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faerie who developed or discovered this magic millennia ago had understood what the consequences would be. Of course, in those days, the relationship between humans and the fae was quite different. Time, technology, religion, fear—all had eroded the path from both sides.
     
    Eilidh was tempted to touch Munro’s mind even deeper, to see if she could somehow access his dream, to know what visions made his mind tumble. Did he fight a battle? Argue with someone? Or did his heart race because he dreamt of more pleasant things, perhaps even of her? She had felt his desire surge many times when they were alone together, and she found its primitive strength enthralling.

    His mind, heart and body seemed locked in perpetual battle. It gave her newfound respect for him, and all humans. The fae kept their emotions tightly controlled; it seemed second nature. Humans, on the other hand, made continuous choices.
     
    His mind rushed toward wakefulness, and he sat up suddenly, whispering “Eilidh” into the darkened room. Knowing he could not see well in the dim early morning, she created a pale glow over her hand and sent it to rest in a corner. As his eyes adjusted, she increased the luminance.

    He turned to her, and she could feel the fog of sleep lift from his thoughts. He gave her a smile, and she could not help but return it. “Good morning,” he said with a stretch that turned into a full-body shudder.
     
    She couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked. He must have driven through the night.

    “You’re doing it again,” he said. “Reading my mind.”
     
    “I constantly explore our bond,” she replied and stood. “I am glad you are here, Quinton.”

    He stood and folded his blanket. “I felt… Did something happen in the Otherworld?”
     
    She felt a twinge in his question. “Yes, several things. While visiting with my father, I was called before the queen and then had to report to the Higher Conclave. There is something else, but before we speak, I must have your word that nothing I say to you will be repeated, ever, to anyone.”

    He cocked an eyebrow, but nodded. “Of course.”
     
    Suddenly aware of where they were, she said, “Not here. We must have absolute privacy.”

    “Is everything all right?”
     
    She gave a brief shake of her head and focused a thought toward him. Trust me. Not being trained with mind-speaking, she doubted he would hear her, but she hoped he would at least feel the emotions behind it.

    “Come,” she said. “I will check in with Oron, then we can find a quiet place to talk.”
     
    Eilidh led Munro to the front of the house. It was, in structure and layout, much like a human home, enclosed and squared-off, but with high ceilings. Its interior walls and floors were stone. Fae tapestries covered the walls, and the furnishings were hand-crafted and of fae design. A mural of crystals had been fashioned into one wall in the main room. She could see the magic resonance moving around it in a beautiful harmony she doubted Munro would be able to sense.

    An adolescent faerie, who couldn’t have been much more than fifty years old, came in from a side room. She was a lovely girl with eyes the colour of rich earth and long hair twisted down her back. “Grandfather is in his meditation chamber. I’ll tell him you’re awake.” Eilidh had never met her before. Oron had the largest family of any faerie she’d ever encountered. This girl could be a granddaughter, or even the granddaughter of one of his grandchildren. In the six months Eilidh had spent on the Isle of Skye, Oron kept her busy and practically locked away with her studies.
     
    “No need to disturb him,” Eilidh said.

    The girl smiled shyly, not yet having mastered the art of polite disagreement, and without another word went up the winding stone stair on the opposite side of the room.
     
    “Hello,” came a small squeak from the side room. Eilidh turned, shocked to see a faerie child inching toward them.