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tear-crusted eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“You were tired. Creatures sleep when they need to rest or heal.” Taniel offered Lindsay a hand to

steady himself. “You should eat if you can.”

Dane had often offered to hold Lindsay’s hand when he needed support. Lindsay couldn’t bring

himself to accept Taniel’s hand, not just now.

“I’ll try,” he said, nodding. He hadn’t eaten in…a long time. When they’d stopped for breakfast,

sitting on the heavy logs and listening to the birds.

Taniel took Lindsay to a kitchen that looked like an illustration from a child’s book, with the fat, old

black stove and hanging herbs and the beautiful embroidered curtains. This room, too, had no corners.

Beyond the windows, it was night, soft and velvety and dense; Lindsay could almost feel it curled around

the faerie house like a great, black cat.

“There’s some fresh custard,” Taniel offered, coaxing Lindsay as though Lindsay were half his age.

“And some biscuits. I could make you tea. Izia’s better at it than I, but I haven’t seen her all day.”

“That sounds fine.” Lindsay wasn’t sure he’d be able to finish even that. He stood in the center of the

room, feeling lost and alone.

“Come, sit.” Taniel pulled out the chair nearest the wood stove for Lindsay. It was red with little blue

and white flowers painted on the back and arms, like a nursery chair grown large. Lindsay sat, obediently,

at the end of the worn wooden table. Someone had cut roses, the blowsy, rude, wild ones, and arranged

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them haphazardly in a yellow pitcher. Taniel hurried about the kitchen, sandaled feet hushed on the stone

floor, robes swishing about his legs, as he served Lindsay up a bowl of sweet, creamy custard with a few

biscotti, and set to making him tea.

Lindsay ate, and drank the tea when it was ready, but he wasn’t really awake for any of it. He stared

off at the old stone walls, feeling sick and sad. Finally, he pushed away the last dregs of tea and murmured,

“I think I haven’t slept quite enough. You said something about a bed?”

“Yes. Izia is usually in charge of the guest room, but…” Taniel held his hands out to Lindsay. “If

there is no fire there yet, I can build you one. I don’t know where she is. I’m sorry, it’s rude of us. Ezqel must have put her to another task.”

“Thank you.” Lindsay wasn’t concerned about the rudeness. He only wanted to be alone, so he could

cry himself to sleep again. He knew what task Izia had been put to and he didn’t want to think about it. He slipped his hands into Taniel’s and let himself be led.

Taniel took him out into the sitting room, to the staircase that wrapped around it. At the head of the

staircase, lamps filled a loft with golden light. Izia came to meet them as they were going up. She looked

ragged and exhausted.

“There you are,” she said, giving Lindsay a smile. “I was coming to find you.” She waited at the top

step for them to reach her. “The room is ready for you.”

The loft was decorated with two plush chairs and a delicate table between them, and there was a

single door that Izia opened as she went ahead. “We only have the one guest room, so I’m afraid you’ll

have to share the bed,” she said in low tones.

Lindsay tensed and tried to stop, but Taniel drew him on in spite of his balking. Who would he be

sharing the bed with? Another visitor? Dane’s corpse? He felt sick at the idea of anyone near him and it felt like any strangeness was possible in this magical house.

The room wasn’t spacious, but it was big enough for a large, four-post bed, a chair by the fire, and a

writing desk and chair. It was just like one would find in a bed-and-breakfast, except that the furniture was probably centuries old. A fire burning in the large fireplace was the only light.

Izia smiled at Lindsay again, beckoning him to come farther in, and looked over her shoulder at

Taniel. “There was some use left in him after all,” she said, sounding pleased with herself. “I have seen nothing like it. I’ve done nothing like it.”

The shadowed half of the bed was taken up by a large body with black hair spilling over the pillows.

Dane was sleeping, looking surprisingly young and peaceful. Someone had washed him and shaved him

and trimmed his hair, in addition to bandaging him and tucking him in bed with the blankets pulled halfway

up his chest and his big hands folded over them.

“He said you should be near the fire,” Izia said to Lindsay. “So you wouldn’t get cold.”

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