Well, Idalia had said that humans weren't expected to know the rules. He took his courage in both hands and plunged in. "Your Majesty— Ashaniel—I'm sorry. I'll be happy to tell you just about anything I know, but you're just going to have to ask me. I don't want to be rude, but—" He gestured helplessly. "I'm not very bright, I'm afraid, and I just can't manage to make out what you want to know if you won't ask me directly."
"It was I who did not wish to offend," Ashaniel said, looking uneasy, yet relieved. "I do not wish you to feel unwelcome here, or to hold yourself treated as a criminal or one without family."
"I won't," Kellen assured her. "But I know… I think I know there's some kind of trouble here. There are things you want to know. And everything will go a lot faster if you just ask."
" 'Ask.'" Ashaniel set her cup back on the table, regarding him gravely. She folded her hands in her lap, as if preparing herself to play a difficult game. Perhaps, for an Elf, it was. Perhaps, because they lived for such a very long time, speaking directly and asking questions was as difficult as mastering an auctioneer's rapid-fire patter.
"Is your sister Idalia with you?" the Queen asked.
"Yes," Kellen answered. "We both had to flee the Wildwood; we left just ahead of a Scouring Hunt. She's staying with me at the guest house."
"Is it true that she has come here at last to live?" Ashaniel seemed to be choosing her words as if this were a riddle game that required absolute precision.
"Yes. I mean, I think—" But he got no further.
"Holy Stars be thanked!" Ashaniel gasped, bending forward and covering her face with her hands. He could see the golden leaves in her dark hair tremble with the force of her suppressed emotion.
Kellen would have been less shocked to see a stone statue get up and walk—after all, in Armethalieh, he'd seen that happen many times. Ashaniel had seemed so remote, so untouched. He'd seen at dinner that she was worried, but this was more than worry. Under that serene exterior had been nothing less than panic. Maybe there still was—but for some reason, these people thought that Idalia held an answer to their problem. The only answer, perhaps.
"We are in desperate trouble, Kellen," Ashaniel said simply, raising her head and composing her features once more. "I do not know what to do. My husband, Andoreniel Caerthalien, has been away for moonturns, searching for a solution to our plight, but this very day I have had a message from him: he has found no answer."
She rose to her feet, and turned away to gaze out through the darkened windows.
"You have seen the state of the land as you rode through it on your way here. The land is starved for water. There has been no rain. The drought has gone on since the spring, and nothing we can do will break it. Our magics are very small: long, long ago, we surrendered all our part in the Great Magics to the Gods of Leaf and Star in exchange for long life and peace, and now, what power we retain is not enough to save the land we hold and love."
It sounded to Kellen as if she were talking about a pact of the Wild Magic—paying a price in exchange for a boon. Did that mean Elves had been human once? Did it mean humans had made a bargain like that with the Gods—or that they'd had a chance to make a bargain and hadn't, and so kept their ability to do magic?
But Ashaniel was still speaking.
"I do mean save it, for I fear, Kellen, that the land is dying, and if it dies, there will be no reviving it. We have only just been able to keep the forest and fields near Sentarshadeen and our own herds and flocks alive by carrying water from the five springs to the fields, and to the roots of each tree in the Flower Forest, but if a wildfire should start in the arid lands beyond our home forest, there will be no stopping it before all—the woods, the home forest, our city—is destroyed."
She was right, Kellen knew, nodding in agreement. Back in the Wild-wood, he'd seen the damage a flash-fire could cause even in a normal well-watered forest. And no matter how much water the Elves had carried to their home woods, if Sentarshadeen was surrounded by a million acres of burning forest, it just wouldn't make any difference. And winter was coming, and winter meant storms. He thought of the dryad's lightning-struck tree back in the Wildwood, and what would have happened if the Wild-wood had been as tinder-dry as the country he and Idalia had ridden through for the last sennight. And even without a lightning storm, high wind could bring disaster, if it carried a spark from a cook-fire or lantern into dry grass.
"I can only hope—when Idalia hears of how it stands with Sentar-shadeen—that she can—that she will—help us," Ashaniel finished brokenly.
"I can't promise that she can help," Kellen said carefully. "I can promise that I'll talk to her and tell her what's going on. And that we'll try."
He thought back on Idalia's careful nurturing of the Wildwood, of all the things they'd done there, and not always because it was a part of a price. He couldn't imagine Idalia not wanting to help, even if she weren't living here. And she was living here—they both were.
And that might make things even worse.
If some of the drought-dry woods were on the other side of the border—the side of the border claimed by Armethalieh…
Was the High Council foolish enough—mad enough—to try to bum them out if they knew they were here? Did they know about the drought?
"We'll do everything we can," Kellen said simply. "So tell me as much as you can about the situation, would you? Just when did you know there was something wrong?"
The Queen leaned forward earnestly, and began.
A servant escorted Kellen to the door of the House of Leaf and Star, and bowed politely as he left. On consideration, Kellen wasn't entirely certain it had been a servant—Queens ought to have servants, but Ashaniel wasn't anything like Kellen had expected a Queen to be, except that he was already sure he was half in love with her. Certainly Sentarshadeen was nothing like Armethalieh at all.
Though the sun was long set by now, the way before him was not dark. Lanterns and torches were placed at frequent intervals along the path to light his way—though Kellen was relieved to see, after his conversation with the Queen, that all of them were completely enclosed, to keep any stray spark from flying out. Then again—these were Elves, who seemed constitutionally incapable of doing anything without thinking about it for a very long time. Maybe they'd always done things this way.
More lanterns stretched off into the distance, dwindling into sparks that seemed to hang suspended in space like a cloud of multicolored fireflies. For one dizzying moment the meadow before him seemed to change places with the heavens above, and Kellen could imagine himself walking through a field of softly glowing stars, shining not with the cold blue-white radiance of the night sky, but in all the pale beautiful colors of spring.
Many of the lanterns that he saw had walls of colored glass—blue and pink and green and yellow, and even, here and there, a surprising pale violet. Some were even inset with mirrors, so they sparkled and flashed like fireworks as he passed them, while others were filled with reservoirs of perfumed oil, making the night smell as sweet as a garden at noon. No two of the Elven lanterns were alike, Kellen discovered. Some were topped with whirligigs that flashed and spun from the heat within; others had softly chiming bells attached. Every lantern he saw was different, each one a work of high art, worthy to grace a museum or a palace.
He retraced his steps toward the former guesthouse, taking his time. If Sentarshadeen had been beautiful by day, it was completely enchanting by night. It was difficult to believe that none of this was accomplished by magic, but he saw—and sensed—no hint of magic at all.
It was very strange. Armethalieh was a city filled with magic—yet it was entirely ordinary, even prosaic—and the High Council toiled day and night to keep it that way. Sentarshadeen had very little magic about it, yet it was the most magical city Kellen had ever seen, a place of enchantment and wonder.
Several times as he made his way home Kellen saw Elves tending the lanterns nearest their doors. Apparently it was each householder's responsibility to take care of the lanterns nearest their own homes, and he hoped someone was doing it at his and Idalia's house.
When he reached home at last, he was pleased to see that they had: two large golden lanterns in the shape of summer squash hung outside their door, glowing a deep rich gold. Light spilled through the windows of the common room, and through the clear glass panels inset into the door.
Kellen opened the door and stepped inside.
Idalia was lounging on one of the long padded benches along the wall, surrounded by pillows, reading a book. All of their gear had been neatly tidied away, and the house now looked as though it had been theirs for years. A grey cat had appeared from somewhere and was tucked under one of her arms, purring contentedly. Idalia had pulled the stool over to serve as a low table, and a steaming cup of tea was resting on it, along with half an apple.
She looked up when he entered, raising an eyebrow noncommittally, and only then did Kellen remember that when he'd gone out he'd been wearing a different set of clothes entirely.
My clothes! I forgot all about them…
He wondered what the Elves had done with them. Thrown them out, probably.
"I'm sorry I'm late getting back," he said. "But I was invited to dinner… at the House of Leaf and Star." He couldn't resist a certain amount of smugness at the news.
"Ah." Idalia gently set the cat aside and sat up—it yawned and stretched, then curled up in the warm spot she'd vacated. "And how did you and Sandalon get along with each other?"
Kellen gaped. He watched as Idalia kept herself from snickering with a visible effort, then pulled her face straight.
"You'll soon find, Kellen, that it's impossible to keep a secret in Sentarshadeen—or anywhere else in the Elven lands, for that matter. The Elves are masters of all the arts—and gossip is also an art form. Not only did three people stop by this afternoon to pass the time and tell me Sandalon had made a new friend, but when Astallance brought your other clothes back from the Palace, she told me you'd been invited to dinner." She smiled then. "I would have expected that, anyway; the Queen is famous for her hospitality and if you hadn't been invited today, you certainly would have been tomorrow. The only reason I wasn't, was because I haven't left our house." Now she raised an eyebrow. "I told you that in their way, the Elves are sticklers for etiquette. Until I go into public, I don't officially live here. Or rather, there is a strange female human who is a guest here, who may or may not be Idalia the Wildmage."
"Then you know about the drought already?" Kellen asked, not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.
Idalia leaned forward, her smile fading.
"Perhaps you'd better come and sit down and tell me all about your day," she said. "Don't leave anything out just because you think I might have heard it elsewhere."
Kellen sat down beside her and told her about meeting Sandalon and then Ashaniel. He told her what Ashaniel had told him—that there had been drought since spring, that it had begun when the spring rains failed to arrive, and nothing the Elves could do could end it. He told her how tinder-dry the forest was, and traced for her (as well as he could remember) the territory affected, in all directions, as far as the Elves themselves knew it.
Idalia listened intently, and with growing worry of her own. It was clear that although she had heard some of this from other sources, she had not heard the whole, and that what she had heard had only served to increase her concern.
"And she asked if you'd help. I said you would—I said I'd ask at least, and that I'd try—was that all right?" Kellen finished anxiously.
"Of course it was," Idalia said absently, patting his knee. "I'll do what I can, and by that, I mean I will try everything to help them. We both will. If Sentarshadeen should fall…" She left the sentence unfinished, gazing off into space, her mind obviously elsewhere. "Go to bed, Kellen. You've had a long day, and tomorrow will be just as long."