EPILOGUE

THE FIRST LASTING SNOWFALL of the year powdered the tree branches and muffled their footsteps. Gabrielle walked lightly, enjoying the glittering silent woodland. Winter would bring hardship to many: dwindling food stores, freezing nights, coughs and illnesses of all kinds. Yet in winter’s first weeks, she couldn’t help loving the swaddled mysterious beauty of a world blanketed in snow.

Féolan led the way, slipping through the branches as sound-lessly as a ghost. Gabrielle had improved, but she would never match the Elves’ ability to glide through deep woods with hardly a rustle. He must be nervous, Gabrielle thought, to come so far into the forest. He needs to be sure no one will overhear.

At last, in the protected circle of a small clearing, he brushed off a fallen log, sat her down and stood before her. He seemed about to speak, searching for words, but then he shrugged. “Ah, it is what it is. I’m just stalling.” And he opened his mouth and began to sing.

He chose a cradlesong, simpler in its melody than most Elvish music but beautiful and hypnotic.

Gabrielle closed her eyes to listen, not wanting to be distracted by Féolan’s self-consciousness or to increase it by staring.

It was certainly not the clear fluid voice she was used to. The voice that sang to her now was deeper, with a distinct grain. Growly in the bottom notes and husky at the top of his range, Féolan’s voice was like no other Elf’s on earth. Yet the more she listened, the more Gabrielle heard warmth and depth and Féolan’s own sure musicality. He had found the beauty in the damaged instrument he had been given.

The song came to an end, but Gabrielle sat still, holding the sound in her mind.

Féolan cleared his throat. “That bad?”

“Oh, love, no, I’m sorry!” Gabrielle was penitent. “That was mean, to keep you waiting while I daydreamed.”

He shifted his weight, like a boy at lessons asked to recite.

“What do you think, then?”

She grinned at him. “Well, you’ll never be asked to sing at a wedding or baby naming.”

He laughed in agreement, the tension broken. Eyed her. “Is there a ‘but’ to come?”

“There is indeed,” she agreed. “BUT—I know of at least two people who will always be glad to listen to you sing.”

“You being one?”

“Me being one,” she said. She kept him waiting just for a heartbeat. “Your child being the other.”

“My—”

Gabrielle watched as the import of her words took hold. She had never seen his eyes so round.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “So soon?”

“So soon?” Now it was her turn to stare. “It’s been six years!”

“That’s what I mean,” he began. Then he closed his mouth. Walked over to her, pulled her up from her log and wrapped her in his arms.

“Even after six years, now and then our worlds bump together, and I am slow to catch on,” he said. “It wasn’t soon for you, was it?”

She shook her head against his chest, a little teary. “I was wondering if it would ever happen.”

They held each other in the snowy silent clearing. Then Gabrielle pulled back a little. “I’m sorry to take you by surprise. Will it be a problem?”

“It will be wonderful.” He meant it. Had she been blindfolded and missed the dazed silly grin that spread across his face, she would still have felt his delight. “Some surprises are good. Some are wonderful.”

“Féolan, I’m afraid I lied to you earlier,” Gabrielle confessed. “You will be asked to sing at a baby naming, after all.”