kidnapped into this sorry little kingdom, and it’s been doing everything it can to crawl into my flesh and possess me. Not a nice feeling, let me tell you. I’ve had better times.”
“So have I. Most of them involved not risking my life.”
She let out a sound of exasperation. “When? Now? There’s no one around for miles.”
“Except a swamp full of sandobbles. And goblins on the loose between here and the nearest wizard. But no, I was referring to three weeks ago.”
Three weeks? She could barely remember three days ago.
“When I and five others went through the portal into Earth,” he said harshly.
“Old news,” she spat. “Tried and sentenced for that crime. Get on a new kick.”
“You and your ‘toys’ risked our lives, Jane.” Fury enveloped him. “We were in a strange land and had tenuous contact with the portal. After the explosion, we needed to get you through as fast as possible. You burdened us with six boxes of rubbish. We could have easily been trapped.”
“Okay, you have a point, but how was I to know I’d be forced to come to this freakin’ world?”
“You’re the freak,” he said, echoing her gesture by prodding her on the shoulder. She had to step back from the pressure he applied. “You’re so different from everything I hold dear that it scares me.”
“Everything you hold dear is going to go poof if I don’t do my freakish voodoo and get rid of the Dymynsh.” Tears stung her eyes. “How do you know I wasn’t sent here for a purpose?” she continued. “Maybe the Dymynsh isn’t caused by a wizard, but because you guys aren’t having enough sex or having it the right way. Maybe my ‘toys’ are the spark needed to jolt you people into a sexual revolution. I’m your answer. Did you ever think of that? Huh?” She punched his shoulder.
He caught her wrist. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Use it or lose it.” She felt suddenly drained. A spirited discussion with Charlie was one thing. This hurt.
“We no more need creativity than -”
“What? Than you need to fly? Why not fly with me, Superman? Birds and bees do it in the air. Why can’t a Whelphite and a mortal?” It was a last attempt to find and recapture what they’d shared.
“Ridiculous,” he said, spinning away from her, solidifying her opinion of his pigheadedness. “Last night and this morning were mistakes. Blame the effects of Midsummer’s Eve. Blame too many hours spent in each other’s company. I don’t know or care. We’re forced to spend the next few days together. Stay away from me, Jane. I want nothing more to do with you.”

Chapter Seventeen
Two miserable days later, Jane stood on the banks of the East Malin River, surveying the desolation of Magwrosin Swamp. Its appearance fit her mood exactly. A low-lying fog, burnt orange and slate grey in color, writhed at the feet of spiked ferns. Bronze, copper and metallic green, ten feet in length, they shouldered their way above the mist, as if anxious to pull free. Branchless, misshapen trees poked overhead, battling for sunlight. A wet plonk-plonk sound, mixed with a Hitchcockian bird screech, assailed her ears. It looked like the perfect place for the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse to hang out between jobs.
“This has to be the most dismal place on Lowth. Strip mining would only improve it,” Jane commented. Perhaps a wizard isn’t such a bad punishment after all. Feeling hot and sticky despite Lowth’s attempts to keep her cool, she looked at Hugh. The merciless sun burned down on them as they’d followed the river over the dry scrabble rock where little grew.
“It’s been a prison for fifty years,” Hugh replied. “Since King Garmade and the Dwarves defeated King Rodom of Malik and the sandobbles. He split the river, one arm on each side of the swamp, and increased the depth and breadth until it reached the ocean, leaving no way out.”
The mud had a greenish-grey cast, and the consistency of brownie batter. Jane imagined it rising up to form a creature that would swallow her whole.
“Why don’t the sandobbles escape?” The river didn’t look deep or dangerous.
“If they try to enter the water, it thins them out. They wash away with the current.”
I’d find a way to get out, Jane thought.
“How will Eagar get Capp’ear to the other side?”
“I think we’re about to find out.” Hugh indicated the steward, who beckoned the group together. Jane, Hugh and Muttle joined the others.
Charlie stood to one side, watching her. He’d silently trailed behind her the past two days, at a distance but close enough that she could see his glowering stares.
Jane felt as if she’d betrayed her best friend in the fire-and-brimstone-plagues-of-locusts kind of way. It hurt doubly now that she knew she cared so much for him. Before, she’d baited him, egged him out of his stodginess in an amusing game with no consequences. Looking back, she saw things through his eyes and realized how her actions had damaged his trust.
She should have told him about the contents of the boxes. But how could she have explained such intimate objects when she slid dangerously closer to him every day? The appearance of Randolph’s body and her sentencing had precluded a “hey, by the way” confession afterward.
Circumstances fortified her excuse of reluctance. She’d have to find another way to apologize.
“Fellow citizens,” Eagar called, snapping her attention back to the present. “A judgment has been made against one of our own, Capp’ear of Malin.” He turned to the weasely man who’d been heavily guarded during the three-day journey. “For the crime of attempted murder against Jane Drysdale of Earth, you have been sentenced to the Magwrosin Swamp. If you survive a full day, you will be freed. If you do not - may your death be swift and painless.”
Eagar looked at Jane, his gaze piercing. The triple layer of bags beneath his black eyes contrasted with the leanness of his body. Dressed in his habitual dark wardrobe, he looked more demonic than ever. He conceded to the sun by wearing a scarf on his bald head. He only lacked a mask and a cape to enter the Zorro look-alike contest.
“Do you have anything to say to the prisoner?” he asked.
She panicked. What was death row etiquette? “Good luck”? “See you on the other side”? She looked at Charlie, who stared back, his expression blank.
“No,” she told Eagar, directing her words to Charlie. “There is nothing I can say to change things.”
The steward nodded. “Very well, then.” He looked at the prisoner and raised his hands in the air with a flourish. “Your sentence commences now.”
Capp’ear levitated off the ground.
Several people gasped in surprise. Jane grabbed Hugh’s arm, her mind whirling in fright. What other powers did Eagar have? She’d been so flippant with him at times ... 
The prisoner leveled off at a height of about ten feet. The group watched his progress as he moved across the river and into the swamp. He hovered several moments over the swaying leaves of a fern, then the mist swallowed him.
Jane felt cold. Of all the things that had happened to her since her arrival, this had to be the worst. Because of her, a life was about to be snuffed out.
She turned her head, afraid she’d cry or be sick. Hugh put his arm around her in comfort.
“Don’t think of it,” he said. “The man’s not been right since his wife and child died last winter. If not you, he would have tried to hurt someone else.”
Jane hiccupped. Her voice wavered. “But he picked me. You all must think I’m terrible, turning your world upside down the way I have. Murder trials and rainstorms, your house almost burning to the ground. I’m sorry, Hugh.”
He patted her arm. “It was upside down before you came. The Dymynsh has ruined our lives, robbing any normalcy from them. Perhaps you’re here for that purpose.”
Jane lifted her head. “Do you really think I’ll be able to stop it?” Until now, she’d been consumed with getting through each day and, somehow, going home. Others’ opinions of her effect on Lowth and its scourge hadn’t much entered her thoughts.
“Some do. We’ve gone so long without hope.” He glanced around. “Of course, some, such as Eagar, think you’re worse than the Dymynsh. You’ll have to do more to prove yourself to them.”
She stepped back. “I’m not your savior. I don’t want to die to make your world right again.” As always, when she allowed herself to wonder about the possible negative outcome of this journey, she shivered.
“Charlie won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Even though we’re off to see the wizard?” The unknown specter of Blacwin haunted her dreams.
“Many people of Sylthia trust my brother. I trust him. Maybe you should as well.”
Would Charlie’s feelings be strong enough to bind them together? Except for the one night they’d shared, which Jane highly suspected he felt ashamed of, he acted more as if she were a nuisance than anything he cared about.
Hugh turned her away from the swamp. “Let’s help make camp. It will ease your mind, having something to do.”
“Is it safe here?” She looked at the sight, high on the banks, a copse of wood to one side.
“Safe enough,” he replied.
She touched the knife strapped to her leg to reassure herself. She’d protested when he’d given it to her at the start of the journey, insisting she wear it and not tell Eagar. The blade might not cut through a sandobble, but other creatures roamed Lowth.
Later, around the campfire, Jane spoke to Muttle. By accident, she’d found out that the Belwaith regularly communicated with his mate, Calme, and could give accounts of what went on in Sylthia. Several times a day he zoned out, his eyes whirling a deep purple.
Jane ached to ask if there’d been any repercussions from Midsummer’s Eve, but figured it best to keep that topic off-limits. Instead, she inquired, “How is King Garmade?”
“He sleep. He sad.” The Belwaith answered so quickly that Jane had the feeling he’d tuned into the monarch directly.
The news disheartened her. The King had made a rare public appearance the morning they exited Sylthia. Dressed in a faded blue dress, he leaned heavily on Wesant’s arm. He spoke only to Eagar, giving his blessing and then retiring to his chambers. He said nothing to Jane. She expected at least a glance from him, some indication that they’d spent time together, but perhaps he didn’t remember. Dementia acted in strange ways.
“Give him my best,” she said, her voice thick. She hoped she’d have the chance to say good-bye to him after she defeated Blacwin. With the mission half completed, the days grew closer to her trip home. She hoped.
What do I do about Charlie? Instinctively, she sought him out from the others near the campfire. If she could get him to talk, if they made up, what then? Would he accompany her to Earth? If he refused? Could she stay here, away from everyone she loved, in a land of elves and sprites and wizards?
He looked up from speaking with the dwarf, Tellise. Their gazes locked over the length of the clearing. Jane half rose, intending to cross to him and apologize. A hand on her knee stopped her.
”Stay,” Muttle said.
“But ...” She wanted Charlie, and she wanted him now. Muttle had a curious sense of timing.
“Many eyes watch.”
Jane felt them staring, condemning her, convicting her as a murderess despite Hugh’s assurance that some supported her. Midsummer’s Eve had been an aberration, a temporary insanity affecting all. They could understand the moons’ pull and the seasonal lustfulness of the night. They might not accept an upright citizen of Sylthia such as Charlie becoming permanently involved with a killer.
Jane backed away, blending into the shadows. She’d already damaged his reputation with her behavior and the party. Their talk would have to wait until another time.

Where is she going? Charlie watched, perplexed, as Jane slipped into the darkness. She looked as though she wanted to approach him. He didn’t know what he’d do if she did.
He’d always prided himself on his diplomacy and tact, two traits that drew people to him and made his life as a Whelphite easier. Patience, kindness, understanding - these attributes could always be relied upon. Until three weeks ago. Until Jane burst into his life with all the finesse of a wild boar. Upsetting his life, tempting him with her flagrant clothes, seducing him ... 
Seducing him! Thankful that the campfire hid his blush, Charlie sank to the ground. He’d been drunk on Midsummer’s Eve, but not enough to lose reason. Lust controlled him, born of frustration and two perfect, cream-colored breasts. How could he not give in? Why shouldn’t he again?
He curled his hands into fists, resisting the urge to follow her. He was due to take his turn on night watch. Since they were so close to the swamp, Eagar had increased the patrol. Tomorrow would be soon enough to speak with Jane.
Unfortunately, he fell asleep after his stint, waking midmorning. Duties around the camp kept him busy until after the noon meal. All the time, his gaze sought Jane, but she remained elusive. She acted subdued, no doubt affected by her part in the mess with Capp’ear.
No unusual sounds issued from the swamp. The prisoner had probably met his fate silently, but they all waited until the appointed hour nonetheless. Others had managed to escape during the fifty years the Magwrosin had existed as a prison. Either way, an hour before sundown, they’d strike camp.
Jane, all rose and tawny, emerged from her tent. Charlie stopped what he was doing and watched her, his heart and lungs functioning improperly. It has to be the heat. 
She looked to the sky and, for a moment, he thought she would call the wind. Instead, she walked toward him.
“Charlie,” she said, chin tilted. Clad in a pair of trousers that looked suspiciously like Hugh’s and a loose blouse, her breasts taunted him from beneath the white fabric, the curve of one visible through the open neck. Not that he looked. He should say something about her attire, and if she dressed provocatively she should expect comments -
“Jane,” he said, trying to sound harsh. Too bad she’d caught him empty-handed. He had nothing to inspect, to pull apart or put back together, to make it look as if she came second in his attentions. He crossed his arms in front of him.
“Charlie, let’s not argue. We’ve been friends since I came to Lowth. I should have told you about the party. Forgive me?” She laid a hand on his arm.
Couldn’t the woman stand still? The swaying of her hips prevented him from thinking. They hypnotized him. An itch started in the center of his palm. He wanted to clasp her on each side to stop the movement, then pull her to him and rock her in a different, more primitive way.
”I don’t like it when you lie,” he said, hanging on to his anger. It still hurt that she’d deceived him. The toys, ripping walls apart, regrowing the garden - what shocking thing would she hit him with next? “I’m not some village idiot with who you can amuse yourself.”
She jerked back as if struck. Her nostrils flared. “Is that what you think I’m doing? You rate yourself wrongly, Charlie Whelphite. You’re the least amusing person I know. Try boring. And stuffy. And pompous. Just a minute, let me look in my thesaurus for some juicier adjectives. Oh, that’s right, you don’t have one on this backward planet of yours.”
Damn, he hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, just to get his point across that they had to have total honesty between them. How had it spiraled downward from there?
“You’re making a spectacle of yourself.” He grabbed her arm and tried pulling her from the camp.
“God forbid that you should have that happen. Charlie-don’t-make-waves. Charlie-leave-me-alone. I’ll leave you alone, all right. I’m sorry I ever took up with you. Wings! Ha!” She pulled free and stormed away.
“Where are you going?” he asked, conscious of the curious stares they’d invited.
Jane popped into her tent and emerged a moment later with a small bundle.
“To have a bath,” she said over her shoulder, tramping upstream from the campsite.
A bath? Was she crazy? There were eight men in the area, and who knew what else loose in the swamp.
“It’s been three days,” she said, pushing aside branches. “A cloth dipped in the river isn’t going to cut it anymore. I want a full immersion, soap-lathered bath. Muttle says there’s a clear pool nearby. I’m going to use it.”
Charlie ducked, avoiding a faceful of pine needles. “You’re making a mistake. It’s not safe around here.”
”Then I guess you’ll have to stand guard. It’s not as if you haven’t seen me naked before.”
His mind filled with memories of three nights earlier. She’d been magnificent. Perhaps, if he apologized and she stayed still long enough to see reason, and all the stars aligned perfectly, they might repeat the performance.
The land sloped to a clear turquoise pool with overhanging branches of willow and silver maple. Sunlight mottled the leaves of a small copse and dusted the grasses underneath.
Jane slipped off her shoes and tossed them on the bank. She waded into the water, making girlish, squealing noises. In a moment, she stepped out of her trousers, revealing undergarments of a new breed.
Charlie’s throat clogged. He sputtered for words. “What? Jane! You’re trying to kill me.” His hand slid to his chest.
“Do you like it?” she called, the water obviously diluting her bad humor. “It’s called a thong.”
Sucking in air like a blowfish, he thought his heart had stopped. First, he fainted, and now this. Did the woman have to affect him so much?
She bent down and unstrapped the knife sheath from her calf and threw it in the general direction of her clothes. The movement gave him an awe-inspiring view of her rear.
It was his undoing. His emotions overwrought, he strode down the slope and into the river, mindless of the water seeping into his boots. Mindless altogether.
“Wench.” He pulled her to him, her nakedness smooth on his skin. “You tempt a man past reason.”
She leaned full-length against him. “Why, Charlie -”
“Why? Because of clothes like these - always teasing me, seducing me in my office, bewitching me on Midsummer’s Eve. You invade my thoughts. Wanton, troublesome mortal.”
”Stuffy old Whelphite.”
“Elf,” he corrected, nibbling on her ear.
“Riight. An elf with wings. Let’s fly together.”
“Jane, don’t start that again.” He had no room for anger.
“But it would be so much fun, soaring through the air ...” She batted her lashes, her eyes full of mischief.
“Let’s try it on the ground first,” he promised.
With a groan, he kissed her, a flame kindled anew. He stripped the rest of her clothes from her, not surprised that she wore nothing under her blouse. His mouth seared kisses on her every surface, and he picked her up, grunting with satisfaction when she wrapped her legs around his waist.
He marched up the bank, his mind focused on the shade of the linden trees, sheltered from curious eyes. Releasing her long enough to smooth out her towel for them to lie on, he lowered her to the ground.
She reached for him, her eyes clouded with passion. “Love me,” she whispered and pulled him down.
The fire ignited, his lust wakened from a forced solitude. Frustration tore at him. He wanted her now, wanted to feel her spasm around him. Once more, before she left him forever.
“Take it easy, Fly Boy. We have all afternoon.” Jane chuckled, caressing his face with her fingertips, along his jaw and the rims of his ears.
He wanted and feared her touch on his wings. Tugging off his clothes, he forced himself to slow down, to linger over and reexplore her body.
Leisurely, he watched her eyes change, listened to her soft moans. He loved to see her face, the sun dappling it, as she yielded to him. Feelings knotted in him - tenderness, solace, joy, rapture, a jumble of emotions. Loving her this way was familiar and necessary.
She twisted and bent her head, nipping the flesh of his inner thigh, snatching little bites of kisses down his length. He gasped and released her, breathless. She rolled away and he pursued her, finally pinning her against a tree. Jane laughed softly, her hand outstretched to his wings. The air snapped and crackled like an approaching thunderstorm when she touched them.
Their lovemaking intensified into a tangle of legs with lips pressed together and hot, slick bodies. He moaned when she trapped his hardness in her hands, stroking, heightening his sensations.
Lying on his back, he plucked her into the air, the muscles in his arms bunching as they lifted her above him. His need throbbing, he brought her down, swift and hard, unerringly accurate, mounting her on him.
Jane threw back her head, a long line of neck exposed, eyes glazed. Sweat glistened on her body.
He rolled his fingers over her nipples. He ached to close his mouth over them, but she rode him, her body bent backward.
Gasping, he felt her pulsating around him. She cried out as the spasms shook within and without. Charlie held on, wanting to prolong her pleasure, delaying his own release. He slipped his hand between her legs and touched her mound, rubbing its swelling as she came again, shouting his name.
Suspended in time, holding on to the edge, he let her ride, sustaining her climax for as long as he could. Then the sunlight and their glade blurred into a whirling vortex. The intensity increased. He couldn’t endure another moment without letting go. With a cry of joy, he erupted in her, his seed spurting to fill every sweet, dark inch.
Charlie gasped as the aftershocks gripped him. Realization hit. What have I done? 

Bliss. Sweet, sweet heaven. Jane sighed with contentment as she snuggled against him. The man was a magician. She rolled to her side. With nice pecs. She traced hard male angles and golden sprinkles of hair on his chest. Looking up at him, she saw concern on his face.
“What’s wrong?” She tried to smooth out his wrinkles with one fingertip.
“A moment ago -” He hesitated. “When I came in you -”
“And very nicely, too, I might add.” She grinned.
He stilled her hand. “I’m serious.”
“What?” What had she done wrong? They’d been perfect together.
His eyes darkened. “Jane, if you should conceive a child.”
“No.” She laid a finger against his mouth to stop the dreaded words. We should have thought of that a few nights ago. She knew where she was in her cycle, and it wasn’t a pretty place. Birth control had stopped being a part of her life after her last relationship ended at Christmastime. How ironic that the sex toy lady had been caught without a condom.
“No,” she said again, aching at lying to him so soon after he’d ranted about not telling the truth. “The timing’s not right.” But she’d worry about the possibility after her meeting with Blacwin. If she survived. One Lowth-shattering problem at a time.
“You’re sure?” Emotion clouded his voice.
Expectation? Regret? She wouldn’t be sure for a couple of weeks. It wasn’t as if she could run down to the corner drugstore and buy an EPT test.
She settled against his bare chest, determined to forget about his inquiry.
“But, Jane -”
She laid her hand on his lips. “Later. Don’t ruin the afternoon.” She might be home by then. Foisting an unwanted child on him would be an unfair way to win his love.
Insects buzzed overhead in a soothing drone. Late afternoon sun poked through a canopy of leaves and warmed their bodies. Soon she drifted to sleep.

Less than an hour passed before she woke. Three days on the trail and she’d become a human sundial, telling time from its position.
Charlie slept sprawled on his stomach, naked as the day he was born. A smile quirked the corners of her mouth at the memory of their lovemaking. Delicious.
Not wanting to wake him, Jane slipped from the glade. The cool pond beckoned a few steps away. Grabbing a bar of soap, she padded to the edge and walked in.
The water was plentiful if not deep. She ducked repeatedly beneath the surface, lathering and rinsing with abandon until she’d washed away all the sweat, dirt and grime of the last three days. Humming softly, she emerged from her bath.
She gathered her thong and blouse from the bush where Charlie had dropped them. The pants she’d borrowed from Hugh and her shoes lay at the water’s edge. Crushing them into a bundle, thoughts filling her mind of a reverse striptease for Charlie’s pleasure, she searched for her knife.
The sheath lay upside down in the mud. Jane flipped it over, her heart going cold at its lack of weight.
Trouble , her mind screamed.
A twig snapped. Someone grabbed her from behind, an arm crossed over her bare breasts, a hand clamped on her mouth.
Jane felt sun-warmed steel against her neck.
“Looking for this?” Capp’ear whispered.

Chapter Eighteen
I’m going to die. Jane had no doubt in her mind.
“Witch,” Capp’ear hissed, his breath foul. He smelled like a mixture of locker room and garbage dump.
He jerked her backward against him. She felt a thick layer of slime ooze between them as they made contact.
Charlie, help me. 
“I can’t let you talk,” he sneered, as if reading her thoughts, “because you can bring the rain to stop me. Or something else. Rip that shirt you’re carrying.”
Jane thought about whipping it over her head to catch him from behind. A quick twist, and she could strangle him. But additional pressure of the knife on her throat stopped her.
Don’t do anything stupid. You’ll have no chance. She fumbled with the hem, but couldn’t tear it.
Capp’ear let out a sound of exasperation. Jane heard the fabric rend as he severed the hem with the knife.
“Finish it,” he said savagely.
She tugged the two halves apart. He grabbed one and tied it around her mouth. The other half manacled her hands.
Hope of running away died when he hit her in the back. She dropped to her knees in the mud, tears of pain coming to her eyes.
“I survived, despite your evil plan,” he gloated above her. “Want to know how?” When she didn’t respond, he yanked on a lock of her hair. “Do you?”
Stalling for time, Jane nodded, the pain in her scalp replacing that in her back. The longer she could keep him ranting, the sooner Charlie would rescue her.
Muttle, she added, send out reinforcements. 
She tipped her head back and caught the first glimpse of her assailant. Above and behind her, she saw only his face. It was enough to chill her bones.
His eyes scared her the most. Anguished, as if he’d seen things no one should. Haunted. Filled with pain. And hatred of her. They only needed to glow red to complete the picture.
His demonic smile twisted his face into ghoulish lines. Nightmare on Elf Street. 
“Pretty witch,” he said, freezing her heart.
Oh, no, let’s not go there. Keep your thoughts on revenge, buddy, not my naked body. 
“Everyone takes Capp’ear for granted,” he continued. “The only Elf around without talent. But they’re wrong, because he has one, kept it secret for years. Want to know, pretty witch?”
Jane nodded, meeting his gaze.
Hurry, Charlie. The wacko’s referring to himself in the third person. I think he wants to rape me. She knew her Whelphite lay out of sight, fifty yards up the bank. Asleep.
Capp’ear dropped in front of her, the knife held tightly in one hand, her hair in the other. She willed herself still.
“He mimics the talents of others,” he said, shifting closer. “Watched them and later went home and imitated what they’d done. Never worked well. Never lasted long and couldn’t duplicate it more than once, but it saved his life.”
This “he” business creeped her out. She flinched when his hand trailed across her cheek, leaving behind the feel of wet, viscous swamp mire. Jane’s mind raced with all the self-defense moves she could adapt from what she knew. Her legs behind her, hands tied, the options looked limited.
“Thought he was dead,” Capp’ear continued. “Then Eagar lifted him into the Magwrosin.” He leaned toward Jane. She swallowed back nausea and fear.
“Mimicked his levitation. Sandobbles couldn’t reach him. Effort almost killed him. Could have escaped, but kept his end of the bargain. Twenty-four hours, then fell and ran. Fell and ran ‘til he saw a witch swimming and found a knife.” He raised it in the air. Jane saw the glint of sun on the blade.
“I’ll take my reward now,” Capp’ear said calmly and brought his hand down.

Charlie! 
The word screamed in his mind, jerking him from sleep. He was on his feet in an instant as his gaze swept the copse for Jane. Not seeing her, he pulled on his pants and reached for his knife when he heard another voice in his head.
We come. 
Muttle? What’s wrong? Where’s Jane? 
It seemed as if an eternity passed before the Belwaith answered. Charlie stood coiled for action, ready to spring.
Capp’ear escaped. 
Capp’ear! By the first dawn! 
“Where?” He spoke out loud.
At the pond’s edge. We come. 
She must have gone down for her bath and surprised him. Or got the surprising. Would she never learn of danger?
Charlie unsheathed his knife and raced toward the water.

Instinct took over. Jane dropped to her side and swiveled on her hip, bringing around both feet to kick Capp’ear in the gut. He fell with a whumph and she rolled away. It wasn’t until she stumbled to her feet that she felt the pain in her shoulder.
Looking down, she saw a gash above her left breast, bisecting the rose tattoo. Blood flowed from it, smeared with mud. It felt like the mother of all paper cuts.
This can’t be good, she thought grimly. Think of it later - but damn, it hurts. She spun in the direction of the glade, desperate to escape. Capp’ear grabbed her ankles and pulled them from under her.
She hit the ground hard, no soft mud to cushion the blow. The jar to her injury made her cry out, despite the gag. He gripped her arms and flipped her over, eliciting another muffled gasp when her weight landed on her bound hands.
His weight too, as he straddled her almost immediately.
“Pretty witch,” he gurgled, leaning closer.
Oh, God, not like this. Please, not like this. 
His long, stringy hair brushed against her nakedness, and it was all she could do to keep the bile from rising. The thought of asphyxiating in her own vomit kept it at bay.
He brought out the knife. Jane’s heart stopped cold in her chest. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the fatal blow.
They snapped open as a biting pain tore into her shoulder. Capp’ear flicked at the edges of her wound with the knife, enlarging it slowly, methodically, humming to himself.
I can’t take this. I’m going to faint. 
“Let her go.”
Charlie! She twisted in the direction of his voice, but she lay at the wrong angle to see him.
Capp’ear hesitated a moment then continued carving.
“I said, let her go.” Charlie’s voice, full of menace, sounded closer, twenty or thirty feet away.
Her assailant didn’t look up. Jane squirmed under him, trying to get a foothold to throw him off. The burn of the wound increased with every movement. He brought his hand down hard, using his fingers to claw into her flesh. Jane screamed into the cloth stuffed in her mouth.
“Get away from her!” Charlie roared.
She heard a sickening thunk and Capp’ear toppled off her. She scrambled to sit up, to dart away, and stopped in a crouched position. He lay face up, half in and half out of the water, a knife hilt protruding from his shoulder.
Then Charlie was there, retrieving her knife from Capp’ear’s outstretched hand, pulling his own free. He wiped the blood on the other man’s tunic and strode to Jane. He knelt at her side, cutting her bonds and gag free.
“Are you all right?”
Her heart went zing. He’d never looked so un-lawyerish, so entirely delectable as he did at that moment. Solid and strong, half-naked and better than any movie hero she’d ever seen. The setting sun at his back outlined the extension of his wings and hid his expression from her. She didn’t care. She didn’t need to see his face to know how much she loved him.
“What took you so long, Superman? Perry keep you at the Daily Planet?” she asked, her heart twisting around in a wild, love-induced, grateful Mobius strip.
He touched her face gently with long, tanned fingers. “Sometimes I don’t know half of what you say, but I’m damn glad I get to hear it.”
“I bet you say that to all the mortals,” she joked, then winced as pain shot through her again.
”You’ve been hurt,” he said, as if noticing for the first time all the blood and gore and exposed body goo.
“Yeah, but it only hurts when I laugh.”
“Then don’t laugh,” he murmured, finishing the old routine as if he’d been born into vaudeville. His hands gently probed the edges of the gash.
A shout hailed them.
“Muttle,” Charlie said. “And Hugh, Eagar and the rest.”
“About time the cavalry showed up.” She tried to stand.
Naked, her mind shouted. Then whoops! when the ground tilted. She saw Eagar’s shocked face in the periphery of her vision, and the ground lurched again and rushed at her.
Charlie caught Jane and eased her down. Hugh rushed over.
“How bad is it?” he asked, concern in his eyes.
“It’s not deep.” Charlie tried to sound positive. “But it’s ugly. Give me your shirt. The last thing she’d want is for everyone to see her without clothes.”
Hugh shrugged it off and handed it to his brother. Charlie laid it over Jane, leaving the wound exposed.
“I’ll need water, cloths, some soap and salve.” He rattled off the list, fighting panic. They were miles from the nearest healer in Gaelen, and field medicine wouldn’t help.
The brothers looked at each other over her prone form. Both had seen how easily a minor wound could cost a man his life.
Hugh broke the gaze and directed his attention to Jane. “He sure carved her up, didn’t he?” he asked.
Charlie nodded grimly. “I don’t think I killed him.”
“You didn’t,” the other man said in such a way that Charlie’s head jerked up.
“What do you mean?”
Hugh gestured to the pond. “He’s gone.”
“Gone?” Charlie stood, looking to the spot where he’d last seen Capp’ear. It was empty, the churned mud the only evidence he’d been there.
“Where?”
“Into the woods,” Eagar said behind him. “He was fleeing when we crested the hill. The archers drew on him, but he was out of range. I’ve sent a couple of men after him, but there’s not much daylight remaining.” He looked down at Jane, his lips pursed in disapproval. “How is she?”
“She needs a healer,” Charlie answered, angered by the steward’s lack of compassion.
“Right.” Eagar nodded. “Let’s move, then.” He began shouting orders.

They carried her farther up the bank onto dry grass. Dirt and grit embedded in her wound made it difficult to clean. Charlie rejected the idea of stitching the ragged edges together. Instead, he and Hugh packed the opening with clean cloths soaked in salve and bound her arm to her side. They’d have to wait several hours to be sure infection didn’t set in.
Jane woke with a whimper as they finished the dressing. She looked strong but pale, distress scoring her eyes. Charlie’s heart tugged to see her hurting so much. He smoothed her hair from her forehead.
“Did you get the number of the truck that hit me?” she asked, her voice weaker than he liked, the corners of her mouth upturned in an attempted smile.
“You’re going to be all right,” he said, fervently hoping so. He decided to wait to tell her about Capp’ear’s escape.
“He levitated while he was in the swamp,” she said. “Something about a latent talent.” She stopped to gather a breath. “Does that make sense? He rambled a lot.”
Charlie glanced at Hugh. Neither knew this about Capp’ear. They didn’t socialize with his friends, men who cared more for the contents of a bottle than their homes.
“Shh,” Charlie said. “I’m going to give you an injection, similar to the one you received when we first met. It will help with the pain.” And knock you out for several hours. 
Eyes closed, she nodded weakly. He slid the stitchtree thorn into her good arm.

Darkness had fallen by the time they’d settled her into the makeshift litter Tellise made. Tied between two of the pack animals, she swung above ground level, like a tightly wrapped cocoon. The archers sent after Capp’ear returned empty-handed. Eagar declared the hunt over. Grimly, the party started the long trek to the Dwarf capital of Gaelen.
They traveled through the night, their path lit by the waning full moons. Thrice, they had to ford branches of the East Malin River, untying the litter and holding it overhead.
By morning, Charlie knew Jane was in trouble. Her skin felt hot, and several times he’d had to stop the procession to change blood-soaked bandages. The last time, he’d seen a yellowish discharge from the wound.
She thrashed around, her words incoherent. He injected her again, using his last thorn. The effects lasted about six hours. By afternoon she’d be crying in pain. They’d be nowhere near Gaelen.
Damn! he thought as he walked at her side. Damnation to Capp’ear for hurting her, to Eagar for punishing her, and to Jane for making him love her.
The last took him by surprise. He stumbled over a tree root, catching the litter for support. Jane cried out at the movement. He soothed her back to fitful rest, watching how shallow her breaths had become. If he lost her ... 
And he would. Inevitably, she’d disappear, either at Blacwin’s hand or by returning to Earth. Impossible, unmanageable, exciting, provocative woman! She’d entered his world with fire and spunk, turning everything upside down, the same direction she’d spun his heart. It hurt to love her. It hurt not to.
He’d bet she’d depart with the same flair, but she would depart. He couldn’t ask her to stay in Lowth, and even his love couldn’t break through her yearning for her home. Following her, living on Earth, as she’d once asked him, wasn’t a viable answer, either. How could he live in a world of mortals with wings sprouting from his back?
By the time they reached the gates of the Dwarvish capital, Charlie had decided to say nothing to her about his feelings. He’d love her while he had her, but he’d convince her it was nothing but a physical attraction. To do anything else would lead to false hopes and ultimate heartache.
It took over a week for Jane to recover. She lost the first three days, obscured by a dark cloud of heat and a burning pain that engulfed her entire body. Vaguely, she remembered sun streaming through treetops, an unquenchable thirst and Charlie’s presence, always at her side, soothing away the hurt.
Since she’d awakened on the fourth day, feeling as weak as a newborn kitten, Charlie’s absence had been almost palpable. Muttle never left her, the healers kept her comfortable, Hugh visited, but the one she ached to see the most avoided her.
She heard him when he thought she slept. The moment she stirred, he’d exit. Sometimes he wouldn’t enter her room, but stand in the hallway and speak to the healers, then leave without seeing her. Those times hurt the most.
How often had she angered him since coming to Lowth? More than she could count. Bathing unescorted, then being attacked must have been the veritable last straw. Maybe distancing himself helped him get his life in order. He still had to go with her to Malik, but she could see how he’d want to keep as far from her as possible.
It’s been fun, Charlie, but two can play this game, she thought on the tenth day of her forced convalescence. I’m not going to let you hurt me. Even as she repeated the words out loud to reinforce them, she knew they rang false.

Charlie, standing in the doorway, heard her and backed away. His heart pinched as if in a vise. He’d never meant to hurt her, never even wanted to be involved, but fate had another opinion. Or, following her convoluted reasoning, Lowth itself had a hand in their lives. How else could he explain her powers, or calling her “Anjinaine” when they’d made love?
He coughed, paused, and came through the door, averting his gaze so she could compose herself. She’d almost done it when he stopped at her bedside. Streaks from tears marked her cheeks.
“How are you?” he asked, her misery so obvious he wanted to fold her into his arms and kiss away the pain. I love you. 
“Better.” She tried and failed to look past his chest.
“Good.” Then, because she needed to know and he’d been delegated to tell her, he said, “We depart again in two days.”
She gasped sharply. “To Malik?”
“Eventually, yes. We have to stop on the way and pick up a guide, Bryant of Malik. He knows the area better than I.” The hunter’s cabin, on the edge of Isleighah, was as far north as Charlie had ever ventured. The trails were but lines on a map after that point.
“How is your shoulder?” he asked. How is your heart? Why can’t you stay here with me when this is over? 
“They tell me it will be as good as new. I have some exercises I need to do to make it stronger.”
Gingerly, she held up her left arm, rotating it to show her progress. The loose sleeve fell away, exposing her tattoo. Charlie read the inscription again and, with a start, he realized where he’d seen it before. Bryant! On one of his trips to visit the hunter, he’d seen the same words stitched in wool and mounted on the cabin wall.
His mind racing, Charlie made an excuse to exit. He couldn’t risk her sharp mind figuring out his distress. Bryant! How was the man connected to Jane? With a sinking clarity, he knew. And in four days, Jane would, too.

Chapter Nineteen
The party came to the clearing in the early morning. A tawny fog lay low over brittle, dry grasses. The trees thinned, the leaves stripped off. In the parts of Lowth she’d traveled, Jane thought this particular corner best defined the Dymynsh’s twenty-year grip. She’d never seen such a sad, austere land.
The cabin rose from the mist before she realized it was there. Neat, trim, and made of felled logs, it looked solid.
Hugh had barely dismounted before the door swung open and a man stepped out as if expecting them. Jane watched as greetings were made and negotiations began.
The stranger, Bryant of Malik, was an Elf. He stood taller than Hugh. His weatherworn skin was lighter, a golden, creamy brown, a Nordic tan or a mocha light with a splash of butterscotch. His hair reminded Jane of caramel apples.
She sat back on Pasha, her little pony, enjoying the respite and the cooler morning. Eagar drove everyone hard in his quest to lay her at Blacwin’s feet. He showed no compassion for her injury or recovery. The week delay in Gaelen must have stuck in his craw something fierce.
The bargaining complete, some of the party began to dismount. Jane moved Pasha closer to the cabin to join the others. They’d take a short break while Bryant got ready.
Except he didn’t move from the doorway. He stared at Jane, mouth open, pain in his eyes. He clutched at his chest.
He’s having a heart attack, Jane thought, alarmed. She slid from her pony’s back, careful not to jar her sore arm.
“Bryant?” she said, moving toward him. She tried to catch Charlie’s attention.
The guide continued to stare at her. “You came back,” he said, grabbing the doorframe for support.
“I never went anywhere to come back from,” she said softly, looking up at him, concerned by his sudden pallor. “Are you all right? Maybe you should sit down.”
“No, I’m fine.” He passed a shaking hand over his eyes. He made a pitiful attempt to chuckle and gazed down at her. “Just long-dead memories returning to haunt me. An old man’s wistful thinking.”
Old? He couldn’t have been more than fifty. Grey touched his temples and creases lined the corners of his green eyes.
“Who did you think I was?” Curiosity drove the question.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “She wasn’t Elf; you are.”
Perhaps he was getting old. “No,” she said, “you have your words mixed up. I’m not Elf.”
Charlie came up beside the older man, his face a grim mask. The hairs on the back of Jane’s neck sprang to attention. She knew him well enough by now to recognize that he was upset. And hiding something from her.
“Charlie?” Her voice cracked. He didn’t meet her eyes.
“Of course you’re Elf,” Bryant continued. “There’s no other way to explain your ears.”
”Ears?” Her good hand shot to her ears, probing, outlining. She groaned when her fingers came to the definite points. Why hadn’t she noticed them before? Because there are no mirrors in Sylthia, and how often does anyone touch their ears? 
“Charlie?” she asked again, anger surging. “How long have you known? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. Well, he could look to hell and back because none existed. Typical, cautious Charlie.
“Since the day in my office when you tried to seduce me,” he answered. “I didn’t tell you because you had enough to worry about -”
“Enough to worry about,” she sputtered, enraged. “You never thought to mention it in the two weeks since? Knowing about the tattoo and where I copied it from?” Oh, God, she had Elf blood in her, at least the part that went to her ears. And that meant -
Jane’s knees gave out. Vaguely, she realized that Bryant caught her and picked her up, taking her into his cabin. She sat in a chair, tornadoes and hurricanes and locomotives rushing in her head. Her breath came too shallow, and she thought she’d throw up. Suspicions filled her mind, clues clicking into place like the last five minutes of a detective story. Part Elf, the tattoo, and this man who thought he’d seen her before.
The room spun and she took joy in it, letting the g-forces press her against the walls. Maybe, if her luck held, it would spin her into outer space and she’d wake up in her own bed, like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. 
Crouched in front of her, Bryant held out a glass of water. Silently, Jane drained its contents, laced heavily with brandy. She coughed and hiccupped and wiped the resulting tears from her eyes so she could look at the man before her.
“Does the name ‘Anjinaine’ mean anything to you?” she asked, watching his face closely.
Bryant paled significantly. “She is my foster sister. My parents died shortly after my birth, and her family took me in. She lives in Shallen.”
Jane nodded. Yes, it made sense to be named after someone he loved dearly. She shuddered, preparing herself for the next question, going for broke, all the cards and marbles and chips on the table.
“How about Marion Drysdale?”
A strangled sound came from deep within him. The last vestige of color washed from his face, and he sat down heavily on the floor, a devastated heap. The pale morning sun threading through the windows dimmed.
“Yes,” he said in a whisper. “A long time ago.”
He didn’t elaborate. Jane didn’t need to ask. With care, because it still hurt to do so, she moved her left arm, pulling up the loose sleeve to expose the tattoo emblazoned at the top.
“And this? Have you seen this before?”
The words leapt out. Neon colors, strobe lights, and phosphorescent glow in the dark paint couldn’t have made them more obvious.
Bryant stared at it, stock-still. Finally, he wet his lips and turned his gaze to hers, torture in his eyes.
“ ‘Forever joined, heart upon heart, world upon world’,” he quoted. “Yes. I wrote that for her.”
“Her?” Charlie asked, miles from their intricate world.
“Marion,” Bryant said, a caress in his voice, never looking from Jane.
She felt her heart tighten. Knowing his next words, she tried to brace herself.
His voice quavered as he said, “I think I’m your father.”

Chapter Twenty
Jane felt as if she’d been stabbed again. Her heart twisted in pain.
“No,” she protested, holding out her hand, trying to keep the truth at bay. “My father was Ray Drysdale. He died from a heart attack four years ago. My parents were married for thirty years. They had a happy marriage!” She shouted the last words, jumping from her chair. Moving to the other side of the room, far from Bryant, she asked, “How dare you say otherwise?”
Fear choked her. She didn’t want to believe him, even against all the mounting evidence. How could her mother abandon her family to come here and have an affair?
Sitting on the floor, leaning back against the chair, Bryant stared at her. Tears filled his eyes. He held a shaking hand to his face.
“I never knew,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t have let her go if I’d known. Believe me, Anjinaine -”
“Don’t call me that,” she cried. “My name is Jane Drysdale. Not Anjinaine. Not Ann Jane. Just plain Jane. No middle name. Capital J, small a, small n, small e. Jane.”
Her heart raced feverishly. She wanted to throw something at him in retaliation for all the hurt he’d inflicted on her. Her gaze swept the room, looking for a heavy object, and came to rest on a cross-stitched sampler hanging on the wall. Staring back at her, in shades of blue wool, were the same words she’d tattooed on her arm.
With a cry of anguish, she slumped to the floor. Charlie rushed to her side. Weakly, she batted at him, still angry with him for lying to her, but he ignored her. Lifting her, he carried her to the bed in the corner and sat down. From the relative safety of his arms, she decided to delay her anger at him. She could only fight one battle at a time.
Sniffling into his shirt, Jane looked up at the sound of a knock on the door. Hugh stuck his head through the doorway.
“What’s the delay -” He stopped and stared at Bryant. “Trouble?” he asked after a moment.
“Trouble,” Charlie replied. “We’re going to be a while. Can you make sure we’re not disturbed?”
Hugh nodded and left, quietly closing the door.
Charlie moved her head so she had to face him. “It’s time for answers to some of your questions,” he said softly. He touched her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear, his fingers outlining the tip.
As if I need reminding. Jane met his gaze and found strength in their brown depths. She’d leaned on him in the past for much worse than this. This will be a piece of cake. Only it’s awfully hard to swallow. 
“Yes,” she agreed, wanting to burst into tears.
Charlie wiped her cheeks with the ball of his thumb. Taking her hand, he led her to a rocking chair. He and Bryant sat opposite.
“Now,” he said, addressing their guide. “Let’s start at the beginning. We need to hear this tale.”
Bryant nodded and brushed at the tearstains on his cheek with the back of his hand.
”First,” he said, looking at Jane. “I must know. Marion - your mother - is she well?”
“She’s fine,” Jane replied, the resentment she felt against this man replaced with warmth as she thought of her mother. It had been almost six weeks since she’d last seen her.
“Good.” The older man nodded. He looked ready to say more, but stopped, a great pain darkening his features.
Charlie stirred at her side. “Bryant,” he prompted.
“Yes, yes.” Bryant nodded again and took a deep breath, picking his words with care. “Twenty-seven years ago, I was a raw young man of twenty-three. I’d traveled all of Lowth and decided it wasn’t big enough. I went to Earth.” He chuckled ruefully, a slight smile on his lips at the memory. “It didn’t last long, two days perhaps. Marion inadvertently came back with me.”
“How?” Jane asked, her mind clicking. “I mean, the portal opens along I-96. I’m not even sure the road was there at that time. Why would she be alongside the road, following a stranger?”
Of course, that’s what she’d done. At his look of puzzlement, Jane glanced toward Charlie.
“You know the portal is unstable,” he said. “Not only does the timing fluctuate, but also its location.”
His words hit her like an ax. “You mean, if I went back today, I might not come out by my car?” Where would she end up and how would she get home without her purse, which contained cash and her ID? Not that it would do any good, melted by the heat, lying in her car in the graveyard for extra crispy Neons.
Charlie nodded. “It’s possible.”
“Then the night you followed Tivat -”
“We might not have returned near the Sentinel.”
Another thought crossed her mind. She looked at Bryant. “What do you mean, twenty-seven years ago? I’m twenty-four.”
He hesitated before answering. “She was part of my life for three years.”
“No.” A cold pit opened in her stomach. “Kevin is two years older than me. He’s not Elf ... is he?” Oh, God, her mother cheated not once but twice.
Charlie reached over and touched her arm. She swung back to him, seeking logic and reason.
“We don’t know much about it,” he said. “But we think time fluctuates as well.”
“Time,” she murmured. “The space-time continuum thing.” She’d watched enough Quantum Leap episodes to know how that worked. It also explained how no one had ever said anything about her mother disappearing.
Swallowing too much information hurt her brain. She’d assimilate all the facts later, when she could sort it out.
“Go on,” she told Bryant.
“Marion followed me by accident when I returned. The portal closed and stayed that way for three years.”
He looked from Charlie to Jane. “She was distraught. She’d left behind a husband and children. It killed her to think of not seeing them again.”
Jane tried to imagine her mother at that time. She’d have been twenty-five, married seven years, a mother for five. Of course she’d have been upset. And I’ve repeated the pattern , she thought, her mouth dry.
“I took her to Shallen to stay with my family,” Bryant continued. “At that time, the portal emptied near Malik. I checked it almost every day; nothing was more important to me than making her happy by returning her home. But it remained closed.” He leaned back, stretching his legs.
“Eventually, she climbed out of her depression and accepted that she’d be in Lowth the rest of her life.”
Charlie moved his chair closer to Jane and squeezed her hand. The coldness in her stomach spread. What if she couldn’t get back? Lowth seemed to have plans for her ... She shook her head, focusing on this unknown chapter in her mother’s life.
Poor Mom. Every day that passed took her farther away from Daddy, Sheila and the boys. 
Except her Daddy hadn’t been Ray Drysdale. And her mother hadn’t been gone long enough - Earth time - for him to realize his wife carried another man’s child. With a start, Jane knew she would have done exactly as her mother had: forget about Lowth and go on as if nothing had happened. No wonder she’d been so upset when Jane tattooed the Elven verse on her arm.
“Did you love her?” she asked Bryant, noting for the first time that his green eyes were her own.
A softness infused his face. “With all my heart. Two years after her arrival, I married her.”
“And?” she asked, entranced by his narration. It was if she were listening to a bedtime story, not the tale of her parents.
Sadness darkened his eyes. “We’d almost given up visiting the portal. I don’t know why we went to the meadow that day, except the weather was perfect. We packed a lunch-”
“And made love,” Jane finished, thinking of her last time with Charlie.
Bryant nodded.
How I spent my summer vacation. Conceived in a meadow, the union of a human woman and an Elf. Unbidden, Jane’s gaze strayed to Charlie. It had been two weeks since Midsummer’s Eve. She’d know soon if she carried his baby.
“We talked of having children,” Bryant said, following her train of thought. “To take the place of the ones she’d lost. We agreed it would be named after me if it was a boy, and Anjinaine, my sister, if it was a girl. Ironic, isn’t it, that her replacement child ended up being raised with them?”
Jane wanted to cry at this tale of bittersweet love. “What of when she left?”
Pain flashed across Bryant’s face. “We had so little time. The portal started to close. She had to make a decision in seconds - stay with me, or return to her family.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“She made the right choice. I’ll never fault her for that, but it hurt unbearably. It still does. I don’t know if I could have survived if I’d known she carried my child.”
Conflicting emotions assailed Jane - compassion, shock, desire to believe him, and an equally strong abhorrence of the whole subject. She looked to Charlie for guidance. She could count on him to give her a fair assessment.
“Nothing else explains what’s happened since you’ve been here. It seems incredible, but I think he tells the truth.”
“What of Lowth?” she asked. “I still feel as if it has a hand in this, that we’re being led down a path of its choosing. Maybe my ears and what I do with the wind and the rain are because Lowth wants me to be something else, some unknown factor in this puzzle.”
Bryant held up a finger to make a point. “I can control the wind and rain,” he said, sealing the deal on her paternity. “As I said, my parents died when I was an infant, but I’ve been told they had strong powers.”
Jane slumped in her chair, finally accepting the truth. “Where do we go from here?”
“To Malik,” Bryant replied. “To Blacwin. I sent your mother home to Earth. I’ll do the same for my daughter.”
Daughter. Jane swallowed the word. It sounded foreign.
“I think,” Charlie said, “this needs to be kept a secret, with only the three of us knowing the truth. We’ve had complications enough on this trip.”
Jane nodded, though seeing Eagar’s face when he learned of this tempted her.
“Deal,” she said, her gaze on Bryant. “Forgive me if I can’t call you Dad.”
“Perhaps not yet,” he agreed, smiling sadly.

Within half an hour, they were on the road again. Jane took the blame for the delay, telling an impatient Eagar that she’d felt ill and had to lie down.
After the midday meal, Charlie rode to Jane’s side. Since leaving the cabin, she’d been quiet. Too quiet; a dangerous situation in his experience.
“Care to talk about it?” he asked. His pony stumbled, and he pulled on the reins to bring it back onto the path. They’d passed from Bryant’s valley and ridden the steep inclines of the lower Andair Mountains. Tomorrow they’d reach the swift-moving Fendi River and more dangerous trails.
Jane shot Charlie a glance meant to melt steel. “I’m not talking to you,” she said, turning her head away.
The flush of anger in her cheeks warmed his blood. He was glad she was getting spunky again.
“It’s not like you to pout,” he said.
“It’s not like you to lie.” She kicked her pony, which trotted forward several steps before resuming its sedate pace.
He realized what was bothering her. “Aren’t you upset, hearing about Bryant and your mother?”
“Don’t change the subject. You’ve known about my ears for two weeks, and you’ve said nothing. And, yes, I am upset about Bryant. How would you feel if your world was spun upside down? My father isn’t who I thought he was, my mother lied to me, and, on top of everything, I’m half Elf.”
“I’m half Elf, too,” he said, angry that she thought so little of her newfound heritage. “But I know who my father is. It isn’t the man Hugh found in the woods, it’s the man who raised me - Owen Tanner. Your father is the man who took care of you when you were sick. He’s the man who came to your rescue - and I can bet you had to be rescued frequently. It’s not someone you met a few hours ago.” The fervor with which he spoke was surprising. Jane moved him, made him want to do wild things, to be spontaneous. Crazy Charlie of Malin. 
”We’re still connected, Bryant and I,” she argued, bent on proving her point.
“No more than I am to Isleighah,” he said. He regretted the words the moment he said them.
She pounced like a starving man onto a banquet. “That’s another thing. Hugh told me we’re close to the path to Isleighah. Why won’t you go there and ask if they knew your parents?”
Old memories returned - childhood ridicule for being different, the grim determination to fit in. Jane brought it all to the surface. Unconsciously, he looked to the northeast, remembering the woodland kingdom from the only time he’d been within its borders. Cool, green forests, barely touched by the Dymynsh, cascading waterfalls, a softness of magic.
Angry for allowing himself to be seduced by the thought, he shook it off. “My job is to guard you,” he grunted.
“It will only be a few hours out of our way -”
“No. I don’t want to talk about it.” He couldn’t have been more adamant in his refusal to go. Didn’t she understand how little he cared about that part of his life?
“Stubborn man.”
“Smart man,” he corrected. “It doesn’t interest me.”
“Liar.”
“I learned a long time ago to pick my battles.” And you won’t win this one. 
Jane switched topics with a speed that made him dizzy. “Is that why you lied to me about my ears?”
He leaned forward in his saddle, allowing a slight breeze to stir under his tunic and around his wings. “You’ve had a lot to think about the last few weeks, Jane. The changes in your appearance didn’t strike me as important.”
Her green eyes darkened with hurt. “Do you know how hard it’s going to be, returning to Earth with these things? The Spock jokes will be unending.”
“What?” She still baffled him.
”Never mind. I can’t function in society with these ears.”
She could in his society. Had she thought about staying here? She talked about going back, or him joining her. There was a third option. It hurt that she hadn’t thought of it.
“You yelled at me about lying to you, but you haven’t been straight either. What else have you lied to me about?” She continued listing his shortcomings.
“Capp’ear’s not dead,” he blurted. Damn, he hadn’t wanted to say it so baldly.
“What?” She almost fell off her pony.
He shrugged. “You wanted the truth.”
Sarcasm dripped from her words. “Your truths come about two weeks after the fact. I thought you killed him.”
“Well ... I probably did. He couldn’t have lived long with that wound. He fled while I tended to you, and we were too concerned about your injury to look for him.” Concerned? He’d been scared to death she’d die on him. Even now, she should have been resting instead of traipsing over mountains.
“You think he died?” Jane asked, looking over her shoulder.
“How could he survive?” The knife had gone into Capp’ear’s shoulder to the hilt. He’d had no medical attention ... 
Hardness edged Jane’s words. “How did he survive the swamp? Nothing he does is normal.”
“Forget about him.”
“Yeah, I have other problems, don’t I? A father returned from ... well, wherever; an upcoming meeting with a crazed wizard; and a boyfriend who can’t tell the truth.” Angry, she kicked her pony, and this time, it trotted away.
Boyfriend? 

Chapter Twenty-One
I’m still mad at him, Jane tried to convince herself two days later. Watching Charlie ride at the front of the line, his wings folded under his loose shirt, the way he clenched the pony’s side with his thighs - the man made her hot. It seemed like forever since they’d been together.
And there was no hope of being together. At least, not until she’d defeated Blacwin, a showdown that loomed closer. Hugh estimated less than a week before they’d be at Shallen’s gates.
This morning they’d passed the turnoff to Isleighah. Charlie again refused to listen to her pleas to get in touch with the fairies. They were so close, and if the stubborn, mule-headed man would listen to her, he might find some answers to his past.
If Lowth was manipulating her, and her elf heritage meant something important, could Charlie’s fairy blood be as significant? She couldn’t shake the feeling that they needed to have a better understanding of his roots.
Not that she’d been happier finding any answers to her past. It still hurt to look at Bryant and know his true identity. She didn’t doubt him, but her mother’s defection from her family, however unwilling, hurt Jane. The assault to her self-image confused her. Shouldn’t that be elf-image? she thought wryly.
Pasha stumbled, and Jane snapped her attention back to the trail. They’d passed the highest elevation of their journey and now followed the Fendi River downstream. Unfortunately, this was the most dangerous part. Strung out like lumpy beads on a necklace, they descended a path along the canyon walls. The river twisted below them. Sheer rock rose above. One misstep and it’s curtains, Jane. 
An explosion ripped through the air, spewing rock and gravel in angry missiles. The sound cracked off the walls, howling down their length. Men and ponies screamed. The trail collapsed, cutting the band of travelers in half.
Jane grabbed her saddle tightly as Pasha reared up. The pony tried to rush back the way they’d come. It skidded in the dirt and gravel. Jane pulled on the reins, fighting for control, trying not to think of the fifty-foot plunge to her left.
“Get down,” Eagar shouted at her. Suddenly, he was at her side, one hand on the pony’s bridle. “Do you want to die?” he asked, his black eyes snapping. With his free hand, he reached up and jerked her from the saddle. She fell in an ungraceful heap on the path and scrambled to get out of the way of her mount’s hooves.
Muttle pulled her back against the rock face.
“What happened?” she asked, grabbing his shoulder for balance. She swiveled in the direction of all the noise and disturbance, forgetting about Eagar.
The man ahead of her in line, a guard called Nare, lay dead ten feet away, his pony nowhere in sight. In front of him, a muffled shout carried to her.
“Charlie!” she screamed, panicking. He’d been four ahead of her, Bryant and Hugh in the lead. She started forward, determined to find a way to him if she had to scale the cliffs to do so.
Eagar pulled her back. “Don’t be a fool,” he hissed.
“I don’t care. I have to get to Charlie.” Jane glanced at the steward. Behind him she saw Warren, the tracker, trying to quiet the horses. “Let go of me.”
The pressure on her arm increased. “The explosion was set on purpose,” Eagar said, pulling her back to reality. “You’re in more danger than you realize.”
She shook her head. “No. Who’d want to hurt -” She screamed as she saw the one responsible on the path behind them. “Capp’ear!”
The sound of steel leaving a scabbard rang in the air. Eagar thrust Jane behind him, his sword drawn. Muttle joined him. Warren released the horses and took up a defensive position.
Capp’ear dodged the animals as they swept past him. Jane saw dried blood on his tunic where he’d been stabbed by Charlie’s knife two weeks earlier. He was dressed in rags; dirt and mud clung to him from head to foot. She wouldn’t have known him except for the madness of his eyes.
“Pretty lady,” he said, bowing to her.
“Ye won’t have her,” Muttle yelled, launching himself into the air, his two knives brandished in a whirl of metal.
All hell broke loose after that. Capp’ear and Muttle fenced up and down the narrow confines of the path, going at each other like a couple of demented Errol Flynns. Where had he gotten a sword? He’d been defenseless when he escaped.
In the meantime, Eagar and Warren hacked at several creatures who’d slipped onto the path from the sheer ninety-degree-straight-down-to-the-river side of the cliff. Jane had seven-tenths of a second to realize they were sandobbles before two grabbed her from behind.
“Charlie!” she screamed before they picked her up and handed her down the cliffside to another pair. Within a couple of minutes, she’d been bodysurfed to the river’s edge. They dumped her into a crude boat tied to an outcropping of rock. Clinging to the ledge like overgrown leeches, they snapped at her when she tried to disembark.
Above, things looked grim for her rescuers. Warren was down, a host of sandobbles swarming over him. In moments, they covered him, cohering into a fluid unit, suffocating him.
Muttle was nowhere in sight. Eagar had retreated, giving up the fight, allowing Capp’ear to be carried down to the boat by the sandobbles. Her nemesis freed the boat from its anchor and clambered aboard. The swift current pulled them away from the rocks.
“Pretty lady,” he said, moving forward to touch her.

Chapter Twenty-Two
Charlie watched in horror as the nightmare unfolded before him. In the first confusing moments after the explosion, he fought through the debris and dust to make his way up the trail to Jane. But it wasn’t there. It was blown away, a ten-foot gap separating them. One man lay dead on the other side, two wounded on this side, a pony was missing and others were crying in pain.
He heard Jane shout, then the sound of metal on metal. Fools! They’d strung themselves out too far, making such an attack possible. With their forces divided, she’d be easy prey.
The dust cleared enough to show the sandobbles carrying Jane down the cliff. In moments, the fight had ended. With a dawning fear, Charlie knew he’d lost her. The little boat flowed into the current of the Fendi.
He almost turned away, ready to meet with the others and plan her rescue, when he heard a victorious yell. Muttle, in a feat of remarkable acrobatics, threw himself across the distance to the boat, landing on Capp’ear’s back. Moments later, Eagar dove off the cliff. His timing was perfect, and he splashed into the water within reach of the others. He pulled himself aboard, and then he and Muttle fought Capp’ear. Jane threw herself into the fray as the boat rounded a bend and disappeared.
“Hugh!” Charlie roared in the direction he’d last seen his brother. “Gather everyone together. We’re going after her.”

“Oh, no you don’t!”
Jane crouched lower in the boat and fumbled for the knife strapped to her leg. Capp’ear loomed over her, all but smacking his lips. She felt like a piece of French silk pie in the presence of a chocoholic.
“Get back!” she yelled as she tried to figure out whether to continue struggling to free her knife or to try and knock him into the river. I should have cut the rope when I had the chance. But that would have taken me away from Charlie. 
Capp’ear squatted next to her, removing her advantage of leverage to tip him over the side. Jane scooted to the bow, ready to kick him where it would do the most harm.
A shout from above caused her to look up. Muttle flew through the air and came down with a loud thump on Capp’ear’s back. He twisted in an effort to remove the Belwaith, but Muttle held on, lambasting the elf with a string of curses.
Jane caught sight of another movement and heard a nearby splash. Eagar bobbed to the surface, emerging from the river’s depths. He swam over and grabbed the side of the flimsy boat. Boarding without looking at her, he joined the fight.
Why should they have all the fun? Jane lunged at Capp’ear, whacking him on the head with the elbow of her good arm.
The boat tilted, and they all shifted, losing their balance. The combatants collapsed like a house of cards, Jane landing on the bottom. Pain shot through her back anddown her right leg. The struggle continued on top of her. Capp’ear’s clothes smashed against her nose, the stench making her ill.
“Get him off me!” she yelled to her companions.
A couple of sharp movements ground her farther into the boat, then a sudden stillness descended. Limbs untangled, and Capp’ear was rolled off her. Jane stared up at the black crispness of Eagar’s eyes.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, slightly breathless.
Since when do you care? She pushed away the ungrateful thought. After all, he’d jumped in after her.
“Ask me again in an hour,” she said.
He held out his hand to her. Gingerly, she took it, aware of his touch. Contrary to her expectations, her flesh didn’t shrivel, and nothing burst into flames. He felt cool and slightly damp from his dunking.
Jane sat up and released his hand. She flexed her arms and legs, checking for injuries. Her shoulder twinged and her back ached, but it didn’t feel like anything serious.
“Thank you,” she said, her gratitude to this man making her uncomfortable.
He nodded, then glanced at the prone form of Capp’ear, slumped in an unconscious heap next to Muttle.
“Give me your belt,” Eagar said to her.
“It’s the only thing holding my pants up.” She’d abandoned her skirts in the first days of their journey.
Jane fumbled with the pack around her waist, untying the strings. “Take my fanny pack,” she said, and held it out to him. She’d fashioned it out of a cloth pouch and strong cord.
“Fanny pack?”
Jane shook the bag in front of him.
He took it and wrapped the cording tightly around Capp’ear’s wrists. Eagar moved to the bow of the small vessel. She scooted out of his way. He grabbed the rope that had anchored the boat to the cliff wall and held out his hand to Jane.
”Give me your knife. I know you have one.”
She hesitated. Relinquishing her weapon was tantamount to surrender. Eagar might have saved her, but he was hardly her friend. With Charlie lost, Muttle became her sole defender, and she didn’t think he was a match for the steward.
“Don’t be a fool,” Eagar sneered. “It’s the only weapon we have. You’ll get it back.”
Buried in my back or dragged across my throat? Jane pulled up her pant leg and drew the knife from its sheath. Reluctantly, she handed it over, alert to Eagar’s every movement.
He cut the rope where it was attached to the bow and used it to bind the prisoner’s legs. Next, he tore a length from Capp’ear’s tunic and started to tie it around his mouth.
“At least wash it first,” Jane exclaimed, revulsion filling her at the memory of its smell.
Surprised, Eagar looked at her, one demonic eyebrow raised. He tossed the strip of cloth to her and waited while she dipped it into the river and rinsed away most of its filth.
With Capp’ear safely trussed at her feet like a Thanksgiving turkey, Jane breathed her first sigh of relief.
“What now?” she asked, looking from Muttle to Eagar. “Toss him in the river?”
Eagar’s nostrils twitched. “He remains our prisoner until we join the others. Then he faces trial again.”
A real stickler for protocol, aren’t you? “And throw him back in the Magwrosin?” Jane shook her head. “I don’t think so. I say we get rid of him now, before he calls his new friends, the sandobbles, and we’re all dead.”
“He deserves a fair trial -”
“And Nare and Warren deserved to live,” she shot back, angry. “Let’s not forget them.” She tried to push away the memory of their deaths, especially Warren’s, swallowed alive by the sandobbles. Who knew how Capp’ear communicated with them, or had enlisted their aid? Waking up, he might send out a telepathic distress call.
“We’ll talk of this later,” Eagar said, his jaw firm.
Jane bit her tongue. She’d save the argument for when she had more ammunition.
“How do we land this thing and get back to the others?” She scanned the boat for a sail or oars. Neither was evident.
Eagar looked at the sheer walls rising above. The Fendi poured between them like water in a tube.
“I doubt if there’ll be a beach anytime soon. We’ll have to wait until we see one and hope the current slows enough that we can paddle over to it.” He squinted into the sky.
Jane followed his gaze. The sun had already passed over the thin opening above the canyon. Shadows crept down the striated rock, signaling how close darkness lay.
“Through the night?” Jane panicked. For the first time, she realized she was alone with a man who’d treated her almost as badly as Capp’ear. And her knife hadn’t been returned.
Eagar shrugged and settled back against the side of the boat. “We have little choice. Make yourself comfortable. It’s going to be a long night.”
“I don’t think so.” Jane spoke her thoughts out loud, hearing a sudden roaring. Her gaze swept the river ahead. “Eagar,” she said, wetting her suddenly dry lips. “There’s trouble ahead.”

They survived the first waterfall. By sheer, dumb luck, they bobbed like a cork between rocks, scraping the hull in several places. White water foamed around them, pushing the small craft inexorably faster, hurrying it from one drop to the next. The chasm narrowed, pushing the crippled vessel around jagged boulders and plunging them six feet at a time to the next level. Finally, the river dumped them into a dark blue pool. The boat spun around before it resumed its journey downstream.
Jane peeled her fingers off the wooden side. “That,” she said, trying to regain her breath, “was better than any ride at Cedar Point.” She’d never before considered a head-over-heels tumble along a river a good way to get down a mountain.
Distaste marred Eagar’s features. Muttle, decidedly green around the gills, slumped against her. Capp’ear stared at her, his eyes wide with fear.
“We could have been killed,” Eagar said, reproach in his voice. He made her feel like a muddy child.
I bet you alphabetize the socks in your drawer. She’d never met a more Felix-Ungerish, rigid, anal man in her life. Charlie was regimented, but with a wild side just waiting to pop out. Unlike the steward. He probably schedules sex. The thought of Eagar in the throes of passion with anyone made her feel queasy. She shoved it away.
“I laugh in the face of danger,” she scoffed. How long had she waited to use that corny phrase?
“You’ll think different if we crash.”
Jane shook her head. “Not going to happen. And if it does, I’ll survive. I’ve made it through fire and swamp, a stabbing and white water rapids. A little swim won’t be any problem.”
“You think you’re invincible?” he asked with scorn.
She nudged Capp’ear with her foot. He growled at her through his gag. “Our friend proved I’m not. But I’m destined for important things.”
Eagar barked in laughter. “Conceited mortal. Do you think a great plan unfolds with you at the center?”
Put that way, it did sound egotistical. “I think there is more to Lowth than meets the eye.” Understatement of the year, puffball. 
He swelled in anger. “I’ve given fifty years of service to this land. Do not speak lightly of it, Earthwoman.”
Jane bristled. “Listen, Bluto, stop calling me that. My name is Jane.” It seemed as if she’d had this conversation once before. At least he didn’t call her Anjinaine. What would he say if he knew the truth?
Muttle tugged on her arm, drawing her attention from the verbal sparring with Eagar.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Trouble.” He pointed to the bottom of the boat. A hole the size of a dime burbled, letting in a steady stream of water.
Panic seized her. “Great, just great. I had to open my big mouth.” She turned to Eagar. “Cut off some more of Capp’ear’s shirt. I’m going to try to plug it. In the meantime, Muttle, start bailing.”
“We don’t have anything to bail with,” Eagar said, unsteadiness in his voice.
The man operates a castle, but he can’t handle an emergency. 
“Use your hands,” Jane yelled, scooping as fast as she could. She spotted another hole and swore. As she moved to the bow to plug it, her gaze caught an irregularity in the river ahead. She straightened and shielded her eyes from the contrast of the last light of the day and the darkened shadows.
“Crap,” she said with vehemence. “Double, triple crap.”
Eagar looked up. “Now what’s wrong?”
She stared at the rise of rock rapidly bearing down on them. It neatly split the Fendi. “The proverbial fork in the road. Which way do we go?”
Eagar sized up the situation. “To the right,” he said without hesitation. “Away from Malik.”
“Away from Malik?” His decision shocked her.
He returned to bailing. “Unless you want to float into a goblin camp. The right fork loops back toward Isleighah.”
Goblins or fairies? Not a tough choice. Leaving the other two to keep them afloat, Jane paddled.
They swung around the curve, bumping against rock, grating the wood hull. Their vessel looked less a boat and more like Tom Hanks’s raft at the end of Castaway. Bouncing and bobbing in the swift current, Jane paddled and bailed and kept her eyes peeled for an opening in the canyon walls.
“There. Head that way,” she shouted twenty minutes later, pointing to a small grove of trees in the distance. It offered the possibility of a landing.
They abandoned their hopeless task of saving the boat and concentrated on heading it toward shore. The current pulled them to the river’s center. As they came within a hundred yards of their goal, Jane knew why. The sound of rushing water changed to a telltale roar. Looking ahead, she saw the river fall away into ... nothing.
“Another waterfall,” she cried in alarm. They wouldn’t survive this one; Niagara looked like a wave pool in comparison. “Get out!” She grabbed Muttle and threw herself overboard.

Charlie swore. They’d made terrible progress since the explosion. Two of the guards, Enwl and Dimus, had been hurt, but were well enough to ride. Leaving them behind never entered Charlie’s thoughts, though worry about Jane’s safety ate at him.
The men could do little to help the injured ponies. Bryant ordered their destruction. He and Hugh disposed of them as humanely as possible. Charlie shook his head at the waste of life Capp’ear and the sandobbles had caused.
A saddened party of six continued the journey downstream, four horses between them. Bryant and Hugh were in the lead, then the two injured guards, Alfted from the village, and Charlie in the rear. They moved at a slow pace due to the dangerous narrowness of the trail and for the benefit of those who walked.
Bryant called a halt as the shadows grew longer. “We’re endangering ourselves,” he said. “We must stop.”
”No,” Charlie argued. “As long as there’s light out -”
Hugh stepped in front of his brother. “He speaks the truth, Charlie. We can’t be stumbling around in the dark on these narrow ledges. Stopping is the sensible thing to do.”
Charlie didn’t want to be sensible. He should have been the one to jump in the river after Jane. He should have rescued her from Capp’ear, as he’d done at the swamp.
Bryant touched his arm, drawing his attention. Charlie saw pain and sorrow in his eyes.
“I lost her mother. I’m not about to lose my daughter. Another trail splits off from this one a mile farther. It leads to the top of those other cliffs. We can camp there for the night.”
Charlie looked at the swift current of the Fendi, willing it to dry up, stopping Jane’s progress. She must be miles downstream by now. Knowing he did the right thing, but not liking it, he nodded in acceptance.
They set up camp, easing the injured men from their mounts and making them as comfortable as possible. Dinner was dried rations. As exposed as they were, they couldn’t afford a fire.
Charlie took third watch. Rest’s new moon rose in the blackest part of the night. He remembered other moons, full and glowing, a lifetime ago on Midsummer’s Eve. That night he’d first made love to Jane.
And only once since then. Would he have another chance? She’d been so sick, then so prickly. And angry, and now vanished. How could he not have told her how he felt? She was the moons to him, and the stars, and all the other worlds to which Lowth connected. He couldn’t deny he wanted her to stay when this ended. He’d chased after her for weeks now, though it seemed as if he’d fled her most of that time. No more. Once he had her safe again, he’d tell her he loved her. This journey had taught him that delays and postponements were mistakes when it came to reality. Tomorrow isn’t always a possibility. 
Hugh clamped his hand on Charlie’s shoulder, making him jump. “My watch,” he said, and sat down next to him. “Go rest. You’ll need your strength for when we find her.”
Charlie nodded but did not move. “I love her,” he said into the darkness.
“And no one knows this? Ah, perhaps the lady herself. You spar too much and love too little.”
“I follow my older brother in that habit,” Charlie said, trying to see Hugh in Rest’s feeble light.
“Mara and I are happy now, and you and Jane will be as well.”
“As soon as I find her, set her on course for Malik, help her overcome Blacwin, end the Dymynsh, and send her home?” Charlie shook his head. “I don’t see happiness here.”
Hugh chuckled. “Something will happen. It always does.”
“That’s what frightens me. Too much has happened already.”
Silence held between the brothers, broken only as Slumber appeared on the horizon.
“Do you still feel her?” Hugh asked.
The vibration in Charlie’s wings lessened with each passing hour. He feared it might disappear before he found her.
“Yes,” he said to allay Hugh’s doubt. “I feel her. I’ll always feel her.”

Jane gasped and pushed the remaining few inches up the riverbank. Mud sucked at her legs. With her last ounce of strength, she pulled free and collapsed, her breathing hard and irregular.
She moaned as every ache and pain introduced itself. Like a wedding reception line - hi, I’m elbow, all scraped up. Hello, I’m knee, I used to work with femur. 
Muttle, glued to her since they’d jumped from the boat, disentangled himself. He made a squishy sound as he sat down.
“Lady Jane?”
“Hmm?” Rolling to her back, she stared into the inky sky, hoping the unfamiliar stars would swallow her whole.
“Ye be well?” Concern filled his voice.
“Ducky, Muttle. Nothing a Valium and a fifth of whiskey couldn’t fix.”
“Where be Eagar?” he asked, twisting his head to look out to the river.
Over the edge? Jane pictured the steward flailing wildly as he tumbled into oblivion. A smile curved her lips. “Don’t know, don’t care,” she said. Her heart still pumped frantically from her exertions. It had been all she could do to save herself and Muttle. Capp’ear and Eagar ranked last in her worries. She wanted nothing more than to lie in the mud.
Muttle straightened, his thin body alert. “He be alive.” He stood, shivering.
Jane moaned and hauled herself into a sitting position. “Where?”
The Belwaith pointed into the night. “There.”
She saw exactly ... nothing. With great effort, she rose to her feet and took a couple of stumbling steps. “Eagar?”
“Jane? Help me.” The man’s weakened voice came from her left.
Those are three words I never expected to hear. ‘]ane,’ not ‘Jane Drysdale of Earth,’ and ‘help me.’ Self-sufficient, always-in-control Eagar needs a hand. 
Her body protested, but she slogged through the water until she saw him. He swayed against the current, his arms barely holding the still-bound Capp’ear. “Is he alive?” she asked, rushing to the steward’s aid. Between the two of them, they moved Capp’ear onto the bank.
“I don’t know.” Eagar’s hand trembled as he passed itover his bald head. “I grabbed him before he could go over. He was unconscious then.”
Unconscious or dead? Jane clamped her ear down on his chest. She couldn’t tell over the sound of the rapids, but his heart had either stopped or was too weak to hear. He definitely was not breathing.
“Right,” she said, grim determination taking over. “Untie him.” When Eagar did not move, she lashed out at him. “For God’s sake, he’s no threat the way he is now. At least take his gag off.”
The older man produced the knife - her knife - and sliced through the gag and ropes.
Jane bent over and stifled the revulsion welling in her. Ya gotta do what ya gotta do. Trying to think only of the mechanics involved, she started CPR.
It seemed forever before Capp’ear jerked spasmodically and coughed up a good share of the river. Jane sat on her heels and watched in sick fascination as he came back to life.
Auntie Em, some of it was horrid, and parts of it were beautiful, but the whole time I kept thinking, I want to go home.
She closed her eyes, determined to sit all night, like some kind of mud-encrusted gargoyle. She didn’t have the strength to lie down.
“Jane?” Eagar said softly. His hand touched her shoulder. She wanted to jerk away but couldn’t make herself move.
“We must seek shelter.”
Her head lolled back, tilting farther and farther as gravity took over. Her vision swept past his face until she looked at the stars again.
“Must we?” The words dragged past her lips.
“We’re in unfamiliar territory with little defense. Come, you can rest soon.” He helped her to her feet. Half-supporting her, with Muttle and a weakened Capp’ear following, he started back the way they’d come.
With Muttle’s infrared-like vision guiding them, they found a cave. It was above flood level and a thick bush covered the opening. Jane collapsed on the cool floor, not moving once she was down.
“There’s food in my fanny pack,” she whispered, hunger the last thing on her mind. Closing her eyes, she fell asleep.

Morning brought the promise of a new beginning. Muttle caught some fish and Eagar smoked them in wet leaves over a small fire. Well-fed and rested, they started the steep climb to the top of the next cliff. From there, they could watch the river and keep an eye out for Charlie and the others. If all went well, they’d meet up before the day ended. She couldn’t wait to see him again. He deserved an apology for her surly mood. So what if he hadn’t told her about her ears?
Capp’ear, unfettered, followed behind them. His demeanor had changed since they’d pulled him from the water. He said little and watched Jane constantly, but in a more puppy-dog than fringe-lunatic kind of way.
They’d almost reached the summit when Muttle, ahead of Jane, stopped, his body at attention.
Someone comes. 
Who? Her mind filled with images of Charlie, sandobbles and goblins. She thought to warn Eagar, but he and Capp’ear had fallen behind, around a bend in the trail.
Two. One is elf. The other ... Muttle broke off and stared at her, his eyes whirling green and orange.
Jane glanced around, but there was no place to hide. Rock and gravel and an occasional straggly bush lay everywhere she looked. Except down. Down offered an eighty-foot drop.
A voice boomed above them. “Hello! We mean no harm.”
Isn’t that what the evil aliens always say? Jane took a step back, ready to flee. She looked up at the man who approached them. And saw an Adonis. A hunka-hunka burnin’ Elf. Tall and tanned. Buff. Long, flowing dark hair and emerald green eyes.
Good grief, she thought. It’s a good thing I’m in love with Charlie. 
She held out her hand and stopped, a memory teasing her. The morning mist shimmered behind him. It shimmered again. For some reason, Jane thought of a rabbit. Her mouth went dry.
“Tivat?”
He smiled, his teeth dazzling white.
The sound of loose gravel on the trail drew her eye upward. Her heart lurched at the sight of the woman scrambling down the trail.
“Mom?”

Chapter Twenty-Three
Jane moaned and opened her eyes to bright daylight. She turned her head and realized she lay on the ground. Her mother knelt nearby, hands fluttering.
Jane stared, believing her to be part of a horrifying dream. Or maybe Tivat’s presence had made her hallucinate - if this was Tivat. An unlikely event, as she’d killed him and had a murder conviction to prove it. She groaned and looked away, trying to make sense of this new wrinkle.
“You’ll be fine, dear. You’ve had too much excitement,” Marion Drysdale said, smoothing her daughter’s brow.
You don’t know the half of it, Jane propped herself on her elbows. She had to break this habit of passing out; it ruined her self-image of being the most unfaintiest person around.
“Mom? What are you doing in Lowth?” She slowly sat up.
“I could ask the same of you, but John and I figured you must have fallen into the portal after you hit him.”
“John?”
“John Tivat. I’m sure you heard his name mentioned since you came to Lowth -”
”Yeah, it’s come up once or twice,” Jane replied, her voice bitter. If she hadn’t killed him, why had it taken a month and a half for him to return?
“Such a nice boy,” Marion said.
Jane’s gaze strayed to where he stood in the near distance, arguing with Eagar in low, heated tones. Interesting. She tried to tune in her new ears to their conversation, but the pair spoke in a dialect she didn’t understand.
Speaking of dialect, she realized she and her mother had been talking in English. “Where did you learn Elven?” she asked, yanking her sleeve up to display her tattoo.
Marion blanched. She sat down hard, her face twisted with myriad emotions. “Oh, dear,” she said after a few moments.
“Yeah, oh dear,” Jane lashed out. All of her hurt and betrayal rose to the surface. “Care to explain either of your trips to Lowth?”
Marion’s eyes filled with sadness. She looked away from Jane, then back again. But instead of starting at the beginning, she took the coward’s way out.
“When they told me of your accident,” she said, “I nearly went berserk. The next day, I drove to the spot where your car had been abandoned. Things didn’t feel right, and I started to look around for clues. Instead, I found John. Oh, not the way he is today, but in the form of a rabbit. A rabbit with green eyes. It’s a mighty strange sight on Earth, let me tell you. I knew right away it had to be connected to your disappearance, so I brought him home with me. He kept shapeshifting between bunny and man. Two weeks ago, he stabilized and told me his story. We started making plans to return to Lowth. I wasn’t going to leave my baby alone.”
Jane narrowed her eyes. “You blackmailed him,” she said, knowing full well that her mother couldn’t pass through the portal without Tivat’s Elven companionship. She wondered why he hadn’t continued his flight.
”I think I did mention gratitude and a mother’s concern, duty, honor and a few other choice synonyms,” Marion admitted, a sly grin on her face. “In the end, I persuaded him to come back and throw himself on the mercy of the court.”
Jane glanced at the “court,” namely, Eagar. He was in a definite snit. His communication with Tivat had broken down. The two glared at each other, their looks and body language hostile. She’d give a million indrans to know what they’d said.
“A pretty story, Mom, but it doesn’t explain why you’ve lied to me all my life.” She pushed back the curls from around her ears. “Or why I have Elf blood.”
She couldn’t have planned better to get a reaction from Marion. Her mother’s hand fluttered to her heart, and a pinched look tightened her white face.
“Oh, dear,” she said, her voice high. “When did this happen?”
“About twenty-four years ago. It’s been latent until two or three weeks ago, when Charlie first noticed it -”
“Charlie?” her mother asked, interrupting her tirade.
“My lover,” Jane shot back, not caring to be polite or sweet or politically correct. “You should know about Elf lovers, Mom, as you took one while still married to Daddy.”
Marion changed from white to grey. “How ... how do you know this?”
Jane flicked her right ear. “It’s evident, don’t you think? Besides, I heard it from Bryant’s own mouth.”
“He’s alive?” The other woman pounced on her words. “Bryant’s alive? You’ve seen him?”
“I talked to him yesterday.” Had it only been the day before? “We should meet him again today.” She didn’t want to go into the long story of the past six weeks.
“I loved Bryant,” Marion said, her eyes alight. “It’s nothing I planned. When it looked as if I’d never return home, I made the best of the situation. An opportunity came to return home, and I did, however much it hurt. As for telling lies, Jane, would you have believed me? Can you believe it now that you’re here?”
“We’ll talk about this later,” Jane said. It still chafed to know she’d been deceived. “It’s too much right now.” Despite her earlier feud with Charlie, she wanted to get back to him, to his common sense and logic. She wanted to crawl into his strong arms, warm herself in his embrace, and forget goblins and wizards and elves. Oh, my!
The ramifications of Tivat’s return hit her like a freight train. Why would she continue on her trek to Malik if the reason for her punishment lived?

Charlie spotted them as the sun reached its zenith. The sum of four ponies for six men and the worsening condition of the wounded slowed his progress. They had to walk the animals around fissures and cracks in the ground. The heat continued to rise, while the cool depths of the Fendi glided by far below.
At noon, he caught sight of a clump of shadows bobbing in the distance. He looked to Hugh, who had better eyesight.
His brother took his time answering, a frown on his face.
“I think it is them,” he said. “But something is amiss. They are with two others, or it is a separate party of six.”
Two others? What has she done now? Regardless, Charlie needed to see her.
“Take my horse,” Hugh said, slipping from the animal. He handed over the reins. “I know you are anxious.”
Charlie shot him a look of gratitude and mounted the beast. With a kick to its side, he galloped off.
A shout rose from the other party as they spotted him. He was within a half mile when he saw movement to his left, on the edge of the cliff.
 Sandobbles! 
His heart in his throat, he watched them swarm up the side and close the short distance to the unsuspecting group.
“Hey!” he called, knowing they couldn’t make out his words. He waved his hands over his head, his knees pushing the pony faster. “Danger! Attack!”
Muttle! He tried to warn the Belwaith.
A quarter mile separated them. He heard screams and saw Eagar shift to stand between Jane and the creatures.
Charlie! Her cry echoed in his head.
It was a reenactment of the debacle from yesterday. The quicksand beings surged over everyone standing and pulled them down. She and Capp’ear rode above them, mud hands holding them aloft. Charlie spurred his mount on, conscious of Bryant close behind.
Capp’ear, no, don’t hurt my friends, Jane pleaded.
The attacking sandobbles disengaged from their victims. Congealing into one liquid mass, they joined with those transporting Jane and Capp’ear. They flowed away with deceptive quickness, rolling across the landscape, already a quarter mile distant by the time Charlie passed the others. He goaded his poor pony forward, but his quarry had disappeared in the distance.
“Halt! Charlie, stop!” Bryant shouted, grabbing his bridle and forcing his mount to a standstill.
“No!” Charlie roared. “She won’t be taken away from me again.” Rage filled every inch of his being.
“She already has,” the hunter pointed out. “Let us regroup, then we can follow.” He indicated an obvious trail: finger-sized lumps of mud dropped from the departed creatures.
“We have to find her,” Charlie yelled, trying to regain control of his pony. He would not let Jane vanish from his life, not to rivers or crazed madmen or sandobbles.
Bryant held the animal in check. His voice pounded like a hammer in Charlie’s head. “You’ll kill your mount, and yourself, galloping over this uneven ground. Listen to what I say! We have injured, weapons that won’t hurt the sandobbles, and Capp’ear is traveling too fast. We can’t fight this battle by ourselves.”
“I can fight,” Charlie declared.
“Not alone. Not for long. You saw what they did to Warren. Do you want to suffer the same fate?”
“But Jane -”
“Is my daughter. I’m not about to give her up.”
Charlie hated listening to reason. Not pursuing Jane went against every instinct he possessed. But he had to acknowledge the other man’s wisdom. Again. They were in no condition to follow.
“What do you propose we do?” he asked, angered at the decision to stay.
“We get help,” Bryant said with confidence.
“Where?”
“From the closest source. From Isleighah.”
No! Charlie’s mind screamed. “Impossible.”
Bryant looked at him, his gaze steady, his green eyes so much like Jane’s. “It’s her only hope.”
What goes around, comes around. How often had Jane told him this? With a sigh, Charlie acquiesced. He would go to Isleighah and beg for help. He knew, without a doubt, that she’d get her wish, and he’d learn of his heritage.
Two things struck Charlie as he returned to the others. Neither shocked him, each seeming a rightful inclusion to this adventure. The first: He recognized Tivat as one of the four figures lying prone on the ground. Second, at Bryant’s shout of, “Marion,” he realized another had to be Jane’s mother.
Charlie’s mind clicked through the possible answers to where and when they’d met. Their gear, new and foreign-made - probably on Earth - told him Tivat had escaped Lowth, and escaped Jane’s vehicle as well. Fresh scars on the man’s arm and leg pointed to recent injury. Struck then, and hurt, to be found and nursed by a curious mother, a woman who desired to return to Lowth in search of her daughter?
Bryant cradled the woman, soothing words flowing from him. Charlie watched a moment, then dismounted and walked to Hugh. His brother knelt at Eagar’s side.
“Does he live?” Charlie asked.
“His lungs are injured, as well as the others’. A few more moments ...” He shook his head. “They need medical attention.”
“We ride to Isleighah,” Charlie announced, his voice grim, the decision still rankling.
“And Jane?”
Charlie moved away. “Jane will probably talk Capp’ear to death. He shall end up paying us to take her back.”
She is vindicated now, he thought, glancing at the unconscious Tivat. Or will be when we find her. 
An hour later, the crippled group headed back the way they’d come, upstream to the headwaters of the Fendi. Of the ten, six were injured. A small stand of timber was cut down, young trees made into litters. The worst hurt, Marion and Muttle, lay in these, pulled by the ponies. The others rode the animals, guided by the healthy.
Afternoon slipped into evening, then into darkness. A crescent moon lit the way, and at midnight, another slipped into the sky. Eagar woke, shaking, and threw up a weak curtain of magical light around them - no more than a lantern would give out.
The murmur of the river to their right accompanied them during the long night. At dawn, they curved away from it, to the northeast, and entered the path to Isleighah. They descended into wide valleys, crossed shallow streams and climbed long, low hills. Here, so far from home, the grasses grew with a depth of color that hurt the eye. By midmorning, they’d entered the cool, green forest of Isleighah, the last of the ancient forest that begot the Malin. The injured, restless on their mounts and pallets, calmed, as if soothed by old magic.
A fairy appeared on the path, barely discernible from the trees. Charlie had a feeling they’d been under surveillance for some time. But what threat did their disabled group pose?
The stranger waited for them. As they drew to a halt in front of him, Charlie saw others farther back in the woods.
“Who are you, that come to our land?” the fairy asked, his voice the murmur of wind in trees, of water on pebbles.
Bryant stepped forward. He’d aged in the past day, his concern for Marion and his daughter drawing dark circles under his eyes. “We are poor travelers, many wounded, and seek assistance from the people of Isleighah and their King. I am Bryant, long of Malik, and these my companions, dwell in the south at Malin. We also carry an Earthwoman.”
The last caused a stir, like the wind whispering secrets to the topmost leaves.
Bryant continued, “You know of me. I have hunted with your King, the great Tuniesin. Come, we have no quarrel. These injured have suffered from the sandobbles, scourge of Lowth. Even as we speak, they hold captive another, my daughter.”
The fairy considered his words, then nodded and extended a hand in greeting.
“Well met, Bryant, long of Malik. I am called Rasleigh. The sandobbles are enemy to all, and elves and fairies have forged bonds in the past.” He glanced at Charlie, as if he could see his wings under his loose shirt. “We will guide you to Kerreleigh, the King’s residence. You will be aided there.”
Others of his kind joined him until six escorted the band of travelers. They continued for another hour. At last, they came to a break in the trees and Kerreleigh stood before them.
Shaped of trunks and limbs millennia ago, the light of oak, the burnish of maple, the dark of walnut and iselwood, a complex design wove through the home of the King of fairies. Of the forest but separate, it housed scores and generations. Time and history merged in its walls.
They entered a great hall. With care, the injured were taken to the healing rooms, Alfted and Bryant at their sides. Rasleigh showed Charlie and Hugh to rooms to freshen and rest.
An hour after their arrival, Rasleigh returned and escorted them to the heart of Kerreleigh, the throne room. Comfortable settees lay scattered around its perimeter. Rich, vivid tapestries lined its walls, with scenes depicting hunts, the stages of the moons, butterflies so real as to be captured in midflight. Great circles with eight-pointed stars, for the eight holidays, patterned the ceiling twenty feet above a floor made of one plank. Light streamed in windows without glass. Charlie’s eyes adjusted to the radiance, and he saw a man seated in a chair off-center in the room. King Tuniesin.
Tuniesin looked to be in his early forties, but who could tell with fairies? The monarch was tall and slender, his face unlined, his hair sable brown, his eyes linden green. He smiled at Charlie’s interest and beckoned him forward.
“A Whelphite,” the King said, his voice surprisingly deep. “They are rare nowadays. And a Isleighah-Malin combination. The Malinese will now only take a Wingback for a mate, our cousins to their south, if they choose to crossbreed.”
Charlie felt something tighten in his stomach at the mention of his fairy characteristics. He bowed to King Tuniesin, whose wings rose from his back in golden splendor.
“Forgive me,” the monarch apologized. “It is rude to comment on such. I can see you are uncomfortable with your fairyness. Why else would you hide your wings?”
“Sire?” The conversation wasn’t going the way Charlie had planned. The King’s directness caught him off guard.
“Why do you wait until you are in such distress before you claim aid from your people?” the other man asked.
Switching tactics, Charlie decided to be direct as well. He bowed his head to the King. “I have known none but elves all my life. What you say is true. Most fairies who visit Malin come from the south. Because of the way I was raised, I do not consider myself one of them.”
“You should not, as you are not. You are Isleighahan. Take off your shirt.” The King snapped his fingers in command.
Charlie looked at Hugh. His brother gave him a do-as-royalty-tells-you look. Reluctantly, Charlie lifted his shirt and drew it over his head.
“Open your wings,” the King said with a gesture.
What is this? How will this help Jane? 
Feeling he had no choice, Charlie spread his wings to their full extent. Except for Jane, it had been a long time since he’d let anyone see his appendages. He watched Hugh’s eyes grow wide in amazement.
“Magnificent,” Tuniesin said, rising from his chair to inspect Charlie’s wings. “The color is true, the pattern is Largare’s.”
Largare? Of who did he speak?
The King sat down and addressed Charlie. “Did your father not teach you of his heritage?”
Charlie knew he did not speak of Owen Tanner. The sinking feeling spread in his gut. The truth lay around the corner. “My father ... my elf father ...” The strangeness of the words tangled his tongue. “Died in the Malin Forest when I was an infant.”
“But surely your mother’s family -”
Charlie interrupted him. “Unknown, sire.”
“This is not right.” Annoyance darkened Tuniesin’s voice. He looked at Rasleigh on his left. “Has no one known all this time? Are we so isolated?”
“Sire,” Rasleigh said, “it was thought the babe arrived.”
“Does he not live and work in Sylthia, for Garmade?”
Charlie felt a shortness of breath. They inched closer to the truth he didn’t want to hear. A vision of Jane came to him, riding on the backs of sandobbles, in the clutches of a madman. Helpless. Well, as helpless as Jane could be. The time had come to stop this and get the aid he needed. His temper rose.
“Your majesty,” he said, breaking into the conversation. “How many Whelphites of my age and gender are there in Malin? Of Malinese and Isleighahan mix? Only I. If confirming I am the babe of who you speak aids in the search for the woman I love ...” He paused to take a deep breath. “You must tell me.”
Tuniesin studied him, looking for something in his face. He nodded. “Very well. It is confirmed. I tell you so you will know of who you are descended. Your father was Largare, from a well-respected family of long lineage. Thirty years ago, he rescued your mother, an Elf, from a goblin prison. He brought her here, ill and frail. Later, they married and you were born. She did not survive the birth.”
Charlie felt his mouth go dry. Twenty-seven years of denial, and if not for Jane he’d still be in ignorance. He took the last step necessary.
“Name her.”
“Elaine, daughter of Garmade of Malin.”

Chapter Twenty-Four
The trouble with bringing the rain, Jane thought, is that you’re perpetually wet. She glanced at the thundercloud glowering above her. So far, she’d failed in her experiment to wash away the sandobbles. The same with commanding the wind to blow them into oblivion. Whatever power she’d held over the elements had almost disappeared since she’d extinguished Hugh’s house fire and cooled herself on the trip to the Magwrosin almost three weeks before. Her brilliant idea of diluting her captors resulted in perpetual mist that trickled down from an ugly storm cloud.
Her efforts hadn’t done much harm to the sandobbles, but she had slowed their progress. After her abduction, she and Capp’ear had been carried down the north escarpment of the Andair Mountains. Her captors converged into a liquid vehicle, rolling like a fluid Sherman tank over everything in their path. They followed the north branch of the Fendi, called the Ilian, past the waterfalls where her boat had crashed.
At first, she’d ridden on the malleable shoulders of the sandobbles. When she tried to roll away to freedom, they pushed her to their center. Only after she’d had time to get over the shock of her capture did she think to bring the rain and wind down on them. With less than favorable results.
The sandobbles dropped her and retreated to a safe distance. Their pace slowed. She splashed forward, wet clothes and sopping shoes, in the middle of a one-woman, pitiful, not-quite-a-thunderstorm.
What I do for you, Charlie, she thought. You and this cursed land of yours. 
She endured throughout the day as they hugged the eastern shore of the Ilian, walking miles out of their way. Jane knew they didn’t cross it because Capp’ear wanted to protect his minions from dilution. Even the small streams that fed into it delayed them as they looked for the shallowest crossing.
Her basic knowledge of Lowth’s geography came from going over Hugh’s maps with him each night, tracing the route he’d plotted, asking questions. It had given her a sense of the scope of the land. North of the river, except for a green area blocked out as Isleighah, the land was uninhabited.
With little wonder, she thought. Elves and dwarves preferred high ground next to the sea, with tall trees at their backs. The Andair Plains offered none of that, only low hills and troughs of undulating grass as far as the eye could see.
Capp’ear called a halt as dusk approached. Mumbling to himself, he didn’t seem to notice their lack of progress or the odd storm cloud that followed their journey.
“That’s enough,” Jane said to Lowth, certain they’d stopped for the night. The drizzle extinguished itself.
Jane stood in the middle of her captors, water dripping off her hair and back. She took a step forward, her feet wet, foot rot no doubt moments away. In answer, the sandobbles shifted perceptibly as they adjusted to new parameters. If she hadn’t felt so exhausted, it would have been funny.
The smell of freshly washed grasses drifted to her. Clean and pungent, it rose from waist-high spears that surged forward to the horizon. It reminded her of the sharp scent of the geraniums on her mother’s front porch.
Mom! Did you survive the attack? Jane wondered for the hundredth time that day. What of Muttle and Tivat? Her heart sank into her chest. She’d traveled slowly, but many miles had passed from where she’d last seen them, lying unconscious on the ground. Had the sandobbles killed them?
Muttle, she cried, sending out a distress signal. Only the post-dusk wind answered.
A contingent from the rear of the pack came forward and dumped a pile of firewood at Capp’ear’s feet. He snatched the driest pieces and arranged them in a pyramid on the flat ground. One of the creatures covered it, not smothering, but puffing up like a mud-encrusted parachute to shield it from the wind. Capp’ear reached into a pocket and pulled out a flint rock. In moments, the kindling sparked.
Holy Boy Scouts, Batman! Jane watched as the blaze grew. The flint rock looked suspiciously like the one Eagar used. Had it been stolen from him as the creatures withdrew from his body?
“Are you hungry?” Capp’ear asked.
“Hmm? What?” Breakfast had been smoked fish, lunch a freeze-dried culinary delight Tivat had mixed together. “I could do with dinner.” Though what it might be, she had no idea. As far as she knew, they had no weapons or tools.
Capp’ear whistled. One of the sandobbles approached. In mud appendages that resembled arms, it carried Tivat’s backpack. Her captor ripped it open and pulled out an assortment of prepackaged dinners. He handed one to Jane.
Freeze-Dried Chicken Stew. She flipped it over to look at the ingredients. Potatoes, cooked chicken (chicken meat, mechanically separated chicken), carrots, peas - Wait! Mechanically separated chicken? Visions of a Rube Goldberg, Wile E Coyote contraption sprang to mind. She shuddered at the mental illness of the engineer who had designed that device.
“You mix it with hot water,” she said, reading the directions in the dim light. As much as she’d have liked Capp’ear to choke on dehydrated food, the packet served two, and she wanted hers hot and nonlethal.
He dug around in the bag and pulled out a saucepan and passed it to his minions. In bucket brigade fashion, it traveled down to the Ilian, returning filled with water. A few minutes on top of the fire and Jane took the container and mixed a portion of the hot liquid with the food. Squishing the bag, she set it before her to wait the required ten minutes.
“When did you take this?” she asked.
He shrugged. “My friends have many talents.”
“That’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” she said, and sat down. “The last time I knew, you’d escaped a sure death in the Magwrosin. Then you show up on the cliff with an army in tow, all under your command. What’s up with that?”
He joined her on the ground, a safe distance away but still creepy in appearance. His clothes remained shredded, dirty, and bloodied, and he smelled of a mixture of rotting garbage and dead animals. Jane scooted around the campfire to sit upwind. She didn’t know where she stood with him. He’d tried to kill her three times. She’d pressed her luck once too often.
“They admire me,” he said. “Few have survived the swamp. I’m their hero.”
Hero. Uh-huh. You’re as much a hero as Mr Magoo. “That’s nice,” she said, trying not to sound too patronizing. “Where are we headed?” In case Muttle isn’t dead, and I can send him a message. Or Charlie. She hadn’t been able to contact him, either. Did distance dilute their telepathy? Had he been hurt in the attack?
“To their homeland.” Capp’ear nodded to the nearest group of sandobbles. “On the shores of the Tahmdee. They’ve been separated from it for over fifty years. They were brought to the Magwrosin against their will and imprisoned. As I was. They only want to go home.”
“I understand, Toto. Don’t we all?” She fingered the food pouch, then opened it. Using a utensil from the camping paraphernalia, she scooped half of it into the saucepan. Handing it to Capp’ear, Jane sat back and tried to eat her meal.
“How come they kill people then, if they’re peaceful?”
Capp’ear swallowed a bite of the concoction. “They will be peaceful once they return home. Wouldn’t you fight to get back to where you belong?”
Jane leaned forward, her interest in her dinner lessened. “I’ve been fighting for six weeks, but I don’t go around smothering people.”
“Add fifty more years to your quest,” he said softly. “You did agree to go to Malik in order to win your freedom.”
She put her food down. “I had little choice in that decision, though I still think it holds the key.” Tivat’s reappearance meant a change in her role, but without Eagar’s ruling she was stuck in limbo. “I’m not going to Malik, am I? Why did you take me hostage? Are you going to kill me?”
Smart, Jane. Bring up the subject you’ve been dancing around all day, she thought, regretting her words.
“Kill you? No, no, you misunderstand. I mean you no harm. We only wish for you to go with us to the Tahmdee.”
Jane took a deep breath. “I’ll regret asking. Why?”
He glanced at her. “You are to rule as their Queen.”
 Ew. She tried not to show revulsion on her face or lose what little bit of supper she’d swallowed. “And you?” Please don’t say King. Please, please don’t say King. 
“I am your subject as well.”
“What?” Of all the answers she’d expected, this one shocked her the most. “Wanna run that by me again?”
He dipped his head in acquiescence. “You saved my life yesterday. For that I am in your debt.”
Jane held out her hand to keep him at bay, then snatched it back, afraid he’d try to kiss it or something. “That ... that’s okay. You’re welcome and all that. Why don’t we call it even and go our separate ways?”
He looked crestfallen. “But I did great harm to you,” he said, moving closer to her. “Three times I tried to take your life, yet you had the compassion to save mine.”
Jane stood up, angered. “You’d drowned, for God’s sake. I had to do something.”
“Eagar said you gave me your own breath.”
Ew, again. What goody-two-shoes motive had prompted her to do that?
“I erred,” Capp’ear said, scrambling on his knees to bow before her. His voice was solemn. “The magic in you was hidden from me. I see now that you arrived for a purpose.”
“I don’t want to be a Queen!” Jane scuttled away from him. The sandobbles moved in.
“My lady, you have no choice,” he said firmly.
They stared at each other, a test of wills.
We’ll see. If I can change a stubborn lawyer, I can change you. She’d have him thinking differently in no time.
Later, settled in a bed of fragrant grass, she faced south. By the shadows against the sky from the waxing moons, she saw where the Andair Mountains lay. It comforted her to know that Charlie might be looking at the same sky. This was the longest she’d been separated from him since coming to Lowth. She ached to feel his arms around her again.
Soon, she thought. I’m here, my love. Second star to the right, straight on ‘til morning. 

At breakfast, she passed on the freezedried precooked eggs with bacon, the thought of ingesting them turning her stomach. Instead, she grabbed a couple of granola bars. The coffee boiled over, but it was hot and strong, waking her up to prepare her for the day’s activity-stalling.
Except that Lowth finally decided to get into the act and put a damper on Capp’ear’s plans. The rumble of thunder from the mountains reached her as she woke. Dark clouds gathered over their far-off peaks, and she saw flashes of lightning.
They packed their meager possessions and Capp’ear extinguished the fire. Jane noticed with interest that the sandobbles stood back from the flames. Pottery in the making? She stored the information away for later.
By midmorning, they reached the next stream to spill into the Ilian. It surged forward, swollen with rainwater, overflowing its banks. The sandobbles minced around it, retreating from the swift current.
Jane stood with her hands on her hips, her gaze on the stationary storm over the mountains. Had she caused it, some latent backwash from yesterday? But no, Lowth had answered when she called, albeit weakly. Her still-damp shoes could testify to that. It must be operating on its own, delaying their passage north. Its actions verified her theory that Lowth was a living entity and knew of her presence. And had plans.
I’ll play along. It felt creepy but comforting that she’d escaped serious injury so far because she had a benevolent planet watching out for her.
“Are we crossing here?” she asked Capp’ear.
He shook his head. “No, we must go upstream.” He looked resigned to the delay.
They turned east. Within an hour, they met a smaller creek joining the first. They couldn’t ford it either and curved south. So lay their journey the rest of the day, spiraling east and south, as if Lowth had chosen this place to make a stand.
Jane fell asleep the second night of her captivity within sight of the borders of Isleighah.

“No!” Charlie cried, all other words stuck in his throat. He stumbled backward until his knees hit a bench. He sank onto it and looked from King Tuniesin to Rasleigh. “There must be some mistake. She couldn’t be my mother!”
“The Elf in you is pure, descended from generations of Malinese royalty,” the King clarified.
“No,” Charlie said again, shaking his head. “I do not accept it.”
Rasleigh stood, his posture defensive, his hand on his knife hilt. “You question your monarch?”
“No, no, I did not mean - My monarch?” Events moved too quickly to assimilate.
“You are descended from generations of the Leander family.” Tuniesin said, an edge to his voice. “As such, you owe allegiance to me - though, in truth, we are equals.” He smiled to soften his words. When Charlie did not respond, he added, “One day, you will be King as well.”
King! He hadn’t had time to think of the possibility.
“If we had known that you remained unaware,” the King said, “we would have made contact earlier. As it was, we respected Largare’s wish to explain your existence. We did not know of his death until much later, after you had started to work for King Garmade and lived under his protection.”
Charlie took a deep breath. “Parts of your story puzzle me.” He waited for the other man to nod before he continued. He did not want any more miscommunications. “Why didn’t King Garmade” - Grandfather, he thought in shock - “know of his daughter’s - my mother’s - presence here?”
Tuniesin hesitated. He and Rasleigh exchanged a meaningful glance. The monarch nodded his head and turned back to Charlie.
“When Largare rescued Elaine from the goblin prisons, she’d suffered much. They ... broke her. She knew little but her first name. We did not connect her with the King’s daughter. We did not know of the Princess Elaine’s disappearance. We are a reclusive community. Sometimes too reclusive.
“Her health remained delicate. Largare stayed at her side constantly and, after a time, they married. It was as she expected you that her memory strengthened even as her physical health weakened. She made Largare promise to take you to Malin, to have you introduced to the court and officially named. I think she knew she would not survive your birth.”
Charlie sighed. All his life he, as most Malinese, had heard stories of Princess Elaine. He’d never connected her with his unknown mother. In some dusty corner of his mind he’d occasionally wondered if he’d ever meet the woman who’d given birth to him. Not to disrespect Claire Tanner, who he loved, but a niggle of curiosity remained.
“What of the servants?” he asked. “Largare did not travel all the way to Malin without at least a nurse.”
“He had a nurse, and two other servants as well. They did not return after the journey ended. It was thought they stayed in Sylthia. We did not know their fate until later, when the nurse returned for a visit.
“It seems a love triangle developed between the servants. One of the men killed the other and ran away with the nurse. Largare journeyed alone with you.
“I apologize,” King Tuniesin said. “We do not travel often. The care of Isleighah and Kerreleigh take up our time and resources. The Dymynsh has crippled the planet. It’s all we can do to hold it back. However, that is no excuse. We should have paid more attention to our own. For that, we owe you much.”
He rose, and to Charlie’s astonishment, closed the few steps between them and knelt at his feet. “Welcome home, Charles, Prince of Sylthia, Earl of Leander, heir to Malin, future ruler of the Elves.”
“Do not call me so,” Charlie said. “I don’t feel comfortable with the titles. Or the honor.” He helped the other man to his feet. They stood face-to-face.
“It will take some getting used to,” Tuniesin said, a smile on his lips. “I imagine you will want to tell your grandfather before it becomes common knowledge.” He glanced around at the others in the room. “I will swear to the discretion of those here. Because of the markings and color of your wings, you will be known only as a kinsman of the Leander family.”
“Then, as a kinsman, I ask for your assistance.” Charlie hadn’t forgotten Jane and her plight.
“Ah, yes. Bryant’s daughter and your ...?” Tuniesin sat back in his chair.
Charlie was not offended by his inquiry. “My love,” he answered. “I have never loved a woman thus, even though she causes trouble wherever she goes.”
The King laughed, his teeth white and even. “The Queen is much the same. If your Jane is anything like Wellonna, we will be needed to pick up the pieces of the sandobbles and this Capp’ear person.”
Charlie nodded. “You hit closer to the mark than you might think, sire. I have a plan that will do almost exactly that.”
Later, alone with Hugh, Charlie paced the floor of his room. After a promise of help from the King and an early morning start, the brothers had retired for the night.
“Well, sire.” Hugh chuckled. “I did not expect such a story when I picked you out of the brambles so many years ago.”
“Perhaps you would have picked a better name if you had,” Charlie scoffed. “King Charlie! Ha! A very ignoble name.”
Hugh cocked his head. “It suits you. You will make a fine King. And what of me? Am I now your squire? How may I serve Your Majesty?” He lowered himself in an exaggerated bow.
Charlie threw a pillow at him. “I did not ask for this and can hardly believe it is true. How would you react if you were told such news?”
Hugh arrayed himself over a plush chair. “I would order up pretty girls by the dozen and ride fast horses.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Or perhaps the other way around.”
A second pillow joined the first. “You are happily married now, and would not be unfaithful to Mara.”
His brother nodded. “You know me well, Charles, future King of Malin. You will not change, either. Jane will love you in spite of your title.”
Charlie spun around, anger in his voice. “Do not jest. I am worried for her. If she survives ...” He stopped and drew a breath, pushing away the ugly images his mind had created in the past two days. He hadn’t had a chance to apologize to her after their fight. Guilt ate at him. “This will change what I have with Jane. I had little to offer her before. Now? A kingdom. She will run from the responsibility. I want to run from the responsibility.” He thrust his hand through his hair in agitation. “With Tivat alive, her sentence is void. She will want to return to Earth as soon as we can find the portal.” The news of Tivat and Marion arriving in Lowth at a spot other than near the Sentinel shocked him. “I cannot follow her and live on Earth.”
Hugh rose and clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “That is a discussion you will need to have with her, isn’t it? I do not see either of you shirking your duties. As for the portal, we elves can sense its fluctuations. We will find it for her to use, if she still wishes, which I doubt. In regard to her well-being, you still feel her, do you not?”
Charlie bent his head. The admission came hard. “It grows weaker.” The vibrations in his wings that acted as a compass toward Jane lessened with each hour. What would he do without her? How could he let her go?
“Ah, then let me tell you what I know,” Hugh began.
A tap on the door interrupted him. Charlie crossed and opened it, letting in Bryant. Putting aside his problems, he asked, “How are the others?”
“Fair,” the older man replied. He looked around the suite.
Charlie remembered his manners. If either mother could see him, they’d have boxed his ears for rudeness. “Will you have a drink?” At the other’s nod, he crossed to the small bar and poured three glasses of vestale. They sat.
“Tivat is the healthiest,” Bryant replied, swallowing the liquid as if a man parched. “He waits in self-imposed isolation until Eagar can convene a trial for his crimes. Eagar is weak, but awake. The doctors say he will recover with bed rest.”
“And Muttle?” Charlie asked. The Belwaith’s injuries had shocked him the most.
“Muttle drifts in and out of consciousness. When I visited, he said, ‘Sixth stream.’ I don’t know what it means.”
Hugh shifted in his chair. “I might.”
“Marion,” Bryant continued, then broke down, unable to hide his worry. “She is the worst. The doctors -”
“Will do their best. Isleighah has magic. This is the best place for her,” Charlie reassured him. He placed a comforting hand on the hunter’s shoulder. He could see the man still cared deeply for the mortal.
After a few moments, Bryant composed himself. “Yes, I know this is true. If we had stayed on the cliffs -”
“You forced me to make the decision to come here.” Good or bad, Charlie knew he’d been unable to avoid his heritage.
“We must hope for the best,” Bryant said. “However, I come tonight to offer my help in the morning. I’ve heard you ride out to save my daughter. I would like to accompany you.”
Charlie hadn’t known how to ask the hunter to leave with them. He played a part in the plan, yet tearing him from Marion’s side might be difficult.
“Good. We’ve great need of you.” Charlie turned to Hugh. “What did you mean, a few moments ago? What do you know?”
“There is unusual weather to the west,” his brother replied. Briefly, he explained to Bryant his talent for forecasting the weather. “A storm rages in the mountains, but it doesn’t move. It’s associated with Jane. Either she controls it, or it’s done for her benefit. Muttle’s words of the sixth stream give more clues. The sixth stream that flows into the Ilian has many inlets. I believe she is near its banks. The storm is centered in an area that feeds its streams. It has flooded and the sandobbles cannot cross without washing away.” He sat back, his wide grin evidence of his satisfaction.
Charlie stared at him in astonishment. He’d always taken Hugh’s predictions as truth but had never looked into their intricacies. “You can feel all this?” he asked.
Hugh nodded. “Just as you will feel Jane’s presence as we draw nearer. Between the two of us, we’ll find her, wherever she’s hidden.”
Charlie’s heart soared. He allowed hope to ignite in his breast. Tomorrow he would see her again.
He spent another hour explaining the plan to Bryant and refining it. It neared midnight when the three men separated. Charlie was about to extinguish his light and try to sleep when another knock on his door announced King Tuniesin.
“Only a moment of your time,” the monarch said, waving away the other’s bow. “I bring you a gift from the lady Wellonna. She is your kinswoman, by the way. She does not rise early, but wanted you to have this before we ride out.” He presented Charlie with a white box.
Charlie took it to a nearby table and opened it. Inside, wrapped in muslin, lay a vest-like garment, lightweight, soft green in color. He lifted it by one corner.
“My gratitude,” he said. “But what is it?”
Tuniesin grinned. “It is the Leander crest and colors. She felt pleased to find it at such short notice.”
Looking closer, Charlie noticed fine, darker lines that resembled the markings in his wings. The color matched as well.
“What is this?” he asked again, noticing the two slits in the back. Trepidation made his voice deep.
“It is called a jouroke, traditional garb for you to wear when you fly into battle tomorrow.”
Fly? 

Chapter Twenty-Five
Clear-eyed, his jaw firm with determination, Charlie sat astride his mount the next morning. Sleep had eluded him. The dark hours magnified the sudden complexity of his life. Twin responsibilities jockeyed for prominence and decisions.
In some ways, the alien concept of flying seemed the easiest choice. All he had to do was fall flat on his face, and no more pressure would be applied to try again. Running a kingdom, however, posed multiple problems, the least of which would be the reaction of Eagar and King Garmade.
Charlie struggled with the questions in the blackest part of the night - of the King’s frail health and Eagar’s ambition. Dare he present himself to them, claiming to be a long-lost heir? Dare he not, and deny his heritage, however unwelcome?
And Jane? I’ve not told her of my feelings. How can I ask her to take on the responsibility of a kingdom? Yet I must. It would not feel right to delay telling her. 
He could no longer wish for days gone by, of routine and sameness. They’d disappeared weeks ago. A new path was being forged, and he had a role as a leader. How many times had Jane said she felt like a player in a game controlled by others, even by Lowth itself? The same fate carried him as well.
Charlie rose from his bed that morning, all illusions and childish wishes swept away. He donned the gift of the jouroke, the lightness of its weave a heavy burden to wear.
The sky changed from grey to pearl to rose. The men and women of Isleighah gathered in Kerreleigh’s outer courtyard. All wore jourokes of various colors indicating their family lines. Charlie watched with a new interest. A similar group waited in Malin for his eventual rule. Could he do it?
It depends on Jane. Everything depends on Jane. Without her at his side, he didn’t want to exist, let alone rule a kingdom. Even as the thought formed, he knew he had no choice.
A murmur washed over the crowd. They parted to clear a path for King Tuniesin, Lord Rasleigh and the small group of royalty accompanying the rescue party.
King Tuniesin smiled as he approached, his green eyes snapping like the banners that hung from the boughs of Kerreleigh.
“Well met, Charles Whelphite, kinsman of Queen Wellonna,” he said, his voice raised for the crowd’s benefit. He looked over them, satisfaction playing on his lips. “It is a good day to hunt sandobbles.”
A roar of appreciation rose in the soft air. Even the leaves of Isleighah nodded in agreement.
“Are you ready, kinsman?” Tuniesin asked.
“I am, sire,” Charlie replied. “A great debt is owed to the citizens of Isleighah for the aid you give us this day.” Charlie turned in his seat and indicated his companions, travelers on a long road with him. “I bring my brother, Hugh Tanner of Malin, Alfted, a marksman of Sylthia, and the hunter Bryant of Malik, father to the captive.” A feeling of pride swelled in him. Their number might be small, but they’d survived many adventures together.
“And I, Eagar Currge of Sylthia,” said a weak voice.
Charlie swiveled on his mount. He gazed at the steward, who stood in an archway to the courtyard. One hand gripped the stone for support, the other dangled a cane, as if he disdained relying on it. Dressed in his habitual black, Eagar struggled to hold himself erect. He took a tentative step forward.
“Good King Tuniesin,” he said, bowing to the monarch. “I beg your forgiveness for my sorry appearance. As you must be aware, I have been in my sickbed. I arise to accompany you, if it is your wish. The Earthwoman remains my responsibility.”
Charlie bristled at his words. King Garmade gave her to Muttle and me to watch. Anyway, with Tivat alive, she is no longer a prisoner. He ached to shout his newfound identity, to lay claim to the power that would free Jane.
King Tuniesin bowed to Eagar. “Join us, Eagar Currge of Sylthia,” he said, holding out his hand. “You are most welcome in this historic hunt. Today we not only free the Earthwoman, but also our world of the dreadful scourge of the sandobbles. Residents of Lowth will rejoice.”
Someone in the crowd shouted. Soon others joined, an excited buzz swelling through their ranks.
Eagar shuffled to the monarch’s side and stiffly bowed. A page ran to fetch a new mount, delaying the hunt. A groomsman brought a pony and assisted the steward into its saddle.
A half hour after sunrise, a party of one hundred and sixty Isleighahans, a Malik hunter, and four determined Malinese set out to find Jane.
They headed due west on trails that did not show before they reached them and blended into the forest once they passed. A blushing grey tinted the sky and shaded darkeras they drew nearer to the storm. The wind stirred the previous autumn’s leaves, twirling them in patterns among those who flew. All around him, Charlie could feel the magic of the old woods.
Enchantment lay everywhere, but the music enthralled him the most. Rhythmic tinkles and splashes as the Isleighahans forded streams, melodies coaxed from the trees-the trill of the willows, the rumbling bass of the oaks. The fairies harmonized. Those on the ground and in the air sang.
They set out to win a victory, and the songs echoed their hope. Ancient words filled the air, words of triumph and pride, of valiant deeds and honor, of death hard-won. He joined them, a clear tenor woven among the other voices, the verses and their meanings, once unknown, coming from him as if he’d read them only this morning.
Charlie recalled the tales of Princess Elaine, of how she’d loved to sing. He wondered if her spirit lived on in the woods. Or in him.
After a time, they reached the edge of the Isleighah Forest, and the songs faded. How much time he could not tell, for the magic pulsed strong.
By unspoken agreement, they broke for a midday meal and to lay the last pieces of their strategy. King Tuniesin approached Charlie, who leaned against a tree eating bread and cheese.
“You did not fly,” he chastised, waving away the other’s attempt to stand.
“Sire, you store great confidence in my abilities. As I said last night, I am sadly out of practice. Even if I could support myself, I would tire in minutes.”
The monarch gestured to the trees, where many of his subjects had landed to eat and rest. “You will have noticed that we do not stay aloft for long. Flying is tiring. Endurance is for the young and for warriors.”
“We are warriors today,” Charlie reminded him. He did not like to think of the consequences if his plan did not work.
“You proudly wear the jouroke.” Tuniesin nodded toward the garment. “I am surprised, after your protests.”
“No more than I. But it is tradition, and though I have denied it for many years, I am of fairy blood. My kinswoman gave it as a gift. Perhaps she knows it may be needed before the day ends.” He gazed past the forest edge, to the rolling plain and the gathered storm clouds. Somewhere close by, Jane waited for him. He itched to end this delay and run into the flowing grasses to see her again. Fly if he must. Nothing would separate them. Except her decision to return to Earth. 
The King clapped him on the shoulder, startling him from his thoughts. “Do not let fear of others’ ridicule sway you,” he said. “We have flown since infancy and have more experience. Besides, if you choose to join us, it is an effortless thing to ride the air currents. Have you never flown?”
Charlie thought of his disastrous attempts with the Malin Village boys mocking him. “Fifteen years ago,” he admitted.
“Ah, you were a lad then,” the King said. “You are now a man and a future King. Though you are not to rule the fey, your participation will be the thing of which songs are made. Come, we must talk of your plan and put it into action.”
They gathered, Tuniesin and Rasleigh, Bryant and others.
“The storm moves north,” Hugh said, tracing an invisible path in the air from the mountains to the Andair Plains. “An unusual direction. Jane does not control it. I believe the land acts on its own.” He paused and looked at the others, as if daring them to dispute his claim. “Her power is weaker than before. I cannot tell if she is hurt or hindered in some way.” His gaze held his brother’s. A silent communication passed between them. Charlie knew Hugh did not hold back any news.
“An isolated storm brews north of the main one,” Hugh said. “It’s small, unnatural. I’m certain Jane makes it.” He swept his hand and pointed to a spot on the horizon about a mile distant. “There. That darker smudge. If you look close, you’ll see it rains in fits and starts. She uses it to keep the sandobbles at bay.”
Hope grew in Charlie’s heart. Jane’s dark smudge signified the first good thing of the day. Turning, he asked the King, “What do your scouts say?”
“Much the same,” Tuniesin replied, stroking his chin. “A ring of sandobbles and an unusual cloud of rain. They cannot tell what lies inside.”
My Jane, Charlie thought, pleased at her resourcefulness. “Are your warriors ready?” he asked Rasleigh, who nodded. At last they’d start. “Then we split, half to fly in from the south, using Lowth’s storm as cover. Half from the east. Stay low. Bryant, can you direct the wind from here?”
The hunter gestured to the plains. “I’ll pass on the King’s offer to be flown to the scene. I can conjure a windstorm to take all the sandobbles to the Tahmdee.”
Charlie grinned at his fervor. “Make sure you do not create so much that our friends are blown away as well. We need their wing power to dry out the creatures.” His plan, from the moment they’d carried Jane away, had been to dehydrate the sandobbles. He’d noticed the trail they left - dried lumps that had fallen off the main group. With Bryant and the fairies working together, they would reduce the enemy to sand and rescue Jane.
Hugh raised his finger. “Perhaps,” he said, “you might tell the lady in question to stop her storm. Otherwise, we will dry them out only to have her bring them back to life.”
That would be like her. Mayhem. The woman is nothing but mayhem. Charlie wouldn’t have had her any other way.
”It would be easier if Muttle were here,” he said, missing the easy communication of the Belwaith.
“You can’t talk to her?” Hugh asked.
Eagar, until then a quiet observer, spoke. “What’s this?”
“They sometimes talk with their minds, as Muttle and Calme do,” Hugh clarified.
Charlie shot him a look that should have spliced him open. He regretted he’d shared that information with him. Eagar didn’t need to know everything.
“Is this true?” the steward asked, his eyes narrowed.
“Yes. Sometimes,” Charlie hedged.
“Then you must use this talent,” King Tuniesin ordered, “if it is to help in her rescue.”
Charlie didn’t want an audience when he had his first words with Jane. They’d not been speaking when Capp’ear tore her away. She might be mad and, as a woman, probably blamed him for the kidnapping. But better to incur her wrath than have the plan fail.
He nodded and stepped away. His gaze centered on the cloud in the distance. Closing his eyes, he cleared his mind of outside distractions, of the wind and the murmur of voices. Only Jane. Her green eyes and soft skin. Her talent for finding mischief. The way she felt against him.
As if on cue, a slow vibration hummed through his wings. He turned a fraction to the north and sent his message.
Jane. In his mind’s eye, he watched the word pierce the air, reaching her as surely as an arrow.
Charlie? She hesitated with her answer. She sounded different, weaker. Discouraged. Where are you? 
Near. 
My mother? 
She recovers. He did not want to delve into the details of Marion’s illness. Love, we come for you. Stop the storm. 
Love? 
He broke off the communication, afraid to say more. Time for that later. Impatient, he whirled back to the others.
“Let’s go,” he said.
The fairies divided into two groups, Tuniesin leading one, Rasleigh the other. Charlie’s wings thrummed in anticipation, an excitement filling him. Overpowering, insistent, he couldn’t control the primitive urge. And suddenly he didn’t want to. With a shout, he vaulted into the air. The ground rushed away at an alarming speed, but he paid little attention to it. He focused on the vanishing cloud over Jane’s location.
He maneuvered as easily as if walking, but stayed in formation with the others, resisting the temptation to swoop and circle. The muscles on his back stretched, a good, tight feeling. His wings beat down and up, making minute corrections in flight.
They arrived, and he faltered in his effort to backwing. Tuniesin caught him by the elbow and steadied his position. Charlie shot him a look of gratitude and stabilized himself.
Glancing down, he saw a dark ring of earth surge and roil toward two figures-sandobbles revolving around Jane and Capp’ear. A wet, sucking noise, a menacing burble, rumbled from its midst.
We are here. Charlie cast his thoughts down to her.

At a signal from the King, the Isleighahans stroked the air harder. A great wave of wind swirled, eddied and grew. Another force joined in, a natural current, strengthened by Bryant’s talent. It intensified. With a shock, Charlie recognized Jane’s touch, though it was weaker than he expected. Good work. 
The fury continued, the combined efforts of the elves and fairies entwining to create a tempest of unusual proportions. The sandobbles clung together, but the gale hurled bits and pieces from the outer edges into the plain. Their dark color fluctuated, lightening as they evaporated. In a frenzy, some of the beings flung themselves into a nearby stream, acting as a wick to carry moisture to the others.
Rasleigh’s group wedged the sandobbles away from their water supply. The fairies stroked on. A heat rose from Lowth. Capp’ear, shrieking like a madman in the teeth of the storm, threw himself between the creatures. Then, as they shriveled in size, detaching from each other, he spun toward Jane.
The glint of metal spurred Charlie. Memories of the man’s previous attack propelled him from Tuniesin’s faction. He dove.
Jane stood in the midst of the destruction, her hand shading her sight, gazing upward. The forces Bryant and the Isleighahans made twisted around her, but she stayed unmoved, in the eye of the storm. Adjusting for shifts in air pressure, Charlie plunged through the turmoil and snatched her up in his arms.
They broke through the fury into the relative calm of the surrounding plain. His wings beating rhythmically, Charlie tacked toward the forest. Selecting a spot at a distance from Hugh and the others, he backwinged and landed.
Jane, whole and healthy and gloriously in his arms again, threw back her head and grinned at him.
“Look, up in the sky. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it’s Charlie Whelphite,” she cried. Her laughter edged toward hysteria.
“Are you well? Did they hurt you?” Charlie did not want to release her, even to let her stand.
“No, nothing like that. They made me their Queen,” she hiccupped. Panic scurried through her voice.
“Their Queen?” Only Jane could be kidnapped by sandobbles and end up their leader. “I’ll make you a Queen,” he said, promising her his heritage.
“Will you? With a big, fat tiara and a velvet robe -”
”Jane,” he warned. “Have I ever told you that you talk too much?”
She looked at him, a little sobered. “Yes, Charlie.”
He shifted her closer. “Then shut up and kiss me.”
Charlie kissed her long and sweet, unable to let go, but unwilling to tell her his true feelings. He murmured her name over again and breathed in her scent.
“You smell like rain,” he whispered.
Jane tilted her head and traced the side of his jaw. “You would, too, if you’d spent three days in a storm.”
“It slowed them. Hugh was able to spot you because of the weather you and Lowth created.” He’d never felt so proud of her as he did at that moment.
“Me? And Lowth?”
“So he says.” He nibbled on her ear, noticing its points’ infinitesimal growth since last he’d nuzzled it.
Jane pulled away slightly, leaving her hand on his chest. “Ah, Charlie, there’s a fairy guy staring at us.”
He shifted her to the side. Over her shoulder, he saw Tuniesin grinning at them.
“Not just any fairy. This is their King.” He made the introductions.
“All is well?” Charlie asked, remembering the battle.
“The prisoner Capp’ear escaped, carried away by the last of the sandobbles,” Tuniesin said. “Most perished, sacrificing themselves to jump the stream with him on their backs. They headed north. Eagar said to let them go.”
Shock ran through Charlie. “Eagar said?”
The monarch shrugged. “Capp’ear was the steward’s prisoner. I have no authority beyond our forest.”
Anger flooded Charlie. Letting Capp’ear escape opened the opportunity for him to hurt Jane again. “Yet you stepped beyond the forest today,” he said to the fairy King.
Tuniesin’s eyes narrowed. Charlie guessed he rarely had his decisions challenged.
Jane placed herself between them. “The sandobbles will take him to the Tahmdee. It’s their home.”
“How do you know this?” Tuniesin asked.
“They told Capp’ear. They’ve been imprisoned in the Magwrosin against their will. I think if they’re allowed to return to their river, they’ll leave everyone alone.”
Charlie cocked an eyebrow at Tuniesin, challenging him.
The other returned the stare. “We’ll speak of it at Council later.”
Jane sagged against Charlie. He could see the fatigue in her eyes. “Charlie, are we near the castle? I’d like to see my mother.”
He put aside his anger. She needed to rest and recover. Everything else could wait. Picking her up in his arms, he joined the Isleighahans in flight back to Kerreleigh.

As soon as she entered the forest stronghold, Jane disappeared into the healing rooms. Charlie did not seek her out, but spent the next few hours in meetings. King Tuniesin, with a weakened Eagar seconding the suggestion, recommended that a guard observe what remained of the sandobbles. If they rehydrated and headed toward the Tahmdee, they should be left alone. However, if they posed any further threat, they would have to be dried again and scattered in a remote corner of Lowth.
Eagar, on the verge of collapse, retired to his suite. Charlie and Hugh joined Bryant and Alfted in the healing rooms.
“How are they?” Charlie asked, indicating the two guards hurt in the explosion.
Alfted answered. The men had been under his command. “Broken bones and bruises, mostly. The fairies have offered to let us stay until they recover.”
Charlie nodded. He expected to remain in Kerreleigh for some time and convince Jane to become his Queen.
“Muttle has improved since yesterday,” Hugh reported.
The Belwaith looked healthier, his eyes whirling blue and green, only a hint of yellow in their depths. “Death for damn sandobbles,” he said, grinning.
Charlie knelt at his side. “Sorry you couldn’t be there, friend. You would have enjoyed the hunt.”
“Carve them up.” He made a twisting motion with his hand.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
Muttle nodded. “Speak with Calme. Many messages. One for ye.” He pointed to Hugh.
The brothers parted, and Charlie slipped into Marion’s room, looking for Jane. Bryant sat next to the bed.
“I took her to her room,” he said, answering Charlie’s unspoken question. “She’s more exhausted than she let on.”
“I know. She’s gone through much the past few days.”
“More like the past few weeks,” the hunter said. “Kidnapping and almost being drowned. She still hasn’t recovered from the stabbing. She’s going to push herself to take care of Marion.” He indicated the woman in the bed.
“How is she?” Charlie asked, pulling up another chair. Jane’s mother looked less sallow than when he’d last seen her.
“The fairies tell me she’ll recover. I’m going to make sure she does.” Bryant stroked Marion’s arm. “I love her, and I lost her once. It’s not about to happen again. I’m going to ask her to marry me when she’s better.”
His confession didn’t shock Charlie. He’d seen how the hunter looked at Marion, knew his devotion to her since her illness. Still, he needed to voice caution. “You haven’t had a chance to talk since she’s been back.”
“Who needs words, when your heart speaks for you?” the other whispered, his gaze not straying.
Charlie decided to be candid with Bryant. “I need to speak with Jane.” He hesitated. “I don’t know what her heart says.”
”I can guess her answer, but she has a difficult decision to make. She gives up many things to stay here.”
“It will be more difficult when I tell her my news,” Charlie muttered.
Bryant looked up. “News?”
“I’m sorry, I cannot say more. Just that, because of this journey, I’m no longer a mere lawyer.” Or a mere Elf.
“Because you have fairy blood?” the other asked.
Charlie didn’t want to tell him the truth yet. It belonged to Jane first. “Yes, I have a heritage here from a powerful family. I don’t know what her thoughts will be on it, or what she thinks of my loving her.” Her path was open now. Would she take the simplest way out and return to Earth?
“Give her a day or two to rest and assure herself of her mother’s better health,” Bryant advised. “Then ask. I know I’ve been absent from her life, but for what it’s worth, you have my blessing.”
Though it killed him, Charlie stayed away from Jane the next day, and the one following, until he heard that Marion had regained consciousness and rested well.
Hugh brought other news, relayed from Calme to Muttle. Mara and many women in the village were pregnant, having conceived on Midsummer’s Eve. A thought struck Charlie, squashed in with other realities - his waiting kingdom, the crush of his feelings, the force and power of their lovemaking that night. Could Jane be pregnant as well? He left in search of her.

Chapter Twenty-Six
Jane. 
Charlie’s voice resonated through her mind. He hadn’t spoken to her telepathically since her rescue.
Charlie? she asked, tentative in her response. I’m in the solarium. 
Temporarily banished from her mother’s side - for her own good, Bryant said - Jane explored Kerreleigh’s halls. That morning she’d found the solarium, jutting out from the fourth level on the south side. One flawless pane of glass enclosed it from the elements. The floor consisted of colored stones laid in an intricate knotted pattern. Comfortable benches huddled under vast sprays of foliage. Butterflies flitted past.
Jane sat on one of the benches and waited for Charlie. In truth, she’d avoided him the past three days. Fatigue and worry for her mother took most of her time. She’d used those excuses to delay making any decisions about the future.
And here it is, staring you in the face. She closed her eyes, her hand drifting to lie in a protective gesture over her womb. She could no longer deny the truth. Her loss of appetite, the queasiness she experienced that couldn’t be attributed to the smell of Capp’ear’s unwashed body or a vacuum-packed meal: it all pointed to an unexpected pregnancy.
She carried a child. Not from the time she and Charlie made love in the glade, but from Midsummer’s Eve, when he’d taken her against the door. And fainted. Jane was convinced that his fainting had not been an accident. Most likely, he’d spent all his energy on releasing the winning sperm.
A child of destiny, contrived by Lowth to exist. How else could she explain all that had happened? The whispered call of “Anjinaine” in the courtyard during her trial? The coincidence of Tivat in front of her car, with Charlie and the others close behind to whisk her away? A planet’s strategy to return her to the land of her conception? She lay at the heart of a master plan. She’d survive whatever trials came in the future, because, she now knew, you didn’t mess around with Lowth.
How do I tell you, Charlie? You are part of this, too, though I don’t know how. 
She felt his presence before he spoke, and she opened her eyes.
“Hi,” he said, his voice unsteady. Fatigue showed in the lines around his latte-colored eyes.
“Hi, yourself.” Jane moved her hand from its traitorous position and patted the bench next to her. “Sit down.”
He remained standing, keeping a distance from her. She sensed his awkwardness. Obviously, he had something on his mind. The end of their relationship now that she was no longer accused of murder? The thought stabbed at her more painfully than Capp’ear’s knife had.
“Mom is better,” she said, filling the silence. “The doctors expect her to make a full recovery. She should be able to travel within a week.” There’s your opening. 
Ignoring it, he walked to the window. His hand pressed against its smoothness, his back to her, he said, “There are things we need to discuss, Jane.”
Coming up behind him, she stopped a foot away, aching to reach out and touch the corded muscles in his neck, bunched from tension. His exposed wings lay against his back, tightly closed. The entrance of two fairies into the room prompted her to ask, “Should we go for a walk?”
He turned and nodded, agony on the planes of his face. He led her down stairs and through opulent rooms until they reached a door leading to the outside. Silently, they walked along a trail crisscrossed by patches of sunlight. Birch, rowan and pine mingled with the larger iselwood trees. After a mile or so, Jane heard the sound of water to her left. They abandoned the path and descended into a small ravine. A shallow pool lay before them; graduated waterfalls poured through fissures and tumbled over outcroppings of rock to fill it.
“Charlie, it’s beautiful,” Jane cried in awe.
“Bryant told me of it. He’s visited here before and thought you might enjoy it.” A sliver of tension fell from him.
“I do.” She looked around, gauging the distance between trees, at the lack of undergrowth. Memories of another pond in another glade returned. “Are we safe?” she asked.
Charlie touched her arm in reassurance. “The forest watches over us. At last report, the danger was far to the west. Capp’ear can’t hurt you anymore.”
The heat from his hand traveled up her arm, suffusing her with warmth and longing. Slowly, they leaned toward each other. Jane parted her lips to speak. Charlie watched her, his expression softer. He raised his hand to outline her mouth with his fingertips. Jane sensed a change in the forest, a gentleness in the air. They heard the music of a distant song.
Somebody needs to draw this guy a road map, she thought at the delay. Their gazes met. “Charlie,” she whispered.
”Shh. Listen. The land sang to us when we came to rescue you.” He drew intricate designs on her forearm with his fingers. “I always hear music around you.” He bent his head and kissed her, his lips brushing hers at first, as if afraid to break the tentative peace. Then he groaned and pulled her nearer, one hand in the small of her back.
“I’ve missed you.” His breath mingled with hers. “I’m sorry I made you angry.”
Total body meltdown threatened. She whispered. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Nothing matters except you and how I feel.”
He kissed her again. Jane felt her toes curl in response. All coherent thought vanished, a wash of sensations threatening to drown her. When she came up for air, she laid her head against his shoulder and smiled into his dusky brown eyes.
He brushed a curl off her forehead. “I love you, Jane Drysdale,” he said, his voice breaking.
Her heart kachunked in her chest. “Oh, Charlie.”
“When this is over -”
“No, let’s not talk of the future.”
“Jane,” he protested.
She placed a hand over his mouth. “It’s not ours to command.” Other forces interfered. “Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Love me for today.”
Dark emotions shadowed his eyes. With a sigh of resignation, he nodded. His fingers traced along her arms, sending shivers cascading through her body. Heat crackled in her nerve endings. Charlie slid his palms across her breasts. The depth of sensuality she felt staggered her.
“Perfect,” he breathed. He rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Too small,” she said in an incoherent gurgle.
He looked her in the eyes, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “They’re perfect,” he breathed.
Jane wanted to lose herself in him. He nuzzled her earlobe, the throb of her pulse at the base of her throat. She reached behind him, fingers grazing the edge of his wing. Charlie groaned. She did it again, stroking this time. A shudder ran over him. He swung her into his arms, then lowered her into the sweet-smelling grasses at the edge of the pool.
He tasted of clean air and cinnamon. His tongue invaded her mouth, eager, insatiable. They kissed frantically. His fingers tugged her blouse free. The buzz of a nearby insect joined the murmur of rushing water. Jane expected the bees to send out scouts and report on their lovemaking. She imagined them coming back later to glean nectar from the flowers crushed under her and Charlie’s bodies.
Charlie removed her blouse with a startling finesse. Giving a cry, he lowered his head to her breasts, licking first one tip, then another. She whimpered with wanting and frustration. His lips trailed down the center of her body, scorching wild kisses on a path from her mouth to her waistband. His fingers dipped below the fabric, then untied the knots and lacing. With a growl, he pulled off her skirt.
His hand rubbed through the thin fabric of her thong, the one piece of Earth clothing she still retained. He pushed it aside, his fingers seeking her swollen need. Jane cried out at the sheer ecstasy, afraid he’d push her over the edge.
Two can play this game, she thought, her head light from lack of air. She raised a hand and laid it against his chest, shoving his tunic out of her way, the sprinkle of chest hair rough against her skin. She gripped the frame of his wings with her other hand and traced the raised pattern.
“By the two moons,” he exclaimed with a shudder.
“You like?”
“I’ll show you how much.” Barely touching her, he ran a finger across her bare stomach. Her muscles convulsed. Invisible flames combusted along the path he made.
”Don’t,” Jane cried, though she wanted more. She pushed away, the cool transparency of the waterfall calling to quench her fire. She slipped the remaining distance to the pond’s edge, but Charlie caught her in a fierce embrace.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“Oh, Charlie, I love you.” She wanted to tell him about the baby, but couldn’t bring herself to spoil the moment. Time for truths later, when rationality returned.
Jane leaned into him until they lost their balance. They fell into the water, performing an aquatic ballet, losing the rest of their clothing between snatched kisses. Charlie lifted her and strode halfway up the waterfalls. He laid her on a stone shelf behind a curtain of water in a hidden cave. The mist felt soft against her skin.
“Vixen.” He covered her with his body, his erection teasing her with its nearness. His knee nudged her legs apart. She opened for him, eager for them to join.
Jane smiled in the muted light. “I bet you say that to all the Earthlings.”
His mouth descended on hers. “Only one. You.”
All thoughts of home, the baby, and her future flew away under his assault.
Jane gasped as he entered her. She arched her body and rocked her hips, changing the angle of his thrust. The tune from the waterfall changed, no longer bubbling but beating. Water fell in sheets, the force changing to match their rhythm.
Charlie drew his length out of her, then plunged in again. She thought she’d die from the sensation. A cry escaped her. Water ebbed and crested around them, a From Here to Eternity wave crash miles from the nearest sea.
Isleighah joined in their lovemaking, adding an accompaniment to sensation. Music and rhythms surrounded them and swept them away, each wave greater than the last. The light changed. Charlie bent over Jane, his gaze on her face, his eyes dusky, half closed. He feathered a hand across her jaw, and she turned toward him, nibbling at the flesh of his thumb.
Their bodies surged together, slipping in and out. The water around them rose and fell, the tide synchronized with their movements. A joyous noise engulfed them. Jane cried at the pleasure, her tears mingling to join the stream. Cymbals and drums beat in time, building, stretching toward a crescendo. A simultaneous release broke over them.
Farewell notes withdrew. The sounds in the cavern returned to the everyday rush of the waterfall. Light diffused to normal. The tide receded from the ledge.
Charlie lay at her side, his breathing hard and sharp.
“Did I imagine that?” she asked, her limbs weak. The faintest trace of enchantment shimmered in the air of the cave, like the afterglow of fireworks.
“It’s the magic of Isleighah,” Charlie said.
“Wow.” She shook her head, unable to grasp the concept. “Wow. It’s almost as much fun as flying with you.”
He smiled and touched her face gently. “Maybe next time we can do both.”
What? Startled, she sat up. “Superman? Do you really mean it? Flying sex?” The logistics boggled her mind. Charlie even considering it boggled her mind.
“I have fantasies,” he said, pulling her into the crook of his arm. “I’m not any different than any other man.”
“Yes, you are.” She snuggled deeper. “You’re better.”
Sated, she drifted toward sleep. Music tinkled far off in the distance.
“Jane?” Charlie said after long minutes passed.
“Hmm?” She wanted to lie quietly, undisturbed.
“Jane? We need to talk.”
She rolled onto her back, unmindful of her naked form. “I hate those four words.”
Once started, he hesitated.
“Charlie, what is it?” Alarm ran down her spine. She sat up, tucking her legs beneath her.
”Something happened while you were gone.” He pulled the words out, as if reluctant to relive his experience.
“What?” She couldn’t imagine anything to upset him so.
He sighed and looked away, through the sheen of water pouring over the ledge. “I learned of my heritage.”
She leaned forward and touched his arm in excitement. “Charlie, that’s wonderful ...” Only, by his behavior, he didn’t seem to think so. “What’s wrong?”
Jane listened while he told her of his first meeting with King Tuniesin. A cold, hard knot formed in her stomach. Now she knew his part in Lowth’s plan, and that it wasn’t over.
“I never dreamed any of this,” she said when he’d finished. “What happens now?”
He shook his head, utter desolation on his face. “I don’t know. Tell King Garmade? I couldn’t ask you to share in any future without letting you know. Do you see?”
Jane nodded, her thoughts grim. She needed to change her plans again. Her head whirled with what had to be done.
“There’s one more thing,” he said, his tone solemn.
“What?” She could think of one hundred and seventy-two things.
“Muttle relayed news to Hugh that might affect our plans.”
Cold chills crept up the insides of her arms. She forced herself to ask, “What?”
“Mara is pregnant, as well as most of the village women. Due to your influence, they say.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. Dread at what he might ask overpowered her joy at the news. “Charlie, I didn’t have anything to do with it. Maybe the Dymynsh is over.”
“Broken by you?” His gaze pierced her to the core. “Jane, are you pregnant?”
She had no recourse but to lie. She looked him in the eyes and gathered all the deceit in her body. “No, I’m not.”
How could she tell him the truth when she didn’t have all the answers yet? Suspicions raced through her, a half-formed belief that Bryant had more importance to Malik than[that] anyone thought. If her child bore the royal blood of Malin, why not that of Malik as well? The machinations of Lowth astounded her, plotting to unite two of its houses.
She had no proof. Not until she could get to Malik’s capital of Shallen and question those who might have been present at Bryant’s birth. All while dodging Blacwin.
Jane watched Charlie struggle to believe her.
“If there are heirs of my body, it is more significant now,” he said, searching her face.
“Wouldn’t I tell you?” She crossed her fingers.
“Would you?” he asked, angry. “What are your plans now that Tivat is alive?”
She couldn’t tell him. So much depended on slipping away from Isleighah and finding her way to Malik. Without him, Muttle, or the entire flying population of Kerreleigh finding her. “To get my mother well,” she bluffed.
“Then?”
She tilted her chin and met his gaze. “Have Eagar lift my sentence.”
“Then? By the light, Jane, I want to have a future with you.” He punched his hand into a puddle of water for emphasis.
“As Queen of Malin?” Her future role, and that of her unborn child, magnified. All the more reason to know the truth before telling him. He’d only stop her.
“I don’t care about that aspect,” he said.
“You should.” He presented a perfect opportunity to pick a fight. She needed to divert his attention from speculation on her pregnancy. “Eagar and King Garmade need to know.”
“It can wait.”
“Damn if it can. For once in your life, don’t be the mediator, the one who smoothes ruffled feathers. Fight for what’s yours.”
”It’s mine only if I’m recognized as heir.”
“You have King Tuniesin’s word on that. He knew both your parents. Is Eagar going to call him a liar?”
“We both know what he will and won’t do. He controls a lot of what happens in Malin.” A vein throbbed in Charlie’s temple.
“All the more reason to take a stand now, and show him who’s boss.” Jane pushed the subject, hoping to tick Charlie off enough to keep from inquiring about her plans again.
“He’s boss now,” Charlie said through clenched teeth.
“You’re King,” she pointed out.
“I’m a half-breed.” Bitterness edged his voice. “Lawyer, trade negotiator, and anything else Sylthia needs of me. I live in my brother’s house and have nothing to show for my life.”
No, that’s not true. You have me. And our baby. Jane bit her tongue to keep from blurting that out. She desperately wanted to reassure him, but fate changed that. The first order of business had to be unraveling Lowth’s plans. It wouldn’t let her do anything else.
“You’re heir to Malin,” she cried. “Be a man and grab what’s yours.”
He pulled her to him roughly. “You’re mine,” he growled. “Are you willing to make a commitment to me?”
Jane stared at him, seeking a way out of this dilemma. His face remained hard. Her heart breaking, she turned away, answering his question with the movement.
“Fair enough,” he said. “Until you tell me where you stand, I remain silent on my background.”
Unfair, she thought. She didn’t like his passive-aggressive response. The future of Malin shouldn’t rest on her shoulders. But it does. Until I go to Malik, we stay in limbo. 
Feeling the weight of her decision, she pushed past him to dress and silently make her way back to Kerreleigh.

Chapter Twenty-Seven
Five days later, Jane tried to appear calm while lying through her teeth to the man sitting opposite her. He made her nerves zing like electrical wires. The favor she’d asked of him didn’t ease her turmoil, either.
“So you see,” she said, finishing her long, convoluted story of the Dymynsh, pregnant women and rainstorms on demand. “You’re the only one who can help me.”
She met John Tivat’s intense emerald gaze. It pierced her through to her core, and she felt as if he’d exposed every flaw in her plan. She suspected he knew more than he showed.
Leaning forward, Tivat asked, “What of the Whelphite? Why can’t he accompany you to Malik?”
His question shot holes in her theory of an all-knowing Tivat. Though in self-imposed exile, he must have heard rumors of her estrangement from Charlie earlier in the week. Kerreleigh was a small world; the news had swept through the tree community, instigating strange looks in her direction.
Jane fell against the blue velvet cushions of her chair, her gaze drifting to the subtle opulence of his suite. Why does a prisoner have such nice rooms? And why does he stay? With his shape-shifting talent, he could escape at any time. There’s more here than meets the eye. 
Idly playing with the silky fringe of a pillow, her senses alert to any changes in her companion, she said, “Charlie and I aren’t talking. Even if we were, he’d stop me. He’d chain me down if he had to.” Her eyes misted, and her voice trembled with emotion. “I’ve been a handful at times. I don’t think he’d like me careening to Malik to save the world.”
“But you feel you have to?” Tivat watched her, his manner deceptively calm. She saw his caged power and wondered how he’d landed in Sylthia’s prison the night before he’d escaped to Earth. He didn’t seem the type to lose control of his life.
She smiled wanly. “Other than the fact that I obviously didn’t kill you and was being sent there for my punishment? No, I’m meant to go to Malik and end the Dymynsh. It’s kind of a destiny thing.”
Lowth had made her a big believer in destiny. How else could she explain Tivat literally running into her? Or that Charlie had been in the pursuit party? Or his royal background, and possibly the royalty of Bryant and herself?
“Why not ask Bryant?” Tivat said, as if reading her mind. “He grew up in Malik and should know it well.”
“He’s taking care of my mother.” Jane averted her eyes. She wondered if he knew the history of the hunter and her mother. The devotion between the two had set tongues wagging. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to make the leap from their relationship to Jane’s pointed ears.
She was grateful that Eagar had had a relapse from his sandobble injuries and was staying in his rooms. It delayed overturning her sentence for murder, but it also kept them from returning to Sylthia. It would also put her, unexpectedly, right where Eagar wanted her the most - through Shallen’s gates.
“Muttle told me you’ve traveled all over Lowth and know Shallen.” She picked at the pillow fringe, glancing at Tivat to see his reaction.
He took the object from her and tossed it in a corner of the room. “Before my life of crime?” he asked, nodding. “Yes, I can get you into the castle undetected. But what makes you think I’ll jeopardize my freedom?”
She knew he’d ask. So far, he’d been exemplary in his conduct, returning from Earth, locking himself in these rooms to await trial. Again, she had to ask herself why. What was in it for him? Helping out your future Queen wasn’t an answer she could give him, not unless it became absolutely necessary.
“Look,” she said, warping bits of truth and logic to suit her purpose. “If I get to Blacwin and negotiate the end of the Dymynsh - which everyone wants - then I’m a hero. You’re a hero for getting me there. No one’s going to punish you.” She batted her eyelashes in a feeble attempt to influence him. “Are you with me?”
She held her breath as he took a long time to answer. “There are many obstacles,” he finally said in protest.
I’ve got him. Cocky with triumph, she said, “Yeah, I know. Such as a couple of full moons, an army of flying fairies, goblins, a rogue sandobble or two, not to mention Capp’ear still on the loose. You’ve got your work cut out for you.” She smiled, trying to dazzle him with charm.
“If I say no?”
“Then I go it alone. Are you in or out?” She watched him stretch his long legs, his attitude too casual. With sudden clarity, she wondered who had tricked who into going.
Tivat smiled at her, his demeanor changing to a sharper focus. “I’m in,” he said, leaning forward. “Now here’s what you have to do before tomorrow night.”

Jane! 
Charlie woke from a dead sleep, his heart pounding. His wings throbbed in warning. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and fumbled in the dark to light a candle. It cast strange and menacing shadows against the wall.
He bent forward to catch his breath, his wings spread, alert to danger. Every nerve cried of impending trouble.
Nothing can get into Kerreleigh to harm her. He tried logic to calm himself. But what of getting out? Hard on the heels of this thought came the one thing that had bothered him since earlier in the day.
She was wearing pants.
He’d seen her that evening, dressed in Hugh’s trousers, cleaned and pressed after their adventure from Gaelen.
Other clues hit him, seemingly insignificant at the time. News traveled fast in Kerreleigh. He’d heard of her visits with Bryant and Muttle, of hours spent talking to them outside the range of normal sickroom conversations. That morning, she’d made her way to the dispensary and kitchens. All indications pointed to one of Jane’s grand plans. Charlie intended to put an end to it before she hurt herself.
Alarmed, he called to her.
]ane! 
She’d refused to listen to him telepathically since their fight at the waterfalls, and she’d virtually slammed the door shut in the last day. He couldn’t get any response from her.
His breath still uneven, he dressed quickly. Taking the candle, he left his room to journey down the hall to hers.
A tentative knock on the door brought no response. Opening it, he wasn’t surprised to find the chamber empty. His wings felt her presence in another direction, farther away.
Jane, where are you? Charlie let his anger show in the question. She’d caused enough trouble in Lowth. He didn’t need her making more, especially in the middle of the night.
If she wouldn’t answer him, maybe she’d listen to Muttle. Silently, Charlie traveled through the quiet hallways of Kerreleigh. He extinguished the light as he stepped into the healing hall. Candles flickered in sconces set in the walls, illuminating the rooms for those who worked nights.
His hand raised to knock on Muttle’s door, Charlie drew back, startled to hear Eagar’s voice. His senses heightened. As far as he’d been told, Eagar had suffered a relapse and hadn’t left his bed since Jane’s rescue the previous week.
“Tell him the plan goes better than expected,” the steward said. “She should be at Shallen’s gate in three days.”
Shallen’s gate? A cold fear dropped onto Charlie, immobilizing him. “She” could only be Jane. Why would Jane head for Shallen? Blacwin! By the first light, she’s going there anyway. 
He moved to push open the door, but Muttle’s next words stopped him.
“He be pleased. Tivat will get her there safely.”
Charlie reeled from the statement. The Belwaith’s inflection on “he” could only refer to King Garmade.
He felt a sudden anger at the King. His grandfather! Why would Garmade need Tivat’s help to lead Jane to Malik?
“The escape will look natural,” Eagar said. “Just as it did the night we brought her to Lowth. We have no control over Tivat’s shape-shifting abilities. Him taking the Earthwoman hostage will be incentive for us to continue to Malik, the Whelphite included. Then all the pieces will fit into place.”
Charlie dragged his hand through his hair, trying to make sense of all this new information. How long had he been blind to the plans made around him? When had Eagar and Garmade started them? The night we brought her to Lowth? It hadn’t been an accident? 
He took a deep breath, clinging to sensibility. His mind raced. If Tivat was an implement to bring Jane to Lowth ... If the murder trial and its consequences had been manipulated into being ... Jane was headed into great danger. An unwilling pawn? Charlie didn’t think so. He’d bet Jane had the idea to go to Malik first, some altruistic deed to end the Dymynsh, or another reason of her own. Eagar had found out about it and twisted the situation to fit his plans.
Charlie resisted the urge to barge into Muttle’s room and demand the truth. Much better to back away and let them think him ignorant.
I’ll use their knowledge against them. 
Five minutes later, he pulled the jouroke over his wings. Five minutes after that, he took to the night sky.

Chapter Twenty-Eight
“You’re kidding, right?”
From the light of the twin full moons, Jane stared at Tivat. It neared midnight. They’d been on the trail for an hour now, leaving Kerreleigh without detection. It had been almost too easy.
Tivat coiled a length of rope and fastened the end securely.
“How did you think we’d make it to Shallen?” he asked, his features clear.
Jane shook her head. “I don’t know. On foot, the same way you traveled with my mother.”
“Time wasn’t of the essence then, but we’ll follow the same path for a while.” He glanced at the sky. “There’re six hours of night left. We’ll be past the borders of Isleighah by daybreak, but I don’t think the edge of the forest will stop a fairy pursuit. They’ll be on wing and will rapidly catch us.”
“But changing into a horse?” His earlier suggestion repulsed her. To watch him change, then sit on his back and feel him move between her thighs - she didn’t like the thought of him in that position. Could she forget he was a man? It sounded highly erotic. Riding Tivat smacked of unfaithfulness to Charlie.
Tivat placed the rope on the ground with the other supplies she’d brought-provisions stolen from Kerreleigh and, upon reflection, inadequate for two people for half a week.
“It’s what I do,” he said, shrugging. “Shape-shift.”
“But doesn’t it hurt?” Visions of Star Trek and the transporter room came to mind. Rearranging his body into another form might smart a bit.
He smiled. “That’s the beauty of the plan. I don’t feel it. However, switching back and forth takes energy. Once I’m in horse form, I’ll only change back at night, when we rest.”
“Or if there’s danger,” she added.
“I might be able to defend you better as a stallion.”
A stallion? Jane gulped. She did not want to think of mares and stallions, full moons and hot summer nights. Better to consider him Mr Ed or John Wayne’s horse in the Western of your choice, or a painted pony on a carousel.
Jane reminded herself that she carried Charlie’s baby. Once she established its heritage, a task that could only be carried out in Shallen, she’d tell Charlie. Then she could write the happily-ever-after part of her story.
After she defeated Blacwin. The last hurdle. She sighed and looked at Tivat. “Do what you need to. You’re the guide.”
Tivat nodded. To her astonishment, he pulled off his shirt.
“Hey, wait a minute, elf-man. What the heck do you think you’re doing?” Jane backed away, alarmed.
He stopped, his hands at his waistband. “My clothes don’t change with my body,” he said matter-of-factly, as if they might be discussing the weather.
”Riight. The Incredible Hulk effect. I hope you don’t mind if I turn my back.” I only want to see one elf naked. Charlie. 
Tivat shrugged. “As you wish.” He tugged at his pants.
Jane swiveled around and kept her gaze fixed on a distant tree. A few moments later she felt a change in the air pressure. She tentatively turned her head. A magnificent roan stallion stared back at her.
She blew out a breath. “Okaay.” Gathering her common sense, she loaded the bags that contained their supplies onto Tivat’s back. She mounted the animal and grabbed a handful of mane, adjusting to the sensation of him under her. With the feeling that this was a major mistake, she nudged him in the ribs. They took off through the Isleighah Forest.

Charlie spotted her late the next evening as the western clouds turned lavender and shadows dug deeper into the woods. Finding her had been easy: the sensation in his wings followed her in the forest, mountains and plains. He’d have caught up with her sooner - by his reckoning, he’d left Kerreleigh three hours after her escape - but flying took unexpected energy. His short adventure the week before hadn’t prepared him for an extended flight, and he’d stopped several times to rest.
He landed in a clearing several yards in front of her, the waning sun at his back casting a long shadow. Emphasizing the effect, he spread his wings to their full length. He hoped it made him appear large, looming and angry.
Jane’s horse halted of its own accord a few feet from him. She shaded her eyes before speaking.
“Charlie. I wondered when you’d show up.” She sounded slightly out of breath.
He strode to her. The horse sidestepped away. “I thought I’d drop in and see what trouble you’re causing.” He wanted to throttle her.
”I’m on my way to Malik.” Defiance thickened her voice.
“You have no idea the danger you’re in.” He grabbed at her horse’s mane to keep it from moving. It tossed its head, glaring at him through green eyes. Green eyes? “What’s going on here?” He indicated the animal.
“I asked John to be my guide.”
“John? John Tivat?” He almost choked on the words. He figured Eagar had been wrong, that Tivat would have left her at the first opportunity.
He pulled her off the horse’s back and hauled her, kicking and spitting, to the edge of the clearing.
“You don’t know what’s been happening in the background, what Eagar’s been up to -,” he rasped.
Her hands immobilized, she kicked him in the knee. “I’m trying to find out. No doubt Eagar is in the thick of things.”
Charlie ignored the pain and tightened his grip. “Tivat is in this as well.”
“You don’t think I know? We’re using each other.”
He followed her glance to Tivat, who’d shifted back and stood nude in the dim light.
“Put some clothes on,” Charlie snapped at the naked elf. The other man rummaged in a knapsack for clothing. Charlie garnered slight satisfaction in the fact that Jane only glanced briefly at Tivat.
“I’m going to Malik,” she repeated. “I don’t care if Eagar, Tivat or Bozo the Clown is involved. Everything will be solved at Shallen.”
Where had he heard those words before? Oh, right, from Eagar’s mouth. Did she know the steward’s part in this?
“Jane -”
She jerked free and stood rubbing her wrists. “Don’t try to stop me,” she warned. She strode to Tivat and snatched the knapsack from his feet. Glaring at Charlie, she took off.
He let her go. She’d be easy enough to find again. But first he had to deal with Tivat.
“Wait,” Tivat said as Charlie reached him. “Something’s wrong.”
“You bet there is,” Charlie replied, enraged.
“No.” Tivat stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “Can’t you feel it?” He stood still, as if sensing a shift in the wind.
Coward, Charlie thought. But as he cocked his fist back to hit the other elf, a warning pain shot from one wing to another. A familiar rush of air pressure made him turn his head toward the path. Then Jane screamed.
The portal! 
“Damn you,” he cried, and swung at Tivat. His fist connected with the elf’s jaw, and Tivat reeled back. “Did you bring her here on purpose? To let her go back to Earth?”
Tivat put out a restraining hand. “No, I swear.”
Anger and fear pummeled Charlie. “I’m not going to let her go.” Already he felt it too late to stop her. “Give me your shirt.” He wore the jouroke and his wings needed to be covered on Earth.
Tivat whipped off his shirt and tossed it to him. Charlie jerked it on, swimming in the extra fabric.
“It’s not the portal to Earth,” Tivat said.
“What?” Charlie stopped, an icy dread possessing him.
“The portal I used with Marion is over twenty miles from here. Can’t you feel the difference?”
Yes, it had an unfamiliar resonance to it. But random portals? There’d been rumors of them for years. It didn’t matter to Charlie. He’d go wherever he needed to find Jane.
“We’re wasting time,” he shouted. He ran and stepped into the portal.

White mist curled around Jane, disorienting her. She’d taken one last look at Charlie, then unintentionally run smack dab into it. Three steps in and she didn’t know east from west, night from day.
This isn’t right. She stopped, stretching her hand before her. The fog hid her fingers from view. Snatching them closer, she swung around, her heart hammering. Which way is out? 
Charlie! All her bravado at making the journey alone deserted her. The milky air undulated around her, like amorphous tentacles, waving, stretching closer. She took another step and felt something against her cheek, like a cold caress. A scream left her, instantly swallowed by the night.
Groping for a tree or bush, anything to anchor her to Lowth, she felt nothing but the ground beneath her feet. Then the tips of her ears tingled. Without being told, she recognized it as a sign of danger. And knew its source.
The portal! 
No! her mind screamed. I don’t want to go back! 
She swiveled, unsure which way would return her to Lowth. It all looked the same. Then, in the distance, she saw the bobbing of a pale yellow light. Not a white, artificial light that Earth would host, but a warm glow. A fire?
Thinking Charlie had lit a torch, Jane hurried toward it.
And fell right into the middle of a goblin camp.

The goblins surrounded Charlie before he had a chance to escape. They leapt on him when he burst through the portal, tackling him to the ground. Within moments, a rough rope bound his hands and feet, and a gag cut off his words.
Light from the full moons and the goblins’ torches illuminated pale green faces. Hauling him upright, slight frames belying their strength, they carried him into the center of the camp. Without ceremony, he was dumped on the ground near a large fire.
Charlie twisted, seeking the leader. Though they’d never met, he knew of Wo’mmarph’s reputation. Fearless Wo’mmarph had taken control of the nomadic goblins when the Dymynsh began decimating their numbers. By sheer guts and determination, he’d kept them alive. Even if it meant theft, raiding parties, and, more recently, the death of innocents.
After several minutes, Wo’mmarph made his appearance. Bright feathers tied to long braids distinguished him as leader. His clothes, simple homespun and tanned animal skins, mirrored those of the others. He circled the fire once before he stopped in front of Charlie.
“Welcome, Whelphite,” the chief said in a low, guttural voice, his words thickly accented.
Charlie growled in the back of his throat. He’d been stupid to run through the portal without thought of what lay on the other side. Earthlings or goblins, he should have prepared better, but his thoughts had centered only on Jane. They still did. Nothing he’d seen or heard indicated her whereabouts. He had no idea what had happened to her. His telepathic inquiries were not returned.
“You arrive before expected,” Wo’mmarph continued. His eyes, typical of his race, bulged like a frog’s. “We did not know if the portal found you or not.”
Found him? The portal had looked for him? Charlie reeled at this new information. Did it think on its own, or did others control it? The goblins? Blacwin? After learning of Eagar’s schemes, Charlie didn’t think he could be surprised anymore. He’d miscalculated.
“You save us time,” the goblin leader said. He waved expansively. “Shallen lies close. Tomorrow you go there.”
Wonderful, Charlie thought. Wo’mmarph’s comment worried him. It proved an alliance with Blacwin - news Charlie did not want to hear. He’d expected to meet the wizard, but on more equal terms, not as a prisoner.
The goblin threw a blanket in Charlie’s direction.
“Sleep, Whelphite,” he said. “Much happens soon.”

“Get up,” a rough voice ordered.
Jane groaned and turned over, her body protesting the movement. Why did she ever agree to horseback riding with Tivat? Certain parts of her anatomy ached more than she’d thought possible. Her head as well, she realized. What had they put in her drink before she fell asleep?
At the thought of alcohol and her pregnancy, Jane struggled to sit up, a difficult task as ropes bound her wrists and ankles. Coarse hands grabbed her and spun her around.
She looked at a goblin much like the dozens that had swarmed around her the night before. Bug-eyed and long-limbed, they had skin that reminded her of a dirty McDonald’s St Patrick’s Day shake. Minty green mud. Except this particular goblin had Irish green eyes.
“Tivat?” she said with hesitation.
“Shh.” He held an elongated finger against thin lips.
“Wow, you morphed into a goblin,” she said in amazement.
“Except the eyes - I can never get them right.” He crouched next to her. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
“Charlie?” Her voice broke. “What about Charlie?” She hadn’t heard from him, and it worried her.
Tivat shook his head. “I don’t know. I spent most of the night searching for you.”
Jane looked around. Predawn light showed scores of tents reaching into the distance. Purple mountains hunched over the camp. The faintest smell of the sea hung in the still air.
“We lie an hour from Shallen.” Tivat answered her unspoken question. “I fear we underestimated our enemy.”
Jane drew in a sharp breath. “Blacwin?”
Tivat nodded. “I heard talk. He’s in league with these goblins.”
She tugged against her bonds. “You have to get me out of here. I need to find Charlie.”
His expression of grim negativity frightened her. “Dawn comes,” he said. “Too many eyes will see. We must wait until tonight.”
Panic crawled under her skin. More time spent with her captors wasn’t on the top of her list. She’d been lucky yesterday. Several times she’d heard them call her “elf.” What if they learned of their mistake and found out she came from Earth? Had Blacwin put a price on her head?
“They’ll see us tonight, with the full moons,” she protested. “Why not go now?”
He placed a hand on her arm. “It’s too risky.”
“Tivat -”
“Do you want to meet Blacwin as a prisoner?” he rasped.
“No, of course not.”
“Then you must wait.” He rose.
Jane clutched at his leg with her tied hands. “No, you can’t go.”
He looked her in the eyes. Conflicting emotions clouded his own. “I can’t stay. I’m goblin now and must blend in.”
“You’ll come back?” Her voice cracked. She wanted to spill her guts about being the future Queen of Malin, to throw a royal command his way, but first she had to prove her claim.
Tivat nodded. “At full dark.” Abruptly, he moved away.
Jane noticed two other goblins walking toward them.
“How will I know you?” she croaked. “I haven’t been too friendly with these guys. I don’t want to punch you by mistake.” At his hesitation she added, “You all look and sound alike in the dark.”
“You’ll know me,” he said, his gaze on the two who had stopped. They were engaged in a heated debate.
Probably about me , she decided. To see who gets the first round. She didn’t want to think about what the activity would be.
”Wait, Tivat.” She wanted to delay his departure as long as possible. “Let me give you a password to use.”
“Password?”
“You have them at Sylthia. Charlie told me.”
“Yes, yes.” He glanced at the two goblins, anxiousness in his body language. “What do you want me to say?”
What did she want him to say? She thought furtively.
Tivat took a step.
“The crow flies at midnight,” she blurted.
“The crow ...” Amusement tugged at his mouth.
“Flies at midnight,” she finished. The two goblins had finished their argument and continued their journey toward her. “Remember,” she cried to Tivat.

Charlie realized they’d drugged him. After Wo’mmarph had left, someone had given him charred meat and bitter ale - heavily laced with dalc cone, his pounding head testified. The drug was most effective if injected, but stirred into a drink it could lead to unconsciousness.
The angle of the sun and the blue skies overhead told Charlie he’d slept through most of the morning. A gentle rocking motion indicated a journey by boat. Probably across Lake Shallen, a large inland body of water that surrounded the city.
It’s come to this. Trussed up like a bird, his wings useless beneath Tivat’s shirt, he had no means of escape.
Jane is lost to me, he thought in despair.
One of the goblins rowing the boat noticed Charlie’s wakefulness. He muttered something in his own language. The others laughed, glancing at him in cruel amusement. He felt a sharp prick on his arm, and the sun exploded in his head.

“The crow flies at midnight.”
The amused whisper roused Jane from a light doze. Hyperalert all day against possible trouble from the goblins, she’d lain down after supper. She fully intended to stay awake, but exhaustion claimed her.
“The deer run in the meadow,” Tivat improvised, his breath in her ear. She felt his hands at her bonds. “The midsummer moons come but once a year, and the babies are born in the spring.”
For a moment, Jane thought he referred to her baby. Then she remembered Charlie telling her that most of the village women conceived during midsummer festivities.
“Very funny,” she said. “How did you get past the guards?” Those two had hung around her all day.
“This.” Tivat held up something. A knife. It glinted in the moonlight that escaped into her tent.
Jane felt the pressure on her wrists lessen. The rope slipped away. She rubbed the circulation back while he took care of the binding around her ankles.
Two dark lumps lay in the corner of the tent. Definitely goblin-sized. Definitely dead. Her guards, Mork and Dork. She’d seen nasty things on this journey, even death. Reality slammed into her.
“Tivat?” she said, her voice shaking.
He held her gaze, the hard flint in his eyes underlining the necessity of his actions and her continued peril. Slowly, she nodded. She’d asked him to be her guide, right? That role included protector and whatever it took to keep her alive.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, breaking eye contact. He pulled a small bundle out of the backpack that had been taken from her the previous day.
Hunger shoved aside all other emotions. Jane snatched it from his hands. It smelled of roast beef. The dried-out leather she’d been fed earlier wasn’t fit to be made into shoes.
“A Double Whammy burger,” she cried at the sight of meat wrapped in soft bread. She bit into it eagerly.
Tivat sat back on his haunches and watched her devour the sandwich. “I like a woman with a healthy appetite.”
She shot him a killing glance. He apparently could be a chauvinist pig at times. Unfortunately, she needed him to get to Shallen.
“Did you find Charlie?” she asked between bites.
He hesitated long enough for her to grow suspicious.
“What?” she asked.
“Jane, they took him to Shallen earlier today.”
“He’s still alive?”
Tivat nodded.
“Good. We’ll get him back. I wonder why I can’t hear him.” She’d told Tivat of her psychic abilities the day they’d started this journey.
“That, I don’t know. Something must interfere.”
“Or someone. Does Blacwin have that kind of power?”
Tivat’s hand closed around her wrist. “An in-depth discussion we can have another time. Right now we have to leave.” He tossed her a bundle of clothes. “Put these on.”
Jane recognized the homespun cloth the goblins wore. “You’re kidding, right?”
Tivat released her. “The watch doesn’t change for two hours. Eyebrows will not be raised if your guards disappear into your tent until then.”
The implication was clear. Jane swallowed hard.
“Despite the moons’ light,” Tivat continued, “it’s still dark out. If we’re very lucky, I can get you out of camp.”
“You don’t have a cloak of invisibility on you?”
His gaze bored into her. “This is no time for jokes. Change.”
“Turn your back,” she said sullenly. She’d glimpsed him naked and didn’t want the favor returned. As quickly as possible, she donned the coarse garments, rolling up her own and stuffing them into the knapsack.
“I’m ready,” she said.
Tivat did not move.
”What?” she asked, alarmed. His hesitation seemed out of character. “John, what’s wrong?”
He glanced away. “I have bad news.”
Jane’s heart froze. “Charlie?” she gasped.
Tivat shook his head. “Something we didn’t anticipate.”
“Tell me.”
“The portal,” he began.
“Which one? Door number one or door number two?” His hesitation exasperated her.
“The one to Earth.”
Earth. She tried to think of a threat that might come from there, but it had been so long since she’d been home. Sharks? Killer bees? The Sopranos? 
“Tell me.” Portals, wormholes, parallel worlds. Carl Sagan had told her there’d be days like this.
“Jane, someone followed your mother and me. He’s here, being held prisoner in another area of the camp.”
She grabbed at his fur vest. “John, you’re making me angry. I’m not pretty when I’m mad.” She gave him a slight shake. “I killed you once, I can do it again. Who’s here?”
“Your brother Kevin.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine
Charlie lay on a plain cot, his hands bound, his head aching from the aftereffects of the dalc cone injection. He couldn’t tell the time or how long he’d been unconscious. A candle stuck in a wall sconce flickered in the windowless room.
Something creaked to his left. He turned his head. The door swung open, admitting two figures. Not goblins, he noticed from their silhouettes. One was tall, erect. The other was small, warped and gnarled.
Blacwin and his henchman.
They can do what they want with me, as long as Jane is safe. 
“Whelphite,” Blacwin said, his voice deceptively soft. “You come too early. We did not expect you until tomorrow.”
“I took a shortcut,” Charlie replied.
“Ah, yes, the portal. It catches all types of strays.” He flicked at his dark cloak. “Too bad it has a mind of its own and we cannot control it. It would save time if we could have all the players in place.”
His words heartened Charlie. If they didn’t have everyone yet, then hope remained for Jane.
Blacwin circled, and Charlie got his first glimpse of the wizard’s face. A long-healed scar ran from jaw to forehead. A black patch covered his left eye.
“We must wait for the Earthling,” Blacwin continued, his thick eyebrows wagging. “Do not fear, Tivat will bring her.”
That’s what you think. How had Jane escaped capture? She’d run straight into the goblin camp, and her luck wasn’t that good. Unless Tivat had found her. Jealousy grated at Charlie’s nerves. He hated relying on the elf for Jane’s safety, especially when the result would be the same. She’d stand in front of Blacwin and receive her fate.
“Leave her alone.” Anger spurred Charlie. He launched himself at the wizard, but a heavy blow to the stomach knocked him onto the cot. For the first time, he got a good look at the henchman who’d hit him.
The dwarf stood no more than four feet tall, but was built as solidly as a stump. Powerful arms hung at his side, great hams of fists curled at the ready. A cruel pleasure warped his darkened features.
“My assistant, Dave,” the wizard said in introduction.
Charlie and Dave the Dwarf glared at each other.
“We have quite the reception ready for the Earthwoman,” Blacwin continued. “She is the center of a long, complicated plan. As are you.”
“Why here?” Charlie snarled between clenched teeth. “Why bring us to Shallen? We were more vulnerable on the trail.” He thought of several times during the journey when they’d been easy prey.
The wizard looked shocked. “Obviously they do not teach half-breeds the history of Lowth. Shallen is the ancient seat of power. If we are to change the world, it is most effective if it’s done here.”
Half-breed. The term rankled Charlie.
“Whelphite,” he corrected, proud of his heritage for the first time in his life. He came from admirable stock on both sides. “The elves of Sylthia taught me well.” Without preamble, he threw himself again at the wizard.
Blacwin sidestepped the attack and snapped his fingers. “Dave, take care of him. Keep him sedated until we’re ready.”
The henchman’s muscular arms bent Charlie to the ground. He felt the now-familiar prick of dalc cone. Blacwin’s face swirled before him, and then there was nothing.

A thousand questions assailed Jane. Kevin here? Why? 
“Is he okay?” she blurted. Her mind filled with demonic tortures the goblins might perform on him.
“He’s fine. Confused, but in good health,” Tivat assured her.
“Confused?” She felt the same way. How had Kevin got onto Lowth?
“He doesn’t understand where he is or what’s happened.”
“You’ve talked to him?” Jane tightened her hold on Tivat’s vest. “You knew he was here and you didn’t tell me?”
Tivat shook his head. “I found out this afternoon, patrolling the camp borders. We didn’t talk.”
“Then how do you know?” The two dead guards on the ground, the hundreds outside and a brother that needed rescuing frayed Jane’s nerves. She longed to flee.
“Ashara,” Tivat said, his mouth lined in disapproval.
“Who?”
“Ashara Visance. An old comrade of mine.”
The way he said the name led Jane to believe they’d been more than comrades. But were no longer on the best terms.
“She found him in the Andair Forest, close to where your mother and I appeared from Earth. He must have followed us.”
“Then we have to get him out.” Jane stood and flung on her backpack. A glance at Tivat showed his dislike of the idea.
”Don’t even think about refusing,” she warned, shaking a finger in his face. “We’re not leaving my brother to these creatures.” She gestured to the dead guards, expecting their replacements to burst in at any moment.
“Jane ...” Tivat warned.
“No is not an option, John.” She pointed toward the tent opening. “See if the coast is clear.”
As they moved around, she saw the vastness of the camp. From her view earlier in the day, she’d counted eighty-seven tents. For a people exterminated by the Dymynsh, they had a heck of a remaining population. Upward of a thousand goblins must have survived. Fortunately, most of them slept. Only a few patrolled the perimeter.
Tivat produced a scarf and Jane settled it over her hair. She supposed, to someone with very bad eyesight or on their way to a hangover, she might look like a goblin.
“Why are you skulking around?” Tivat asked as they negotiated between tents.
Jane skipped to keep up with his long strides. She looked furtively to each side. “Skulking? Am I? Why aren’t we hiding behind things?”
He chuckled. “The best place to hide is in the open. We’re just a couple out for a stroll.” To emphasize his point, he put an arm around her and drew her close. “Don’t struggle,” he said under his breath as she instinctively pulled away. “Your life depends on this.”
Right, sure. At any other time, she’d cuddle with a green goblin and play smoochy-face. Tonight didn’t fit the bill, especially with Tivat as a goblin and Charlie’s jealousy being a mile wide. Even if he had been taken to Shallen. To lie in a dank, dark dungeon. Chained to a wall. Eating weevil-filled gruel and stale water. Open sores on his back. His wings shredded and useless.
“Stop,” she cried, afraid of where her thoughts drifted.
The goblin at her side did so. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Jane shook her head. “Nothing, nothing to do with you, Tivat. I’m being a paranoid, freaked-out idiot.”
He took her hand in his, a comforting gesture. “We’re almost there.” He pulled out a folded piece of paper and scrutinized it in the moonlight.
“What is it?” she asked.
He smiled. “Blacwin’s orders to bring the prisoners to Shallen. It seems there’s been a mistake. All this time, the goblins should have been looking for an Earthman, not an Earthwoman.”
Smart. She liked Tivat more and more.
“Clever,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”
He moved a step away. “Stay here.” At her protest, he said in hushed tones, “I mean it, Jane. I can’t have this reunion with your brother attract attention. You’ll have time later to squeal over each other and trade stories.”
Not fair. She wanted to pout. But Tivat had been a criminal far longer than she; he knew the way to deceive the enemy. Maybe she could learn from him.
“Okay,” she acquiesced. “Don’t take too long.”
He held up his hand and mouthed, “Five minutes.” A moment later, he turned to a small fire burning in front of a tent separated from the rest.
The negotiations took longer than he’d said. Jane hopped from one foot to another impatiently while trying to look unconcerned to any onlookers. None took notice.
Finally, Tivat left the three guards and headed her way. He carried a rope tied to two figures. Kevin and the woman, Ashara. They stumbled as they walked.
“Drugged,” Tivat whispered. He looked around, senses on alert. The guards still watched them. “Don’t say anything,” he warned.
Jane pulled back the hand outstretched to Kevin, words of welcome dying on her lips. Instead, she tugged the scarf farther down and shuffled behind Tivat.
They made slow but steady progress. After ten minutes or so, Jane heard the lapping of water-the nearby Lake Shallen. Tivat had briefed her that they’d use a boat to leave.
A breeze blew off the water as they descended to the beach. It whipped the scarf off Jane’s head. At the same time, Rest, the brighter of the two moons, leapt from behind a cloud. A spotlight couldn’t have been more damaging.
Jane chased after her scarf, the wind playing cat and mouse. She tripped over a root and sprawled in the dewy grass. As Tivat helped her up, she heard a voice from someone she’d long thought dead.
“My Queen, my Queen!” he shouted.
Capp’ear! 
Stunned, Jane clutched Tivat, panic and revulsion battling to empty her stomach.
“He’s dead,” she cried.
“Apparently not.” Tivat hefted her to her feet. Together, they swung toward the incessant bleating of her former captor.
“My Queen.”
Capp’ear stood at the top of the hill, waving bound hands, his shackled legs moving six inches at a time toward her.
“Could he be any more obvious?” Jane asked.
“We’ll discuss it later.” Tivat propelled her forward until they reached the lakeshore. “Damn,” he swore. “The boat’s anchored west of here. We won’t make it in time.”
Events accelerated. Curious about the noise, goblins poked their heads up. Capp’ear’s guards chased after him. Kevin, in the worst timing of his life, emerged from his drug-induced stupor and recognized Jane. Ashara did the same with Tivat, a dozen profanities spewing from her mouth. The moons blazed.
“Get out of here!” Tivat shouted. He pushed Jane away while trying to wrangle the other two in the direction of escape.
She dug her heels into the soft mud of the lakeshore. “I’m not leaving without Kevin.”
“He won’t be any worse off than before. The plan depends on you, Jane, no one else.” The appeal in his green eyes almost changed her mind.
God, why did he have to be so right? The plan. Always the plan. Leave her brother or save the world? Who made up these sucky rules, anyway?
Lowth doesn’t make mistakes. Neither does the portal. If Kevin was here, it was for a reason.
She shook her head. “No dice,” she told Tivat. “It’s all for one and one for all.”
“Stubborn Earthwoman,” he said, reminiscent of Charlie. He sliced through the bonds holding her brother and Ashara.
A nearby shriek stopped further argument. A goblin had Capp’ear in a choke hold. Another pushed past him, his liver-brown gaze locked on Jane.
A blade gleamed in the moonlight.
Always a knife, she thought.
“My Queen,” Capp’ear cried. He escaped from the first guard and pulled down the second.
He never had a chance. A brief struggle ensued. Both goblins attacked Capp’ear. The knife plunged into him twice, in the soft tissue of his stomach. He screamed and collapsed.
The guards, breathing heavily, stood over him. Then, wiping the blood from the knife, they looked at her.
Tivat broke the tableau. He grabbed her arm and shoved her into the water.
“Can you swim?” he asked.
As if it mattered at this point. Shock at Capp’ear’s death ran through her. “Why?”
“Because goblins can’t.”
Jane plunged into the lake, a dazed Kevin close behind. She blessed all the trips her family had made to Lake Michigan in the summertime. She and Kevin could both swim like fish.
“Where the hell are we?” her brother asked, more alert.
“Lowth,” she said with affection. Disgruntled goblins gathered on the shore, watching them swim away. “Remind me to tell you about it sometime.”

They found the boat and boarded. She had a small sail, miraculously dark against the night sky. The moons popped behind convenient clouds, and the small group sailed to the other side of the lake. The goblins, in their bulkier rowboats, couldn’t catch them.
It took three hours to reach their destination. The city of Shallen, the heart of Malik, rose from the lake’s center, dimly outlined.
Against Jane’s protests, Tivat shifted back into his elf form, naked again. The goblin clothes being too tight, he wrapped the scarf she’d worn around his middle, loincloth-fashion.
Her opinion of his resourcefulness had grown. They’d be dead if he hadn’t taken charge.
Ashara didn’t share Jane’s opinion. Instead of being thankful she’d been rescued, she spent most of the trip alternately arguing with or ignoring Tivat.
Definite history between them, Jane thought. She turned her attention to Kevin, overwhelmed to have him back.
“You don’t know how good it is to talk to someone,” he said. “It’s been gobbledygook since I landed in this place. Where are we?”
Summarizing her adventures as best she could, Jane told him the events of the past seven weeks. Aware of the other two in the boat, she gave him an edited version of why she needed to go to Shallen, leaving out the royal heritage, I’m-going-to-have-a-baby stuff.
Kevin shook his head. “Unbelievable. Or at least it was at one time. Since I’ve been here, I’ve seen things I thought impossible.”
“How did you get here? And when?” She’d been dying to ask him since she’d heard of his arrival in Lowth.
“Through the magical portal of Oz, how else? I thought he” - Kevin indicated Tivat - “was after Mom’s money. She acted so strange after you disappeared. Not grieving-strange. Weird-strange. Then I found out John Tivat was living with her. A man twenty years younger, who made trips with her to Galyans and Gander Mountain.” He leaned against the side of the boat. “I followed them one night. They carried enough camping gear to make LL Bean proud. The next thing I knew, I was in a forest. And captive of Her Highness.”
“Her Highness?” Jane looked at Ashara. The elf woman intimidated her. She stood over six feet tall, with long, flowing red hair and violet eyes, and dressed as a woodland goddess. The clothes she wore would have scandalized someone on Earth, let alone here on the more prudent Lowth. A fawn-colored top exposed one shoulder and her midriff and complemented a leather miniskirt in the same hue. Her legs stretched forever.
“She’s strong enough to whip your ass,” Kevin said. “A definite Bowflex woman. I didn’t understand a word she said when we met. We communicated with sign language. As soon as she found I’d come after Tivat, she had me hogtied and helpless. Seems she’s not too fond of him.”
“Yeah, no kidding. When did the goblins get you?” The wind, a nice steady breeze against their sail, tangled Jane’s hair. She pushed it from her eyes.
Kevin looked at the sky. Dawn crept closer. Rest hovered near the western horizon. “Four days ago. Boy, was she pissed. I think she killed six or seven of them before they threw a rope around her. They brought us to the camp yesterday. I got the impression we’d be moving out soon. Probably to this Shallen place -” He stopped and stared at her. “Hey, you’ve got pointy ears.”
Jane sighed. She laid a hand on her brother’s arm. “Yeah, there’s a story that goes with that.”
She told it to him later, after they’d landed the boat and taken refuge in a series of caves on the northern shore of the lake. Tivat and Kevin pulled the vessel into a heavy stand of trees and obliterated any trace of its passage up the sands.
“You’ve been busy,” Kevin exclaimed, settling on the cool floor of one of the caves. “I can’t believe Mom married an elf and lived here for three years.” He shook his head.
“If things work out, I’ll marry Charlie and live here,” Jane said, keeping her voice low. Tivat kept watch outside; Ashara slept in an adjoining cavern. They wouldn’t move again until evening, at storm-the-castle o’clock.
“How are you doing?” she asked, distracting herself from thoughts of Charlie and why she hadn’t heard from him.
Kevin took her hand, as if sensing her turmoil. They’d always been close; at times it seemed as if they read each other’s mind.
“I’m hanging in there,” he said. “It would be better if I understood what everyone said.”
Jane pulled away, a small “oh” escaping. “I can help,” she said, smiling. She felt inordinately pleased.
Crossing to her backpack, she rummaged in its depths. She’d seen something earlier when she’d pulled out her regular clothes and changed from the goblin disguise.
“Here,” she cried in triumph. She held up a stitchtree thorn she’d stolen from Isleighah’s dispensary. “Charlie gave me an injection of this when I first arrived. It’s an anesthetic and will knock you out,” she warned. “But when you wake, you’ll understand Elven.”
Kevin turned it over. “How does it work?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Magic. It’s made by elves.”
”Baked by little ‘uns in a hollow tree?” Kevin joked.
Jane hugged him. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
He looked embarrassed by her affection. “You need someone to keep you laughing.” He held out his arm. “Shoot me up, elf-maiden.”

“So what’s the plan?” Jane asked Tivat as they left the caves later. She didn’t feel adventuresome. The hot weather had made sleeping difficult. A storm brewed in the west, kicking up a breeze, stirring dust in miniature whirlwinds.
“We head south,” he replied. Lines of fatigue darkened his eyes. Jane and Ashara had taken second and third watch, sparing Kevin, but Tivat had rested little.
“For how long? You know I have to see Anjinaine before Blacwin.” She worried about the time crunch - find a way into the castle, locate Bryant’s older sister and establish if he had royal blood from Rodom, the last ruler of Malik. Plus they had to free Charlie and confront the wizard. All while avoiding detection from goblins and any other goons.
“I’m aware of your schedule.” He sounded testy. “We’ll be there in an hour, provided the wind holds steady.” So far, luck had been with them; a stiff breeze blew at their backs.
Jane hadn’t given much thought to his feelings. “What will you do when we’re through?” she asked, curious as to his plans.
“It depends on how this works out.”
“If it doesn’t?” She had serious doubts. The closer they got to Shallen, the more nervous she became. Her constant fear for Charlie hung over everything. Their telepathic communication sometimes misfired, but she’d never gone this long without hearing from him. Especially as they both faced danger.
Tivat shrugged at her question. “Then I go home.”
Home? “But aren’t you still a criminal? Stealing sheep or something?” He’d fled to Earth to avoid trial.
He looked uncomfortable. “Yes, well, I’d sneak in, of course. Visit my family, then take off. Maybe travel to Mystgalen, to the east. Ashara’s originally from there.”
Jane didn’t answer. Something was rotten in Denmark. He’d been too anxious to accept her offer to leave Isleighah. A man with his capabilities didn’t need help. Before she could investigate more, Kevin piped up from the back of the boat.
“What exactly is the plan?” he asked, looking slightly green from the motion of the small vessel.
The wind raised whitecaps on the lake. The sky, a pinkish blue, outlined the city of Shallen rising from the water. Instead of a traditional castle like Sylthia, it consisted of hundreds of individual structures, similar in appearance - thin, rectangular buildings, three to six stories tall. Each had a light on top, giving the impression of a miniature city. It reminded Jane so much of Earth that she wanted to cry.
“All the buildings connect under the lake,” Tivat replied. “What you see is but a small portion of the city. We’ll enter through the north windmill and take an abandoned tunnel.”
“Won’t it be occupied?” Jane asked, remembering the importance of the mills at Sylthia.
“No.” Tivat shook his head. “A couple of years ago, Blacwin cast a charm on the natural springs that feed the lake. They all flow in the same direction, powering a central waterwheel beneath the surface. Gears and shaft were built from it, giving power to everyone. The windmills were awarded to their keepers. The owner of the one to the north died two months ago. It hasn’t been lived in since then.”
Jane narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “You seem to know a lot for a common thief.”
He smiled at her, a high voltage, Tom Cruise-Mel Gibson I’m-so-cute-look-at-me smile. “I get around.”
She didn’t say any more, but stewed over the conversation. Something Charlie said came back to her. “Tivat is in this as well. “ Was he more than a common thief?
They reached the windmill as the last light faded from the sky. Kevin and Tivat unmasted the boat and pulled the vessel into the living quarters. A few minutes later, Tivat opened a trap door that led to the tunnel.
The four exchanged glances.
“Well?” Jane asked at their hesitation. “Are we in this to win, or to not lose?”
“I, for one, signed on to win,” Ashara said, her red hair blowing around her.
Kevin nodded.
Jane looked at the last holdout.
Tivat smiled. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Thirty
Through chance or Tivat’s design, the stone tunnel emptied near a storeroom. Ashara popped the lock with little trouble and the group helped themselves to the clothing they found.
“It’s old,” Tivat said, holding up a pair of trousers to his waist. “At least it’s not moth-eaten.”
They all changed, a hat plopped on Kevin’s head to hide his non-pointed ears. The cloth felt coarse against Jane’s skin, quite unlike the finer weave she’d received from the fairies.
“We separate now,” Tivat said when they’d finished.
“What?” Shock ran through Jane. “No, we’re in this together. We don’t break up.”
“Jane,” he said in an all too condescending way. “Think of what we have to do tonight. Provided we find Bryant’s sister, we have to free Charlie and confront Blacwin. And still not get caught. The odds are better if we split up.”
“He’s right.” Kevin came to the defense of the elf. “Didn’t you say we’re a three-day journey from Isleighah? From your description, I’m sure this Eagar fellow left as soon as he discovered your escape. He’ll be here sometime tomorrow. Do you want to risk the chance of him turning up early?”
Eagar. Jane had forgotten about him. How many things could she keep in her head? She hated to cave to the logic of Kevin’s argument, but she had to look at the big picture.
“All right,” she conceded. “We’d better get started.” The enthusiasm she felt when they’d entered the tunnel faded.
“Good.” Tivat nodded. “Ashara and Kevin will look for Charlie -”
Jane’s head snapped up. “Now wait a minute. They don’t even know what he looks -”
“How many Whelphites are being held prisoner?” Ashara asked. “If he’s here, I’ll find him.” Grabbing Kevin’s hand, she pulled him along the corridor.
Jane turned to Tivat. He shrugged and said, “Now is the time to practice your skulking skills.”

If she didn’t know any better, Jane could have sworn that the elf knew exactly where he was going. He didn’t hesitate over which passageway to take, but zigged and zagged for miles. Finally Jane smelled fresh air ahead.
“Quiet now,” Tivat warned, as if she hadn’t been silent the entire time.
He pushed open a wooden door and cautiously peered out. Satisfied the coast was clear, he motioned for her to join him on a stone walkway. Buildings rose on both sides, bridges connecting several of them. Lights hung from poles softly illuminated the night.
She glanced around. No one was in sight.
“How do you know where she lives?” she whispered.
“I get around,” he repeated.
She swallowed her nervousness. “John, who are you?”
He continued his surveillance. “Why do you ask?”
“Lots of reasons.”
He cocked his head as if hearing something. After a moment, he turned to her. “Jane, greater forces than you or I control things. You’ll have to wait for the answers.”
“Yes, but will I be alive to hear them?”
He ignored her. “This way,” he said, taking her hand.
The supposed dwelling of her namesake, Anjinaine, lay a block down the lane. They skulked in and out of doorways until they reached one that met Tivat’s satisfaction. With a nod to Jane, he rapped on the wood.
An eternity passed in which they stood, risking exposure. Finally a woman’s voice called from the other side, “Who’s there?”
Tivat whispered, “We bring a message from Bryant of Malik.”
A lock unlatched. A woman peered at Tivat, her mouth grim. Then she swung her gaze to Jane. And gasped.
“Marion.” The name squeaked from her.
“No, her daughter. And Bryant’s,” Jane added for good measure, revealing the secret she’d kept from Tivat. She’d never told him the reason she needed to see Anjinaine, only that it was imperative before meeting Blacwin.
“By the two moons,” the older elf woman whispered. She swung open the door. Jane and Tivat scurried through.
They entered a cozy room, wood-paneled, with overstuffed chairs and comfortable clutter. A fireplace burned brightly.
“Sit down, sit down.” Anjinaine gestured to the chairs. “Can I get you anything?” She fluttered about.
“Tea would be nice.” Jane felt she needed to give the woman something to do in order to calm her nerves.
Jane and Tivat sat. She took a good look at her aunt as she made their tea. Anjinaine was plump, unlike her lean brother. Grey hair escaped from a bun, and her blue eyes crinkled.
“Why are you in Shallen?” she asked as she poured tea and handed out sugar and milk. “I can’t believe this is a social call. Not that I don’t appreciate the visit, but this one” - she nodded at Tivat - “usually brings trouble with him.”
Jane turned to Tivat. He looked as innocent as a puppy. In a pig’s eye, she thought. As briefly as possible, she told her aunt how she’d landed in Lowth and of her recent adventures.
“Marion’s here?” Anjinaine interrupted. “Then something’s definitely afoot. The portal doesn’t normally act this way.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Jane agreed. She still had trouble thinking of the portal as a living entity, moving on its own, deciding who passed through it and when. “I don’t think Lowth is acting normal, either. In fact, I’m beginning to believe they’re in this together.”
“In what?” Tivat asked, leaning forward.
“In whatever cosmic decisions were made to be sure I came to Shallen.” All of them mind-bogglingly complicated.
“But you were stabbed and almost drowned,” Tivat protested.
“And I probably should have died in both cases. Instead, I kept being shoved in this direction.”
“To meet Blacwin.”
“I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s enough I’m in Shallen.” Jane didn’t mention Charlie’s part in this.
“For what reason?” Anjinaine asked.
“You tell me.”
The woman looked flustered. “How do I fit into this?”
“You’re familiar with Tivat.” Jane shot a glance at him. “Your presence on Earth wasn’t a coincidence, John. Things have been orchestrated behind both our backs.”
“Now, Jane -”
“I’m not a fool,” she lashed out, “or paranoid. Too much has happened.” She turned to the older woman. “I have one question for you, then all the pieces fall into place. Who was Bryant’s family?”
Anjinaine set her cup in its saucer, rattling the china. She spread her hands across her lap and licked her lips. Glancing from one to the other, she said with resignation, “I knew this day would come.”
“And what day is that?” Jane asked gently.
“When the truth about Malik is finally known.”
“Did you think it would be silenced forever?” Jane took the other woman’s hand in hers. “It’s time, Anjinaine. The portal and Lowth and fate say it’s time.”
Her aunt looked her in the eyes, worry crossing her brow. She sighed and nodded. “Yes, you’re right. Where do I begin?”
“How about with how Bryant came to your family?”
“You know, don’t you?”
“I’ve guessed. Tell me, Aunt Anjinaine.”
The “aunt” part did the trick. The woman smiled, her eyes looking away to memories. “My father was a servant of King Rodom’s. During the last great battle with King Garmade, Shallen was under siege. In desperation, Queen Lannami, with my father’s help, smuggled the infant heir out of the city. They took him to our family’s ancient home of Traun.” She paused and drew a shuddering breath. “King Rodom died shortly afterward in battle. Queen Lannami was ambushed on her way back to Shallen. The baby remained with us.”
“Bryant,” Jane breathed, her guess correct.
“Dyonn,” Anjinaine said. “We renamed him.”
“Why not return him to the crown?”
Sadness edged the woman’s eyes. “He was too young. My parents decided to wait until he reached his majority before telling him the truth.”
“But they didn’t.”
“They died when he was in his teens. I’d married by then and lived in the city. By that time, Blacwin had taken over and we were prosperous again. What acceptance would a mere boy receive compared to a wizard?”
“So you said nothing.”
“Bryant grew older and more restless. He started roaming Lowth, then he made his trip to Earth and brought your mother back. After she left, he was bitter. He wanted nothing more to do with life. I thought it best to keep quiet.”
“Why tell me now? You could have lied.”
“I don’t like what Blacwin’s doing. This talk of an alliance with the goblins is upsetting.”
Jane sighed. “Yes, well, I don’t know how all that fits in yet, but I’m sure I’ll find out. Soon.” She stood and brushed her hands across the rough cloth of her pants. “Thank you for your honesty. I’m sorry we can’t stay, but I’ve got a wizard to see and a world to save.” She nudged Tivat, who’d quietly listened to their conversation. “Wake up, John, we’re leaving.”

“Ar! Awake, yon elf.”
Charlie groaned and turned over on the hard pallet, every movement a struggle. His body ached as if he’d been beaten by waves against jagged rocks. His head pounded and his tongue felt twice its normal size. Peering from one eye, he saw Dave the Dwarf standing before him, hands on wide hips.
“What do you want?” Charlie croaked.
“Something you can give me.” The dwarf scratched his nose.
“You’re not getting anything from me.” Gingerly, Charlie sat up. He’d been twisted more than once by the dwarf. Every time he surfaced from the effects of the drugs, Dave injected him again, sending him into unconsciousness.
“Where’s your master?” he taunted, trying to keep the conversation going long enough to clear his head. “I thought you didn’t move or think on your own without the powerful Blacwin to pull your strings.”
“Ar! I’m no man’s puppet.” Dave circled the cot.
“Tell me another story.” Could he take him?
Dave pulled a knife. “I’ve no time for stories.”

“Are you sure we’re supposed to meet them here?” Jane asked Tivat. She poked her head inside the abandoned tavern where they were to rendezvous with Kevin and Ashara. “It looks awfully cloak-and-daggerish.” She sat on one of the unbroken bar stools and looked around. Dust, cobwebs and neglect lay in every corner.
“Oily, oily, oxen free,” she called, cupping her hands.
Tivat clamped his fingers around her arm and jerked her upright. “Fool. Do you want to be heard? We’re not that far from others.”
Jane gulped. “Sorry. I talk too much when I get nervous.”
He glared at her. “Try to control it. We don’t need to get caught at this stage of the game.”
She sat back, afraid to move. Her mind spun with what she’d learned tonight - the confirmation of Bryant’s heritage. Long-lost heir to Malik! Just as Charlie was the heir to Malin. And the child she carried? The culmination of a plot by the land to reunite the two kingdoms. But Lowth could only manipulate events so much. Who was the human factor?
“John, who do you work for?” she asked, chewing on her fingernail.
He turned from his supersleuth surveillance game. “Why do you ask?”
Jane blew out a breath. “Oh, puh-leeze. There have been too many coincidences to deny it. Escape on a night when Charlie was on duty? Stopping in the middle of the road in front of my car? Despite facing criminal charges, you bring my mother back here, and we manage to find each other, out of all the places in Lowth? And when I suggested escaping from Isleighah, you couldn’t wait to leave. Is it life on the lam or paying a debt to society, John? There’s a saying on Earth: ‘You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.’ Why not ‘fess up and tell the truth?”
He studied her for a long moment. “You’re not just fluff and nerves.”
She tilted her head. “And you’re not just a tracker in bunny fur.”
“Obviously. I’m sorry, Jane. I can neither confirm nor deny your suspicions.” He cracked a twig into thirds and arranged them on the bar.
“Oaths and sacred trusts and things like that,” he added, a twinkle in his eyes. He switched gears before she could react. “We can’t wait all night for Ashara. I’ll leave a note.”
“Leave a note? Are you nuts? Someone else might read it.” Jane rose and dusted off her pants. This bar was different from any she’d been in - a wide plank floor, dirt and grime. Three empty kegs sat in the corner. How bad did a society have to get before the people stopped coming to the bars?
“Not all messages are written in Elven,” Tivat said. “Or in words. Where do we go next: Charlie or Blacwin?”
“Charlie,” she said without hesitation. His continued silence gnawed at her.
Tivat nudged one of the wood pieces into a different position. “Okay, message sent. Let’s go.”
Jane gaped at the three pieces on the table. “That’s it? That’s the message?”
“Ashara will know what it says.”
“If she’s still alive,” Jane muttered. She had complete confidence in the Elven warrior, but Kevin was another matter.
“She’s alive,” Tivat said with conviction.
They continued their espionage game, weaving in and out of alleys and doorways. Several times they hid when Tivat heard someone coming. Twice, they returned to the underwater tunnels.
“Do you know where they’re holding him?” Jane asked after they’d traveled for some time. She’d lost all sense of direction.
“I have my suspicions,” Tivat said. He turned the knob on a filthy-looking door in one of the lower channels.
Jane punched him in the arm, her anger burning. “You’ve known all this time where Charlie is? Did you tell Ashara?”
“I don’t do Ashara favors,” he said grimly, resentment bubbling to the surface. “And it’s a suspicion only. Blacwin keeps his prisoners in different locations. We might have to look in all of them.” After checking the other side of the door, he drew Jane into a dimly lit corridor. “We can start here.”
They saw blood in the hallway before they reached the cell. Lots of it. It looked like a true-crime TV show. Jane felt her own blood rush from her head and pool in her gut. She swayed and grabbed at Tivat’s arm.
“I can’t look,” she gasped. Did Charlie lie dead inside?
Tivat propped her against the stone wall. Her legs made of rubber, she slid down and immediately put her head between her knees. I will not faint. I will not faint. 
Tivat left and returned a moment later. He knelt at her side.
Jane forced her head up. “Tell me the truth,” she whispered. “I can take it.”
“He’s gone. No, not dead,” he amended, catching her as she tilted. “Not here.”
“What?” The seeds of hope burrowed into her soul, ready to take root.
“He’s not here, Jane,” Tivat enunciated. “But you should probably see this.” He helped her up.
With his support, she wobbled into the prison cell. A badly wounded dwarf lay crumpled on the floor.
”Ar!” he said, not lifting his head. Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth.
“Where’s Charlie?” Jane asked, holding her hand to her nose. The place reeked of death.
“Gone.” A rasping breath shook the dwarf. He touched the wound on his chest, where a red stain rapidly spread, and gestured to the blood-splattered cell. “No more.”
Dead? 
Everything turned grey. Jane’s head buzzed and sweat beaded on her forehead. A tight cramping centered in her stomach. It pulled feeling from the rest of her body.
“I’m going to be sick,” she cried, hand outstretched, grasping for support.
“Steady,” Tivat said from somewhere in the vicinity of Jupiter. For the second time in minutes, he lowered her to the floor. He joined her, holding her in his arms for comfort.
Jane fought to keep control, tears springing to her eyes. Charlie! The reality of his loss was too much to comprehend. He couldn’t be dead. They hadn’t come this far for Lowth to blindside them now. The dwarf must be wrong.
Drawing a shaky breath, she said, “Where is he? Where’s his body?” There’d been a struggle, but what had happened to Charlie?
“Took him away,” the dwarf wheezed. His eyes glazed over.
Took him away? Numbness settled on Jane as a blanket of winter snow. So many people had died since she’d come to Lowth - Warren and Nare from the village, Randolph the shepherd, not to mention goblins and sandobbles. Poor Capp’ear, who’d changed from trying to kill her to giving his life. And now her wonderful, stick-in-the-mud Charlie, who never wanted his world upset.
“Jane?” Tivat asked, his voice gentle.
She lifted her head, not realizing until that moment that she sobbed against his chest. She swiped the tears away and tried to smile, failing miserably.
He handed her a poor excuse for a handkerchief.
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
Only one thing remained. Maybe, this was her destiny after all, to meet Charlie, conceive an heir, and carry on alone.
Crappy plan, Lowth. 
“Go home,” she said, her voice sounding watery and faraway. She looked at him, knowing how important eye contact was in telling a lie. “Take me out, John.”
They left the dwarf in the prison cell. Jane laid a hand on Tivat’s arm and turned to face him.
“We separate here,” she said.
“Jane ...” he protested.
“No, John. You need to find Kevin and Ashara. I don’t know the city as well.”
“Come with me.”
“I can’t.” She stopped, unable to speak for a moment. The enormity of what had happened and what she must do overwhelmed her. “I need to be alone for awhile. Find someplace safe for me and come back with the others.”
He looked as if he’d argue, then decided against it. Sighing, he took her arm and led her through a maze of hallways.
They stopped at another abandoned building, a storefront judging by the shelves and broken boxes.
“Stay here,” Tivat warned. “No matter how long it takes, even if daylight comes.” He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to her. It looked like beef jerky.
“I’ll be back, Jane.” He hesitated, then leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Take care.”
He slipped away. Jane counted to one hundred and followed.
It took less than fifteen minutes to be caught by Blacwin’s guards. She flagged them down as she walked into a more populated area. Holding up her arms to show she had no weapons, Jane stepped forward.
”My name is Jane Drysdale of Earth. Take me to your leader.”

They shoved Jane into a too-small, hot room. One guard posted himself outside the locked door. Another stood watch, his fingers curled around a knife blade in its sheath. Heckle and Jeckle, Jane decided to call them. They wore black uniforms with hats as shiny as a crow’s eye.
She perched on the edge of an uncomfortably hard chair, waiting for Blacwin’s promised arrival. The size and furnishings of the room suggested an official office of some obscure bureaucrat - the liaison to the assistant to the undersecretary of civil and goon affairs. Not a cheery place.
Blacwin took his time. Evidently, even a Prince of Darkness and Ruler of Hell needed his beauty sleep.
Jane sat for at least half an hour, wilting from the heat, feeling the sleeplessness of the past two days. Charlie’s disappearance and likely death crushed her. Had she dragged him to his fate, or had it been preordained? What did it mean? All along, she’d thought she and Charlie were to reunite the two kingdoms and rule them as one. Their child, or children, would inherit the titles and everyone would live happily ever after. But something had gone wrong. The dwarf had murdered Charlie and shattered her life.
With Jeckle watching every movement, Jane vowed not to show her devastation. Time enough for grief later.
She jumped as the door snicked open. Jeckle drew his knife, daring her to make another move. Instead, she turned her head toward Blacwin the Wizard.
He looked as unlike Merlin as possible. In his midseventies, with sparse hair except for thick eyebrows, he glided into the room. A patch covered his left eye and a scar split his face. He dressed in black from head to foot, a long cape settling around his ankles as he stopped before her.
“The Earthling,” he said, his tone haughty.
”Lord Vader,” Jane replied, raking her gaze over him. “I wondered when you would show.” She stood, removing his advantage. His height equaled her five-six.
“You’ve led us on a merry chase. Where is your companion?”
“I ditched him. He’s unnecessary. We can handle this between ourselves.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as shaky as she felt. Only her obligation to Charlie’s child kept her from collapsing.
Blacwin unclasped his cape and threw it over a table. He flicked dust off his sleeves before raising a darkened gaze.
“I agree,” he said. “Would you like a refreshment?”
Yeah, how about some nice papaya juice? “Let’s finish this.”
He inclined his head. “Very well. If you’ll follow me.”
Heckle and Jeckle trailed behind them as they wound up and down stairs. The rooms grew larger and more opulent, showing the capital’s wealth and history.
They stopped in a grand hall. A gallery ran around two walls, overlooking a massive table, chairs, and a fireplace big enough to burn sequoias. The ceiling lay high above, far from hundreds of candles illuminating the room. Magnificent windows showcased Lake Shallen, which glittered in the moonlight.
“Greyson Hall,” Blacwin said. He moved toward one corner, where a fountain bubbled. “Owen’s Pool, one of the few places on Lowth where its power lies close to the surface.”
What would happen when she stepped into it? Visions of a special-effects, Raiders of the Lost Ark melting-flesh horror assailed her. The elf blood in Jane ran faster; the tips of her ears tingled. She could feel Lowth’s power drawing her like a magnet. It scared her.
“The reason I’m here,” she said, controlling her fear.
“You’re an astute woman.”
Astute? No. More like the wrong Earth elf in the wrong place. She took a shuddering breath. Maybe not. Lowth’s kept me alive so far. 
“What do we do now?” she asked. “Is there a big ceremony with days of preparation? Cakes to bake and floats to decorate?”
“No.” Blacwin shook his head. “It’s fairly simple, but there are some who need to be here.”
“Anybody I know?” Her heart pounded, and she fought to keep from running. The seconds counted down to an end she didn’t want to see.
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Blacwin turned to a figure she hadn’t noticed, standing in the shadows. “My younger brother.”
“Hello, Jane,” the man said, stepping into the light.
Eagar! 
“Traitor!” she screamed in fury, and threw herself at the steward. She’d kill him quickly, before anyone could stop her. Forget torture and suffering; she’d cut his body into pieces and feed it to the rats. Right now he had to die!
She gouged out a chunk of his face with her fingernails. Heckle and Jeckle pulled her off and threw her to the floor, holding her down.
“Bastard,” she yelled, spitting and fighting to rise. “You knew all along. Damn spider, manipulating people into your web. I hate you!”
“You’re so young,” Eagar said, wiping the blood from his cheek onto a handkerchief. “I admire your fire and passion, but you don’t know the complete facts.” He signaled the guards to haul Jane to her feet.
“I know more than you think. You’ve been working with Blacwin the whole time.”
“Of course. Loyalty runs strong in our family.” He turned to his brother. “Where’s the Whelphite?”
“The dwarf was to take care of him,” Blacwin replied.
Eagar nodded. “Good. We’ll need him here. Once they touch the essence of Owen’s Pool, Lowth will give us the answers.”
“I’ll go,” Heckle said. At a nod from the wizard, he left.
Your dwarf is dead, Jane thought, getting no satisfaction from it. Heckle’s departure didn’t cheer her, either. Her anger, burning hot a moment ago, fizzled with the reality of how few defenses she had against the wizard and steward. She couldn’t make it rain inside and doubted she had the strength to whip up a good whirlwind. Charlie’s death and Eagar’s appearance had hit her like a one-two punch.
Oh, Charlie, how long can I be brave? Despair filled her.
“Let’s get started,” Eagar said, curling his fingers around her arm.

Chapter Thirty-One
Above Jane, deep in the shadows of the gallery, Charlie watched, his heart crushed by her obvious agony. Every nerve he possessed screamed at him to act, to swoop down and carry her to safety. But he had others to think of: the warrior woman Ashara and Jane’s brother Kevin. They weren’t in place yet to be effective in their planned coup.
They’d burst into his cell as Dave the Dwarf attacked. Ashara engaged him in combat. A short, bloody skirmish followed, the Elven warrior clearly at an advantage. Dave had been mortally wounded.
Sweat from the aftereffects of the dalc cone beaded on Charlie’s brow. He wiped it away and scanned the hall, alert for his companions. They’d known each other for two hours, and already he trusted them with his life. Their appearance in Shallen surprised him. Kevin’s identity shocked him. Of all the rescuers he could imagine, Jane’s brother ranked at the bottom of his list.
Where are they? One more minute and I’m going without them. They’d had plenty of time to get into position. Ashara moved like a cat; she’d be hard to spot. Kevin would be easier, as he didn’t seem the type for stealth.
A slight movement gave away the man’s location. Charlie stood, anxious to get to Jane. Resolve flooded his veins like molten steel. Any weakness left from the drugs vanished at the challenge of battle.
His wings fully outstretched, he stood on the gallery railing and signaled the others.
Jane, he whispered, I’m on my way. 

Charlie? Jane’s knees buckled from shock. She grabbed Eagar’s arm for support as he yanked her toward Owen’s Pool. Her mind spun with hope and the awful realization that she’d finally lost it. Fear and hopelessness made her delusional.
“Hold on a sec,” she told Eagar, her breath and heart rate uneven. She took a step away. Human sacrifice would have to wait.
Damn it, Charlie, where are you? 
Eagar reached to grab her, but Jane pulled back. “Can you wait a minute?” she snapped. “Can you wait one freaking minute while I pull myself together? Jeez, you two.” Her gaze swept the room to her right. “You’ve got Jeckle to stop me if I try to run. What’s the big hurry?”
Charlie, please come out and play. 
She heard him chuckle. Patience, my darling. 
Her heart lurched. It hadn’t been a hallucination. Charlie was alive! And he’d called her “darling.”
Everything happened at once. Jane heard a twang and Jeckle dropped at her feet, a shaft in his throat. She turned to see Ashara in front of Blacwin, another arrow nocked. Then Kevin scooted into view, winking at her in passing. The least athletic, least macho of her brothers, he pointed a crossbow at Eagar.
Want to fly? Charlie asked.
The flap of his wings filled the hall. Jane looked up and saw him hovering above her, grinning widely.
“Charlie!” she cried, reaching a hand in his direction.
He landed and she ran to him, jumping into his arms. He kissed her, a Superman-should-have-kissed-Lois-this-way kiss. Jane felt it down to her toes.
“Oh, Charlie, I thought you were dead.” A flood of emotions deluged her, fear and happiness, relief and an overwhelming urge to cry.
“Dead?” He laughed, pushing her hair behind her ear with one finger. “Not a chance. I had to save you, didn’t I?”
“Most magnificently. I love you, Charlie Whelphite.”
“What a nice coincidence, because I love you, too, Jane.” He kissed her again, the rasp of his beard scratching her skin. He felt solid and warm, his wings enveloping them.
Ashara cleared her throat, pulling them back to the drama in the room. “Want me to kill him now?” the warrior asked, placing the tip of the arrow against the wizard’s throat. Blacwin flinched, his dark eyes murderous.
“Enough killing for one day,” Charlie directed. He looked at Blacwin. “We’ve some negotiating to do.” To Eagar he said, “Why am I not surprised you’re in the middle of this?”
The steward sniffed. He looked as unruffled as always. “You constantly misunderstand. What I do -”
“I do for Lowth,” Charlie finished for him, disgust shading his face. “A warped sense of duty for the land you profess to love so much.” He pointed to the pool and Jane. “This isn’t right, it should never have happened.”
He turned to Jane. “I’m going to get you away from here, then I’ll come back and clean up this mess.”
Jane rebelled at the idea. Leaving him for one minute went against her better judgment. She’d just found him again. “I’m not going.”
”Jane.”
“Don’t ‘Jane’ me. I’ve been through hell the last few days. I’m not about to go away and open the possibility -”
A loud clattering cut off her words. Kevin had dropped the crossbow, and he and Eagar scrambled on the floor for it. Charlie leapt into the fray. Suddenly, Heckle was there, returned from his errand. Damn! They should have watched for him. Jane screamed and jumped on his back, pounding on him, fighting for Charlie. From the corner of her eye, in the direction of Blacwin, Jane saw blue, wizard-like sparks fly.
A fist hit her in the shoulder. She spun to the ground, one hand instinctively protecting her child. She landed hard.
The scuffle lasted less than a minute. The dust cleared. Eagar, looking uncharacteristically rumpled, straightened and pulled a knife from his leg sheath. He pressed it to Kevin’s throat.
“Kevin!” Jane screamed and lunged forward. Charlie stopped her, his grip fierce on her arm.
“Know this young man?” Eagar asked, out of breath. Kevin had lost his hat, and his non-pointed ears clearly told of his race. “Another Earthling. Relative? Brother?”
Jane’s heart climbed into her throat. Fear for her brother stopped its beating. Bravery died; she’d seen too much killing and wouldn’t risk Kevin’s life. She nodded.
Eagar backed up a step, dragging Kevin with him. He gestured to Owen’s Pool. “Then I suggest if you want to stay related, you and Charlie get into the water.”
So they’d be sacrificed after all. She glanced at Charlie. She could see his mind working, planning his next move, but with Ashara captive, Heckle plopped none too daintily on her, they had no choice.
Jane gave a tiny shrug of her shoulders. What could happen? A little dip in the pool, a piranha attack, acid eating at their bones? Just another day in paradise.
She looked at the water, bubbling with an Old Faithful innocence. She reached out and took Charlie’s hand, squeezing it in encouragement. “Here goes nothing.”
“Stop!” A commanding voice bellowed from behind her.
She froze. Don’t ask me twice. 
“Enough!” the voice continued. It sounded strong, imperial, used to giving commands and having them obeyed.
“By the two moons,” Charlie whispered in awe. He released her hand and sank to the floor. Eagar followed suit as well as Blacwin.
What the heck? 
Jane turned-and stared into the intelligent black eyes of King Garmade of Malin.
“Sir, sire, your grace,” Jane stammered. Oh, Lordy, she was making a mess of this. She gave up and sank into a curtsy so quickly she lost balance and landed on her rump.
“Perhaps, it’s unnecessary for them to get wet, Eagar,” the monarch said. “It is enough they are here, where Lowth’s power is strongest.”
Garmade leaned over her, his face kind and so different from the befuddled monarch she remembered.
“Rise, young one,” he said, extending his hand. “No need to worry. You’ve had a long and tiring journey, and now is the time for your reward.” He pulled her to her feet without effort, his grip strong. When had he stopped shaking?
Beyond awe, Jane allowed him to help her stand. The change in his appearance and demeanor shocked her. Not only did he act Sean-Connery-I’m-in-controlish, but he didn’t have on women’s clothes. In fact, he looked every inch the King, dressed in blue-and-white silk. He even wore a crown of diamonds.
Jane, openmouthed, gaped at him, and Garmade motioned for the others to stand. As they did, she realized the room had filled with his entourage. She saw - bless him! - Muttle at the King’s elbow. King Tuniesin grinned at her, a dozen fairies surrounding him. Farther back, she spotted Hugh and the rest of their fellowship from Sylthia. John Tivat, the cheeky so-and-so, winked at her. Bryant and her mother smiled, so obviously in love, Marion a trifle pale, but looking well.
“Pinch me.” Jane’s knees felt weak. “I need to sit down or I’m going to faint.” Where the heck had everyone come from, and how had they gotten here in the middle of the night? Muttle? She turned to the Belwaith, so pleased to see him healthy again.
We fly, he said, astonished. The King comes by portal from Sylthia. He met us in the goblin camp. They are our friends! The Belwaith sounded shocked.
Someone brought a chair and she sank into it. Her face hurt from smiling so much. She grinned at Garmade, who watched her like a benevolent, rich, very powerful, central-casting uncle. How about grandfather-in-law? 
Whoops! She’d almost forgotten that aspect. Wait until he found out. Jane searched for Charlie and took his hand in hers.
“Okay,” she said, twisting her head to look at them. “Miss Marple’s assembled all the usual suspects in the drawing room. I’m guessing it was Colonel Mustard in the library with the red herring. Who wants to tell me what’s happening and why I feel I’m the last to know?” She directed her gaze to King Garmade.
He sat next to her and indicated for the others to sit. Chairs scraped on the floor as the assemblage took their seats.
“Because you are the last to know,” the monarch explained. “You and Charlie. We couldn’t have it any other way. Lowth’s tests had to be completed, and we needed confirmation of our choice. So much rested on your independent decisions.”
“Independent?” Jane scoffed. “I don’t think so. We’ve been nudged toward this spot for weeks.”
”Even before,” he said simply.
Jane gasped. “Then you did send John to bring me here.” She searched and found Tivat. He shrugged, holding up his hands in a helpless motion.
Garmade looked at Eagar, who stood next to him. God forbid he should sit. The steward surprised her by smiling. Yeesh, maybe the man did have a heart.
“A wise choice, sire,” Eagar said. “Lowth is well served.”
“Indeed.” Garmade stroked his chin. He lifted his gaze to Jane. “Yes, my dear, I sent John to Earth with the express purpose of discovering if Marion Drysdale, wife of Bryant of Malik, had borne a child. Bringing that child back here was important.”
“You could have done it a little less violently,” Jane exclaimed, remembering the thunk thunk Tivat had made when, bunny-mush, he’d gone under her tires.
“An unfortunate circumstance we used to our advantage.”
“Yeah, by arresting me for murder and putting me on trial. You almost put me to death.” She wanted to brain the guy. Except he looked so regal, so much the ruler who’d defeated countless enemies in the past. His subjects had died following him into battle and, for the first time, Jane understood why.
“It never came to that. We made certain of it.” Garmade included Eagar in his statement.
“Hmm. Very convenient for you.”
“Very clever, too.” He all but clapped his hands in delight.
Honestly, he was worse than a little kid. A toy soldier General, moving lives around on his own private battlefield.
“What about Charlie?” Jane asked. “What’s his part in this?” Other than being your grandson. That’ll take the wind out of your sails. 
“Charlie is the other half of the key,” the King said.
Some of this was starting to make sense. “Why not tell me all of it? From the beginning.”
Garmade tented his fingers. “As Lowth became weaker under the Dymynsh, I sought answers. One was ‘The Quaven,’ an ancient poem, a riddle. The more I investigated - obsessed about it - the more convinced I became it was the only answer.”
“Wait a minute,” Jane interrupted. “How old is this poem?”
Garmade looked at Eagar. “Over a hundred years, I’d say. Yes, at least that.”
“And you want me to believe something written that long ago prophesied me and Charlie?”
He shrugged. “This is a land of magic, Jane.”
“How long have you unraveled this mystery?” she asked.
“At least ten years.”
Astonishing, the amount of work that had gone into this.
“Unbelievable,” she whispered.
“Freaking unbelievable,” Charlie said in her ear.
Her heart sang at his use of her verbiage. She loved this man, Elf, Whelphite, whatever, so much. Wait until she had him alone.
“The most difficult part was finding ‘one on Earth,’ as the poem prophesied.” Garmade continued. “Then I found a reference to your mother’s visit to Lowth. The search became easier, tracking her and her offspring.”
“Me.” Jane shook her head. “Back up a minute. When, exactly, did the Dymynsh start?” She wanted to visualize it on a timeline.
The King and steward looked at each other. “As the records tell us, the harvests began decreasing twenty-five years ago,” Garmade answered.
Twenty-five? A dozen pieces fell into place, completing the puzzle. Jane threw her head back and laughed.
The others looked at her as if she’d gone hysterical.
“Don’t you see?” she hiccupped when she could draw a breath. “While you were manipulating us, Lowth was manipulating you.”
”I don’t understand,” the monarch said.
“Neither did I, until a moment ago. Your majesty, does anyone know why the Dymynsh started?”
He shook his head.
Jane glanced at Bryant and her mother. “It’s because I wasn’t here. I’m the cause of the Dymynsh.”
A murmur rose from the crowd.
“Jane, what are you saying?” Marion asked.
“I know,” said Blacwin, who’d been silent. They turned to the wizard. “Lowth and the portals have a complicated relationship. Each tries to control the other. I believe they let you in; then three years later, they had a disagreement, and the portal allowed you return to Earth.”
Jane snapped her fingers. “Lowth didn’t know Mom was pregnant with me at the time. That’s why the Dymynsh started. Lowth was grieving for me.”
Silence followed her words. Everyone in the room digested what she’d said. Jane glanced at Charlie. He seemed as shocked as the others.
“If what you say is true,” Garmade said, taking a deep breath, “then much is explained.” He still looked puzzled, but she could see logic taking over.
“What I say is true. The Dymynsh ended the moment I came to Lowth. How tall are the crops this year? How many babies have been conceived?” She looked across the crowd to Hugh and smiled. She didn’t want to say anything about her own child, not yet. “This dog and pony show of getting me and Charlie to Shallen wasn’t necessary. All I had to do was come back.”
“And are you going to stay?” Charlie asked.
She met his gaze. More than curiosity for Lowth’s future lay in his eyes.
“Are you asking?” Jane’s mouth felt dry and her heart skipped a beat. The world suspended for several moments.
He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed each fingertip. “Yes. I ask you to stay, Jane.”
Oh, wow. Holy Scarlett and Rhett, Tracy and Hepburn, Blondie and Dagwood.
“Then I’ll stay,” she whispered, touching his cheek.
They could have stared at each other a millennium or two, but King Garmade tactfully cleared his throat. “Excellent news,” he pronounced. “Most excellent. I have several questions, of course -”
Jane reluctantly turned from Charlie. “So do I, sire. It’s hard enough to believe there’s no bad guy in this story.” She shot a glance at Eagar and Blacwin, brothers in no crime, tools of their monarch. She imagined they’d gone into royal service at the same time, Eagar in Sylthia and Blacwin in Shallen. “But why the charade? Why pretend to be senile and incapable of running your kingdom - rather, kingdoms?”
Garmade slumped in his chair. He shook his head. “It accelerated events. Perhaps Lowth manipulated me that way. I found the most important clues when I was ill. Eagar noticed. We experimented and discovered that if I stayed under the influence of dalc cone, we made more progress. We made it look like I’d lost my sanity to hide our actions.”
Jane wanted to cry at the sacrifices he’d made - they’d both made - as Eagar helped his King slide into a drug-induced world.
Garmade smiled, falsely bright. “And now we have our two halves of the key,” he said, his voice unsteady.
Jane laid a hand on his arm. “Perhaps there is another reason Charlie and I were got together. Something that you didn’t know of, nor did I when this started.” She took a breath and dropped the bomb on him. “We are two halves of a royal key.”
As concisely as possible, she relayed the tale of Elaine and Largare, of Bryant’s relationship to King Rodom. She looked around the room as she talked, noticing the shock on Bryant’s face, the confirmation from King Tuniesin. Grey hair caught her attention, and she saw Anjinaine watching, nodding her head. When had Tivat found the time to fetch her?
King Garmade wept when she finished. He stood and reached for Charlie, enveloping him in a hug. Charlie looked embarrassed by the whole ordeal.
“My grandson,” the King sniffed, his hand shaking as he wiped away tears. “Under my nose the entire time. I did not know, Charlie, I did not know.”
Charlie patted his arm. “I’m still unused to the idea.”
“Much to discuss,” Garmade muttered, suddenly looking his age. “The two kingdoms united in love! I never thought to see the day.” He leaned on Eagar.
“Rest, sire,” his steward said, his tone gentle. “There are beds here. Tomorrow is soon enough to talk of the future.”
The crowd made way as the two elderly men left the room. Blacwin, with a nod to Jane and Charlie, followed. Some of the others departed, until only a handful of key players remained.
“Jane?” Kevin asked, approaching her with reluctance. “Are you really a Princess?”
She hugged him. “Always your sister first.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Are you staying?” It broke her heart to ask.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Lowth is so different.” His gaze wandered to Ashara. “Though there are compensations.”
Good luck, Jane thought. Ashara seemed too wrapped up in her history with Tivat.
She turned to her mother. “Mom?”
“Oh, I’m staying,” Marion replied. She tightened her grip on Bryant. “I had to abandon Bryant once. I won’t do it again. Once the portals stabilize, I can return to Earth to visit. I’m sure the family wonders where the three of us have disappeared to. I’ll try to make them understand.”
“I hope so.” Jane watched as her mother and Bryant drifted off. After a few minutes, their questions answered, the others departed. She and Charlie were left alone.
It must have been close to why-am-I-still-up o’clock. Rest had set, and only Slumber illuminated the night. The quiet lapping of water against the building echoed in the hall. Jane felt as if she’d stepped from a bad dream.
“Well,” Charlie said, breaking the silence. “I finally have you to myself.” The look in his eyes melted her heart. She could look into their brown depths forever. Caramel mocha. Oh, yummy.
“Did you mean what you said?” she asked, wanting to jump his bones and have hot, wild sex. There might not be a waterfall handy, but a lake beckoned outside.
He slid her into his arms. “About staying? Yes. Did you mean what you said?”
She snuggled in tighter. “Home. This is where I belong.” Not just Lowth, but in his embrace.
Charlie tipped her head up. “Are you sure? We’re a simple people. No automobiles or fancy gadgets.”
“Simple?” She chuckled. “Ha! Worlds that think and kings that plot? Sandobbles and goblins, portals and two moons? You are sadly mistaken. Besides,” she said, tracing the edge of his forewing with the tip of her finger. He shuddered against her. “There’s magic here.”
He kissed her, his lips promising a fabulous rest of the night. And morning. And their lives.
“There’s magic here,” he said, nibbling on her ear. A shock hit her, running right to her core. Hoo-boy. No wonder he got so turned on when she touched his wings.
“And here,” he continued, pressing his lips to her eyelids. “And especially here.” He found her mouth again.
A moment later, when she could barely stand and the thought of a bed triumphed over waves and a shoreline, Jane took his hand in hers.
“There is one more chapter in this story,” she said. “The real reason Lowth brought us together.” She guided his hand until it rested below her belly. When he attempted to move it lower, she stopped him.
Jane looked at him, her gaze steady. She wanted him to know the importance of the secret she’d kept.
“The full moon wanes,” she murmured. “Do you remember the last full moon, Charlie?”
He’d grown serious, watching her. “You’re not talking about Isleighah, are you?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Then Midsummer’s Eve?”
She touched his cheek with her free hand. “We’ve been through a lot together. Not too long ago, you asked a question, and I told a small lie.” She pressed his hand against her womb. “A very, very small lie.”
Realization hit him like a sledgehammer. His face darkened. Then it lit, and he swung her in his arms. Laughter escaped him.
“You’re sure?” he asked, raining kisses on her. “Absolutely sure?”
“Oh, Charlie, would Lowth make a mistake?” She gave herself to his embrace, loving him more than ever.
“You’ll have to marry me now,” he said, kissing her.
She stopped him. “Are you asking?”
Charlie looked at her, his face inches from her own. His eyes glittered from the few candles that still burned. “I ask.”
Jane rasped her hand against his scruffy jaw. “Then I say yes.”
He whooped and swung her around some more. “Do you suppose Blacwin has a room for us?”
Jane laughed. “You can ask Muttle. He’s by the door, discreetly waiting for us to leave.”
“Is he? Bless the Belwaith.” Charlie kissed her, long and hard and not nearly satisfying enough.
Still carrying her, he walked toward Muttle.
“I love you, Jane,” her Whelphite said. “I don’t care about kingdoms united, or portals or anything else. Just you. And now our child. I’m glad you’re not going back to Earth.”
“Charlie, I love you, too.” She snuggled into his arms, content and happy. “I’m glad I’m not on Earth, either. You know why?”
Guided by Muttle, they’d reached a staircase. Charlie took the steps two at a time.
“No, why?” he asked.
Jane laughed. “They don’t do it anymore, but they used to test for pregnancy by making a rabbit die. Charlie, I could never kill a bunny. Look at what happened the last time I did.”