Chapter Eight

Miranda woke up confused, unable to place where she was. She opened her eyes to find herself in a little tent and a man sitting beside her, watching her with interest. Alarmed, she lay quite still and glanced around anxiously. She wished that he weren’t so handsome. He made it hard for her to think. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t tell what it was.

“Good evening,” he said. “You slept well.”

“Evening!” echoed Miranda. “I want to see the sunrise.” That was what was wrong: it was already darker than it had been seemingly just a minute before.

She closed her eyes as one awful memory after another besieged her. Today should be her first day as a King’s Wife, but she would never have the prestige and acclaim she had worked for. Her future was dead, just as dead as her guardian, as dead as she ought to be.

“You don’t look a thing like an elf,” commented Nir. “No elf has brown eyes like a deer’s, and you’re not small like our women are, but you’re beautiful anyway. I didn’t know that was possible. I thought the only beautiful humans were humans who looked like the elves.”

“Blame it on Marak,” she muttered. “He was always working spells on me when I was young.”

The elf lord considered this information. “Did the goblin King give you your red hair?” he wanted to know. “No elf has red hair. I’ve never seen hair like yours.”

“I don’t have red hair!” exclaimed Miranda, dislodged for the moment from her sorrow. She opened her eyes to find the elf studying her in surprise.

“Of course it’s red,” he replied. “Why argue about such a thing?” Miranda closed her eyes again, depressed beyond words. It was already growing dark. The elf lord continued to look at her, in no hurry to leave the tent. It was still too bright out to suit him. “What’s your name.” he asked.

“Miranda,” she replied.

“Miranda!” he exclaimed in horror. “That’s ghastly! Nothing but a goblin’s trick!”

This unexpected outburst goaded her out of depression again. She had never been one to dwell on misfortune, and it was apparent that she wouldn’t get the chance now. She sat up and began folding the green cloak that had served as her blanket, determined to make herself behave sensibly. She didn’t want this stranger to discover how hopeless and forlorn she felt.

“It’s a perfectly normal human name,” she pointed out reasonably. “Miranda is in one of Shakespeare’s plays. It’s a Latin word, I think.”

“It’s elvish,” Nir informed her coldly, turning away to roll up his own cloak. “It’s the elvish word for the goblin King’s Wife.”

“No, it’s Latin,” contradicted Miranda. “Or Spanish; I can’t remember which. My brother’s tutor told me it means ‘seeing.’”

“‘Seeing,’” echoed Nir unhappily, thinking of those brown eyes peering blindly about in the nighttime. “I don’t think Seeing is a good name for you, either. In elvish, mir-an-da means ‘protected by the coils of the magical snake.’ In other words, the goblin King’s Wife. I’m not about to let my elves call you such a horrible name. You remind me of a fox with your red hair. I think I’ll call you Fox.”

The one nice thing about having lost everything she had ever hoped for was that she no longer had to smile and pretend to be pleased. That was good, she decided grimly, because she wasn’t feeling the least bit gracious or charming.

“Fox? That’s an insult!” she cried. “Foxes are a thieving nuisance, and to call a girl a female fox is a very bad name.”

“Why?” asked the elf lord.

Miranda frowned. “I don’t know. I just know that it is.”

“I don’t know why it should be,” commented Nir. “Foxes are clever, and they shine like little fires in the woods. They play and dance just like the elves, and they have red hair like yours.”

He hung his cloak up on his side of the tent and retrieved and tied the belt of his tunic. Then he crawled to the tent opening, unrolled the mat, and put his bare feet on it, crisscrossing the leather straps again around the lower legs of his breeches. Miranda hung up her cloak and turned to look at the simple pallet. It didn’t even have a pillow. How could she have slept so soundly without a pillow?

She crawled awkwardly from the tent to find that she had an audience. Two beautiful little children stood in front of her, their eyes round and sober as they stared. Miranda stared back, embarrassed, her hair a tangled mess, sweaty and miserable from having had to sleep in her clothes. Her damp dress was a mass of wrinkles, but the elf lord’s simple green tunic and breeches showed no wrinkles at all. Lacing his boots, he looked as if he had been awake for hours; his pale face wasn’t sleepworn, and his black eyes were bright. Miranda found this irritating. Even if the elf had said that she was beautiful, she found it trying to live among a people who made being beautiful seem so effortless.

The elf lord looked at the children’s serious expressions as he finished lacing his boots, and his face lit up with one of his rare smiles. Indicating Miranda, he made a comment in elvish, and the little girl giggled something back. They spoke for a minute as he climbed to his feet and reached down to help up Miranda. No stars glittered about her wrist this time as he held her hand. She was overcome, as she had been before, by the captivating force of his smile.

The children scampered off, and he knelt again to roll up the mat at the front of the tent. Miranda looked around uneasily. All about her in the twilight, elves were coming and going, emerging from tents, or sitting and talking with their neighbors. They were all dressed in green; they were all terribly attractive; and they were speaking a language that she couldn’t understand. They also seemed to be entirely at ease with one another and pleased with one another’s company.

Miranda had thought that the elf lord held her hand as a way to force her to walk with him, but she realized that holding hands must just be an elvish habit. A man and a woman or a boy and a girl would be holding hands as they walked by, and five young women went by in a chain, talking happily together as they walked toward the river. She was startled to see several men keeping company with girls who couldn’t have been more than fifteen at the most, brushing their hair for them by the tents or walking along talking to them. Her human sensibilities made her feel embarrassed by all the close contact. The scene before her was perfectly charming and graceful in its artlessness, and she felt instinctively that it had nothing to do with her.

Shy and uncomfortable, she tried to summon her dignity. When it came to meeting strangers, she knew only the two extremes: humans had invariably either mocked her or disliked her, and the goblins had been fawning and deferential. Unfortunately, she was already quite sure that these elves weren’t going to fawn over her. After all she had suffered, she felt that it was particularly painful to face a crowd of people she didn’t know.

Without really wanting to, she moved closer to the elf lord, and when he stood up again and walked toward the river, she walked by his side, trying not to look as lost as she felt. Who invited you? she heard her mother’s voice say in her mind, but the elf lord didn’t drive her away. He seemed to expect her to accompany him.

“I’ve sent Kiba to tell her mother to make you some clothes,” he said. “But they won’t be ready tonight; she has to make the cloth for them first. You’ll have to wear those goblin things until tomorrow.”

Still able to see distances in the deepening twilight, Miranda studied her surroundings with interest. They were in a beautiful valley. Tall, straight trees grew in thick green turf that reminded her of the truce circle, and small flowers of different shapes and shades nodded at her feet. A little river, about ten feet wide and somewhat deep, ran along nearby. They walked through the wide clearing, or small meadow, where he must have worked the spell on her last night. Here was a profusion of wildflowers, but she was surprised that the grass was so short, forming something like a dense, soft carpet.

She looked up eagerly, her eyes taking in as much of the waning light as they could. The cloudless sky was a clear indigo and the first stars were already out. She could see that the river, glimmering in the fading light, made a loop around the edge of the meadow. Near the middle of the loop, it became wide and shallow. Trees resumed on the opposite side, and a band of tall, forested hills cut off the remaining colors of the sunset to her right. To the left, the forest sloped up gradually into a more distant line of wooded hills.

No other elves were nearby. They were in the shadowy forest. Nir had brought her there as a kindness, knowing that her human eyes would enjoy the bright light. His own eyes found it rather uncomfortable still.

“Now is the time of day when we elves go bathing,” he said. The river had carved out a flat stone bank, and he knelt down on the stone to wash his face. Miranda wondered at the remark. She hadn’t seen any way to heat water, and the tents were too small to bathe in.

“Bathe where?” she wanted to know. And then, when he looked around in amazement at the question, she said, “You mean they bathe right in the river?” She thought about this, rather shocked, while the elf considered, not for the first time, how little sense humans seemed to have. “But you can’t mean that they bathe out in the open where everyone can see them,” she insisted. “That wouldn’t be decent!”

Decent again. At least this time Nir understood what the word meant. “It’s decent,” he assured her patiently, dipping a wooden comb in the water and pulling it through his hair. “The women usually bathe together and the men bathe together, or they go off by ones and twos, married couples, for instance. But no one bothers anyone else, and they’re still wearing their underclothes anyway, that way they’re always just as clean as the elf is.”

Miranda was astonished that a man would mention such things to her, but she kept her face expressionless. If elves discussed them, she would, too, so as not to be thought naive. “Ugh,” she remarked with distaste. “It’s a wonder they don’t die of pneumonia, walking around half the night with wet things on.”

“But they’re not wet,” said Nir. “Elf clothes have the Drying Spell on them. As soon as they come out of the water, they’re dry. See?” He splashed some water on his tunic, and the dark stain quickly faded out.

“Do you want to go bathing?” he persisted, walking back up to her, his washing finished. “I can show you where the women bathe.”

Miranda found this a bad idea on many different levels. “No,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to get into that cold water.”

“Cold?” echoed Nir. “In the summertime?” He was surprised into a musical laugh, and once again, Miranda found herself afraid of him. The elf lord was quite beyond human at such times, like one of those pagan gods who walked the earth disguised as a man. She understood now why Daphne had run from Apollo. She ran away herself, hurrying past him to the riverbank and kneeling to wash her face.

Nir handed her the comb as she came up the bank, and they walked back to the forest together. She jerked the comb as rapidly as she could through her hair, grimacing at the many tangles, while the elf lord reflected that humans made the most graceful tasks seem ungraceful. He didn’t realize that she was hurrying because he was watching her. Miranda thought his attention impolite.

He left her to collect their evening meal. Two elves had laid piles of food out on a sheet, and they appeared to be cooking the flat, circular bread on some sort of rock. It was the men who went up to take the food and then brought it back to share with a woman or a girl. Only the little children went up on their own. Miranda found this sort of servile role odd for a man, especially for the elf lord. She certainly couldn’t imagine the goblin King waiting on anyone.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly as the elf lord came to sit by her side, handing over her breakfast wrapped up in a cloth. She unwrapped it to find half a piece of bread, a strip of dried meat, a carrot, and five radishes. Not quite breakfast in the goblin kingdom, where she would have had whatever she ordered, no matter how elaborate. Lately, she had been favoring apple tarts.

Kate’s bracelet lit itself with a faint gleam as the evening became night. It wouldn’t light with its usual brightness anymore, and it reminded her abruptly that she was in the dark. Miranda shuddered at the thought.

“I slept the whole time the sun was up,” she said. “It was an enchantment, wasn’t it?”

Nir looked away. “Yes, it was the Daylight Spell,” he replied, “the one I worked when I kissed your eyes.”

“But why?” she demanded. “I already can’t leave your camp, and I have to do what you say. What harm would it have done to let me see the sun?”

“If you could see it, you’d think of nothing else but the next time you could see it again,” he answered. “You’d stay awake in the day while we were asleep and sleep in the night while we were awake. The elvish world doesn’t have the sun any more than the goblin caves have the moon. You have to learn how to live in our world now.”

Miranda abandoned her awful breakfast, rolling it back up in the cloth. His pretense of her being some sort of guest was pointless, so she didn’t have to act the part. She was only a slave here, she reminded herself, and there was nothing she could do about it. Very well: she didn’t intend to waste her time and self-respect in absurd struggles. Marak had taught her not to put off unpleasant things.

“What are my duties?” she demanded.

“Duties?” asked the puzzled Nir.

“My work,” continued the girl firmly. “What did you bring me here to do?”

The elf lord felt a stab of guilt and dodged the question. “Among members of a civilized race,” he answered, “children do no work. I would never order you to drudge and toil at your age.”

“I am not a child,” asserted Miranda with some heat, and Nir felt quite taken aback.

“Of course you are,” he said. “The fact is obvious. I don’t understand why you keep challenging it.”

“I am a grown woman,” declared his human captive with dignity. “I don’t care to be treated like a child. I don’t need anyone looking after me, either. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

The elf lord looked at her, expressionless. He said, “That’s why you would be dead by now, I suppose.”

“Thank you for breakfast,” replied the furious Miranda. “Please excuse me. A great elf lord must have much to do.” She stood up and walked away, and she was very relieved to find that he didn’t order her to come back.

She went on a walk and surveyed the dim stretch of forest, bumping into the invisible camp border several times. The dark didn’t make her so nervous tonight because she could hear the lyrical conversation of elves coming from all directions. Her faint bracelet provided only a short ring of light around her, and trees and people emerged from the blackness with eerie suddenness. Unable to form a complete picture of her surroundings, she was struck by odd details instead: the lacy patterns of twigs and branches, the shadows that fanned away from her into the dark. She found herself reaching out to touch tree trunks and bushes as she passed, stroking the rough bark, feeling the cool, pliant leaves. Nearby, an exquisite voice began to sing, and Miranda paused to listen, enthralled.

When she looked around again, she discovered that she had acquired an entourage. The elf children stood in a little crowd at her heels, as charming and disconcerting as lovely ghosts. She stared at them in dismay, realizing what a spectacle she must seem, and they stared at her curiously and a little anxiously, as if she might charge at them, or possibly start shouting. Then a golden-haired girl smiled bravely at her, and Miranda smiled back, completely conquered. There was just no way that she could resist an elvish smile.

The children crowded around close to her then, talking all at once. She couldn’t speak elvish, and they couldn’t speak English, but it didn’t really matter. She sat down on the ground so that she would be eye to eye with most of them, and then she pointed at them one at a time.

They told her their names, with their friends or older siblings helping out to such a degree that she found it hard to understand a word. Kiba’s name she already knew, and her little brother turned out to be Min. Tibir was the oldest boy, possibly about ten. The littlest boy, Bar, could on no account be induced to speak, but so many children spoke for him that it was some time before she could learn his name.

Then she tried to tell them hers, Miranda. They went into fits of laughter, delighted to find an adult who didn’t know her own name.

Sika, they told her, and when she looked puzzled, they touched her hair, and Tibir pantomimed sharp ears and a bushy tail. So that was it, thought Miranda, more than a little annoyed: Sika was the elvish word for “fox.”

Nir watched his human prisoner from a distance, pleased to find her getting on so well. Then he went to look for Kiba’s mother to discuss his orders for the clothes. As they talked, Willow walked up and stood respectfully, waiting to be acknowledged. He was on guard duty in the forest to the south of the camp.

“The elf goblin is here to see you,” he announced, “and he’s brought a big wooden thing with him.”

“A big wooden thing?” wondered Nir. “You may bring him into camp.”

After a few minutes, Willow returned with Seylin, who was towing a large desk with the Carrying Spell. He lowered the desk to the ground.

“Elf lord,” he said, “I’ve brought the first of the elvish spell books. This one has healing spells in it, so I thought you’d want to see it right away.” Nir took the book from the goblin, his eyes betraying a gleam of excitement. “And I brought copying materials, too, as requested. We weren’t sure you had a comfortable place to write, so I’ve brought one of our writing desks for you to use.”

The heavy desk was made all of a piece with its bench attached, and the writing surface had room for two books to be opened on it side by side. A little sensitive at the arrival of the goblin, which reminded him of Arianna’s horrible ordeal, Nir genuinely appreciated this thoughtfulness. It was true that his camp wasn’t well set up for writing.

“Thank you, friend goblin,” he replied. “I look forward to learning the spells.” Dismissing Willow, he sat down at the desk, laying the spell book on it, and examined the blank book and writing materials. “And how is Arianna?” he asked reluctantly. He wasn’t sure that he really wanted to know.

“Oh, she’s fine, as well as could be expected,” answered Seylin. “We persuaded her to eat a little this afternoon.” The elf didn’t look up at this encouraging report. He trimmed the tip of a quill with his knife, dipped the pen, and started writing in the blank book. Seylin still lingered. He had the air of a person not yet discharged of his mission.

“Elf lord,” he asked, “is it true that the human girl, Miranda, is in your camp?”

“Not a terribly useful name for her, is it?” remarked the elf. “Yes, she’s here. Why would it matter?”

“The goblin King has been concerned about her,” replied Seylin cautiously. “Miranda is his ward; he considers her a goblin subject. She was distressed last night, so as a kindness, he let her return to her human home under guard. But he wants her brought back into the kingdom as soon as possible.”

“Why would he want her to come back?” asked Nir. “He has another Miranda now.”

“Oh, Miranda’s very special,” answered Seylin. “Her parents were both raised by the goblins, and the old King lavished great care on her, weaving enchantments through and through her. She’s a strong human bride who will be very important in the genealogies; her blood will be an asset to the high families for generations.” He paused. “May I see her now?”

Nir continued copying for some time after this speech ended. He didn’t know why it should make him so angry. After all, they had gone to a lot of trouble over her, and there was no reason why they should think that she would matter to anyone else.

“Of course you may see her,” he said finally. “Ama,” he called to a young elf woman passing by, “please tell Sika to come here.”

Miranda walked up a short time later, studying the writing desk with curiosity. Then she caught sight of Seylin and stopped. As Nir glanced up, she gave him an indignant glare. Traitor, said the glare.

“Miranda, I’m glad to see you’re well,” said the handsome goblin in a friendly way, stepping toward her. She reminded herself that he had known all about Catspaw’s new bride and hadn’t bothered to warn her.

“How kind of you,” she replied coolly. “I really can’t imagine why you’re here.”

“I’ve come to take you home,” answered Seylin. “I know you were upset last night, and I certainly don’t blame you, but you must realize by now that you belong with us. You won’t be happy anywhere else.”

“Being happy has had little to do with my life so far,” responded Miranda. “Now that Marak is dead, I don’t expect it to again. I have no intention of returning, and what’s more, I have no need. Catspaw gave me my freedom when he broke our engagement.”

“The King did what he had to do,” Seylin replied smoothly. “But you’re still his ward, and you owe a debt of gratitude to his father. It’s time for you to honor that debt and come home.”

“Come home to what?” demanded the girl skeptically. “To take over Kate’s English classes?”

“No, to get married,” replied the goblin. “Catspaw says you can have your choice of any man in the high families, but I think the best match for you is Tattoo. Sable would be so pleased to have you as a daughter, and you know you’re fond of them both.”

The pain of all that she had lost struck Miranda like a stinging blow.

“Marak didn’t raise me to be Tattoo’s wife!” she said with icy fury. “So Catspaw did what was best — well and fine, but I don’t have to kiss his cheek for it! I won’t come back now and curtsy to him and marry one of his lackeys. I was raised to be a King’s Wifea King’s Wife, Seylin! And I won’t be anything less!”

“Now, that’s a fine plan,” remarked the goblin with weary patience. “And just how do you intend to accomplish it? Wait around here with your nose in the air living off the goodwill of the elves? They’re not interested in a human, no matter how grand her destiny is.”

Miranda had no answer to this, and they both knew it. She turned away from him, fighting back tears. “I’d be dead by now if I had my choice,” she said bitterly.

“Don’t take it so badly,” advised the goblin, putting an arm around her shoulders. Then he jerked back with a sharp cry of pain.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. Seylin was staring at her wrists in avid fascination.

“Miranda!” he gasped. “It’s the Seven Stars! The Seven Stars! I can’t t believe it!”

The puzzled girl looked down at her wrists and touched the circles of stars. “What do they have to do with this?” she wanted to know.

“Everything,” answered Seylin ruefully. He paused to think and then gave a sigh. “I’m afraid the elf lord’s been having a nice laugh at my expense.

Nir glanced up at that, and it was true that his eyes were suspiciously bright. “I didn’t realize that your King would still be concerned for her welfare,” he said. “Please assure him that he has no need to worry. The stars keep her perfectly safe.”

“They certainly do,” agreed Seylin sadly. “Especially safe from goblins. You can’t come home anymore. And you would have been happy with us, I know it.”

Miranda hid her astonishment at this unexpected victory. “Marak didn’t raise me to be happy,” she replied. “He raised me to be a King’s Wife.” And she turned on her heel and walked away.

Most of the elves were in the little meadow now, dancing to the music of pipes, harps, and a sweet-toned violin. Feeling bewildered, Miranda wandered down to watch them. The white stars were thick in the black sky overhead, and the graceful dancers were mysterious and alluring by their faint light. Miranda let herself be captivated by the bewitching spectacle and forgot about her grief for a while.

She felt better, she realized. She had stood up for her honor and refused the comfortable life that the goblins had planned. But this was certainly no place for her, either, with nothing to do. These elves were even stranger than the goblins.

She mulled over what she had learned from Seylin’s conversation. The elf lord hadn’t enslaved her after all. He had been so angry about her suicide plan, so insistent that she was a child who needed care. He had clearly just done what he thought was the responsible thing to do. She felt grateful for this, and she supposed she shouldn’t have been so curt and uncivil to him. He had given her a second chance to think things over.

Well, she had done it, and there was no avoiding the obvious conclusion. She would have to go back and face her family and find a new life among human beings. That would be hard, but Catspaw was right: she was strong, and she would survive. Marak had raised her to be both brave and practical. There was no sense putting it off.

The elf lord was copying his spell book when Miranda approached. Looking at his pale face, she felt a wistful pang. She would never see anything like him or his elves again, and she was sure that she would never forget him.

Nir glanced up at his prisoner’s purposeful expression. Then he put down his quill and waited. He already knew what she was going to say.

“Thank you for saving my life,” she began. “You were right about my killing myself; it would have been evil and absurd. You were right, too, that I should have been at home. I’m ready to go back to my own world now.”

“Your world, Sika,” murmured the elf lord. “And what world is that?”

“The daylight world,” she answered, thinking of the warm sun overhead, the greens and browns of the trees, a pale blue sky with clouds of white and gray and lavender. She couldn’t wait to see the sun again. That would make up for a great deal.

Nir winced at the happiness that shone in her eyes.

The little boy lay in his tent in the predawn hush, listening to her argue and beg. “I don’t belong here,” she said, her soft voice pleading. “Ash, let me go back to the daylight.”

Father’s voice followed hers, quiet and sad: “Will the daylight hunt for you? Will the sun bring you food?”

Nir shook off the memory with an effort. “You told me that you had no people,” he pointed out.

“I didn’t think I did,” she said, rather embarrassed. “I thought I was too good for them, I suppose. I’d been raised all my life to think of myself as something extraordinary, someone set aside for a special destiny. Marak told me that, and I believed him.” She sighed. “I thought he could read it in my face.”

“The goblin King is right,” remarked the elf. “You aren’t ordinary, and you have a special destiny. I’m glad that you were raised to know it. It may be the only thing that brings you comfort in your life.”

Miranda stared at him, taken aback. She couldn’t imagine what he might mean. “I don’t care anymore,” she assured him. “I’m ready to go back to my family whether I’m ordinary or not. Would you please remove the magic now?” She rubbed her hand over the stars at her wrist.

The elf lord looked at them, too, and rubbed his own finger over the stars. “I can’t remove them,” he said quietly, “and neither can anyone else. Only time can take them away.”

This shook Miranda at first, but she rallied, determined to be logical. “Even if they’re permanent,” she pointed out, “they don’t have to keep me here.”

“It is true that the stars can let you leave camp,” he agreed.

“Then you can just do that,” proposed the girl. “And if they keep protecting me from harm at home, then that would be a good thing.”

Nir studied her moodily for some time, still rubbing his finger over the stars. Once again, he saw no way out of his dilemma.

“You don’t understand,” he said at last. “I’m not concerned about the magic. I would let you leave if I could, but I can’t let you go. You’re too important to the elves.”

Miranda stared at that unearthly face, at those beautiful, unread able black eyes. He could read her own expression easily enough. She looked absolutely horrified.

“Important how?” she demanded. “Why should elves care about an ordinary human?”

Nir angrily considered the suffering he was causing. “Not ordinary. Extraordinary,” he corrected.

Miranda hesitated, trying in her shock to frame an argument to refute him. She didn’t know what to say. After all, Marak had raised her to be extraordinary.

“But I don’t have to be,” she pleaded at last, in defiance of both great lords.

“You already are,” he answered. “That’s what my magic tells me.”

There was nothing more to say. Miranda just turned and left. Tired and numb, she wandered away and dropped down on the grass by the river, listening to its soothing rush and gurgle in the darkness. The tangle of trees closed around her, cutting off the light of the stars. Miranda stared up at the pale undersides of leaves caught in the bracelet’s weak light. Its faint reach was so short, and the night was so immense. Blackness, all around her. A world without the sun. She couldn’t go home because she was extraordinary. She was where she would always be.

You have to get used to it, gloated a silky voice in her mind. You’ll live your whole life in the dark.

Miranda flinched, trying to dodge the memory. Would she never be free of her mother? Unbidden, her mind went back in time. She was standing in total darkness, pounding on that locked door, begging to be let out.

“You’re cursed,” purred that voice. “You’ll never see daylight again. You can’t imagine the things that live in the darkness. They’ll be your only friends.”

The little girl was hysterical, wailing and screaming, with no dignity left at all. Anxious, whimpering, late into the night. Waking up to find that he had come. Pulling her pillow over her head. Afraid to walk down the hall in the darkness. Afraid to face him again.

She heard the bedroom door open and felt him sit down on the bed. “How’s my little girl? Miranda? What’s wrong?”

Sobbing, Miranda threw herself into his arms, telling him of her childish treason. In broken sentences, she confessed all her sins against him. But here was no icy contempt, no harsh disapproval. She was cradled in warm arms, safe from the darkness.

“I shouldn’t cry, ” she bawled helplessly. “You aren’t raising a crybaby.”

“It’s all right, ” he consoled her. “‘Sometimes crying is good.”

He waited until she had cried herself out, and then he had her tell him what had happened. His calmness steadied and comforted her. Whatever he might have thought of Til’s behavior didn’t show on his face.

“Your mother can’t curse you,” he explained. “You’re protected against that.”

“But she knew my future,” Miranda protested tearfully. “She did. She said so!”

He held her away, studying her face. He had never looked so wise.

“She didn’t know your future,” he declared finally. “I do. I’m not raising my little girl to be trapped in the dark like a ghost. You have a special destiny, and that’s why I teach you so many things. I’m raising you to be a King’s Wife, and that’s what you’re going to be.”

“A Kings Wife?” She thought about that and felt a spark of hope and courage. “Just like in the stories? I’ll marry a prince and live happily ever after?”

“Just like that, “he promised, smiling. “Except that he’ll be a King.” And he tucked his little girl back into bed.

“You’re a King, ” she remarked hopefully as she settled onto her pillow.

“And about fifty years too old for you,” he chuckled. “You’ll have to wait for the next King. Sleep well, Miranda. I’ll stay here to watch. You’re going to have nice dreams.”

Miranda found that she was crying. All her love and faith in Marak and all his love and faith in her had turned out to be for nothing. She would never make him proud, and there would be no living happily ever after. In the end, it was her mother who was right.

A hand touched her arm in the darkness, and she jumped in alarm. The elf lord stood beside her.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “Nothing comes into an elf camp but elves and those creatures the elves bring. Not even a fly or an ant can come in. Nothing can hurt you here.” Miranda could have pointed out that her mother still had an uncanny ability to hurt her, but she couldn’t speak because of the lump in her throat.

“It’s time for the morning meal,” he noted. Miranda just shook her head. He took her hand, and she stood up, the stars on her wrists and ankles lighting in protest.

“You don’t have to eat, but at least come spend time with us,” he said, and the silver stars winked out.

Later that morning, she sat at the opening of the tent for as long as she could to see the colors return to the woods. Squinting through the bright light, Nir watched her and wondered how the daylight world looked.

• • •

Seylin stood outside the goblin King’s bedroom door and gave a gentle call in his thoughts. If the King was asleep, he could wait until morning to hear the bad news. But after a minute, Marak Catspaw emerged, wearing a shirt and breeches of dark blue elf cloth that Irina had made for him. Seylin wasn’t surprised. His monarch always dressed like an elf at night because the stretchy cloth was so comfortable to sleep in.

The King motioned for silence, and they tiptoed to a small study. Catspaw closed the door and sank down wearily into a chair. “She couldn’t sleep,” he sighed. “Or rather, she wouldn’t sleep. Finally I used magic on her, but she fought me for a long time. I’m impressed at her strength. She has a lot of magic, and she isn’t afraid to use it. She’s resting now, but not very well. Where’s Miranda?”

“Still at the elf camp,” said his chief adviser slowly. “I couldn’t bring her home.”

“What do you mean, you couldn’t bring her home?” demanded Catspaw. “I’ll go tomorrow, then, and I’ll bring her home.”

“In the first place, she refused,” observed Seylin. “She says that you gave her her freedom.” When his King made no comment at this indirect reproach, he continued, “And in the second place, he’s used the Seven Stars.”

“The Seven Stars!” Marak Catspaw sat bolt upright and stared at him. ‘Adviser, you’re mistaken! There can’t be an elf left alive today who knows that spell.”

“This one does,” replied Seylin. “The stars are in place and in force. They burned me badly.” He gingerly pulled up his sleeve to reveal a line of nasty wounds and blisters. “That was from one touch,” he observed.

Catspaw leaned forward to look at the damage, frowning with concern. “Seylin, you should have healed those!” He left the room to retrieve a jar of salve.

“To be honest, I tried on this area,” confessed Seylin when he returned. “You can see that it didn’t do much good. Besides, I thought you should see them.”

Using a generous amount of salve, the goblin King healed the burns. Like most magical tools, the salve increased in strength with the magical power of its user.

“That criminal!” he exclaimed. “He has complete control over her now, and he knows there’s absolutely nothing I can do. But why? To use the Seven Stars — that’s the most bizarre thing I’ve ever heard of!”

“I’ve been puzzling over what he wants with her all the way back,” admitted Seylin. “I can’t think of a single precedent for it. Of course, there’s no precedent for Miranda herself”

“He means to use her against us, that much is plain,” declared the King. “She’s a weapon now. Maybe he wants to force us into a situation where I have to choose between her life or a guard’s.”

“You don’t suppose,” said Seylin cautiously, “that he could intend its original use?”

“No. I don’t, and neither do you,” his ruler replied. “That could only mean he’s insane.” He sat in sober thought for a few minutes. “There’s no way to break the spell, we’re sure of that?”

Seylin shook his head. “The stars give him control over her until he dies.”

“Now, there’s a tempting thought,” said Catspaw grimly.

He said good night to his lieutenant and tiptoed to his bedroom, but he found the door half open. He heard a slam, and Seylin hurried back into the room.

“She’s gone!” exclaimed the King.

“She’s overpowered the guards,” said Seylin. They went to the doorway of the royal rooms. The two guards lay in untidy heaps on either side.

“Look at Mongrel,” directed the King. “You can tell he was completely unprepared. I told you,” he said admiringly, nudging the unconscious goblin with his toe, “that Arianna’s s not afraid to use her magic.”

They both spoke the Tracking Spell, spotted the small footprints, and followed the running track. It led them down many flights of stairs, through the echoing grandeur of the empty Throne Room, and out of the palace entirely, into the gigantic cavern that contained the ornamental gardens. It finally ended in the part of the artificial forest that represented winter. The elf girl lay curled up on the snowy white stone at the foot of a slender metal tree. She was sound asleep.

“I brought her here today,” said Catspaw softly, reaching up to touch the delicate crystals that hung from the silver branches. “I suppose it reminded her of home.” He studied his sleeping wife with a puzzled frown. “She’s a strange girl,” he remarked.

“You could carry her back,” suggested Seylin, but the goblin King shook his head.

“She’s finally resting well,” he observed. “I don’t want to risk waking her up. I’ll stay here with her. Go tell the Guard to post men at the edges of the grove to keep everyone away in the morning. And lend me your cloak,” he added without much enthusiasm.

As Seylin walked off, the goblin King stretched out on the hard stone by his wife. He shifted uncomfortably. It was going to be a miserable night.