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was to be her official welcome. There would be feasting and the telling of her story and hundreds of introductions and singing into the night. She wished she had had time to learn more Elvish. Féolan had been teaching her, and she could now hear the distinct words and phrases in the liquid stream of sound. She understood more than a little, but she was far from being able to carry on even a rudimentary conversation. She would cram words into her head all day, she resolved, and learn at least a simple speech to express her gratitude.
    A S THE SKY overhead darkened to deepest indigo, the surrounding trees brightened with many sparkling lights. Their branches and the beams of the great gazebo were hung with lanterns, so that to Derkh it looked as though the stars themselves had joined in the celebration. Nor was that the greatest wonder of this night. Food he had never tasted, music he had never dreamed of, the flowing stream of a hundred conversations he couldn’t understand. And the people! Who could have imagined such a people? Or whatever they are, he amended to himself. Everywhere he looked he saw bright eyes, shining hair, graceful gestures. Smooth, fair faces. His eyes sought out Gabrielle and found herdeep in conversation with an obviously pregnant woman with a tumble of black curls. She’s as pretty as any of them, he thought with an absurd sense of pride.
    Something nagged at him, though, about all these lovely people. He scanned the crowd once more and snagged it: Where were the old ones? None here were gray or bent or wrinkled. A legend of his own people flashed into Derkh’s mind—that long ago, people who had become a burden were taken far out on the plain and left to the wolves and snow. Nobody believed it now, but... Maybe they kill off the ugly ones too, he thought, and snorted with sudden laughter.
    “Something funny?” It was Féolan, with more people to introduce. It was kind of him to include Derkh, but really Derkh was just as happy—and more comfortable—watching from the sidelines. He smiled and offered Féolan an embarrassed shrug.
    “Derkh, my parents would like to meet you. They have heard the story of how you became friends with Gabrielle. This is my mother, Lunala, and my father, Shéovar.”
    Derkh stared at the two Elves standing before him. His parents? They didn’t look one day older than Féolan himself. The woman, Lunala, touched her breast and held out her palm, and awkwardly he met her hand with his as Gabrielle had taught him.
    “Welcome, Derkh,” she said in Krylaise. “It was a difficult road, I understand, that brought you here. May you have a happier journey from now on.”
    That nearly undid him. This compassion from strangers—he would never get used to it. On such a dreamlike night he could almost believe happiness did wait for him, and he felt his resolve waver. He touched palms with Féolan’s father, then excused himself for the food tables.
    He wasn’t alone there for long. Glancing up from his overloaded plate, Derkh saw Féolan’s friend, Danaïs, working his way across the gazebo. Derkh’s first impression of Danaïs had been “an Elvish Tristan”—at least they both shared a light-hearted humor that was hard for even a stolid Greffaire to resist. Danaïs’s daughter was one of a handful of children flitting about the party like pretty moths. Elf children, Derkh observed, didn’t seem to have a bedtime.
    “I must take Gabrielle sternly to task,” Danaïs said by way of greeting. “It’s obvious she has been starving you during your stay in Verdeau.”
    “Oh, no—,” Derkh protested, recognizing just a hair too late that he was being teased.
    Danaïs’ soft brown eyes danced with amusement. “Eat up,” he encouraged. “I don’t doubt you are heading into a monumental growth spurt, and we will find you six inches taller by morning.” He turned to more serious matters. “I came to offer myself as an imperfect translator. They are going to tell