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restored much of the Quill’s youth.  This elixir was
limited in the years it reversed and also in its safety:  unbeknownst to
Rovair, the formula failed, killing its imbiber, more often than it worked,
which is why the rich and influential rarely took such a risk.  For Rovair, the
elixir worked, so, wanted by the authorities at the time, the Quill’s new age
allowed him a new identity as well, forever clearing him of all past crimes. 
With this new ‘gift’ he began a new life, performing even more daring
forgeries.  Since the Quill had been forging for decades, no court could
convict a man clearly only in his twenties for crimes committed before he would
have even been born.  Fifteen years had passed since, and Valmar, now going by
the name Rovair Shingleshod, was nearing age forty for his second time.
             Against these obstacles, Cinder entered
the city and began her search.  Against these obstacles, Cinder met her father
in the same tavern as had her mother, and yet did not know he was her father,
and he did not know that he had even created a daughter.  Just like her mother,
Cinder was attracted to the man’s charm and sly smile when he approached her in
the inn.  When she asked him if he knew an elderly man named Valmar, Rovair
thought nothing of it.  He had not been Valmar in fifteen years and he
certainly was not the only man to ever be called by that name in a city so vast.
             Though Rovair cared very little for
Cinder’s quest and thought it hopeless, he did promise to help her in her
search, wanting only to bed the beautiful woman.  He carried her single bag of
belongings from the inn where she was staying to his home.  Cinder had been in
the city only two weeks and that night was the first time she had ever been
alone with a man not chaperoned, and the first time she had been in a man’s
bedroom, ever.  Cinder was enthralled by her first kiss, and a dangerous fire
was started deep inside her.  It was not until after Rovair had laid her on his
bed that she again remembered her quest, thinking their actions queer to be
performing while in the midst of such an important conversation.
             “Do you think we will find him?” she
asked with a giggle as he kissed her neck.
             “Of course,” Rovair said.  Again Cinder
giggled playfully, trying her own hand at passionate kissing.  It was not a
very skilled effort, but Rovair could not deny the pleasure he received from
it.
             “I have come such a long way.  My mother
said that I should stay away from humans.  She said that they were bad, but you
make me feel good.  She said forty-seven was too young to go out on my own.”
             “I don’t think you’re forty-seven,” he
chuckled, sliding his hand farther up Cinder’s thigh.
             “Oh I am.  I did not tell you, but I am
half-elven.  I fooled you, did I not?”
             “Oh?” Rovair said inattentively, humoring
Cinder as he nibbled on the bare skin of her shoulder.
             “Yes.  My mother is an elf.  A Faerie.”
             “I knew an elf long ago,” he said
absently.  “She tasted very much like you.” Cinder laughed.
             “I do not taste,” Cinder giggled, rubbing
his hair, hair that felt very coarse to one who had only ever touched silken
elven tresses.
             “Shayna was her name,” he said, nibbling
down the front of Cinder’s shoulder and nearing her still covered breast.
             “What!” Cinder screamed, shoving Rovair
back.  “Maybe you knew my mother.  Her name is Shayna.  Shayna Starshine.  Do
you think it was she?  Do you think it was she that you met?  Maybe you know my
father too!”  Rovair stopped his hand and gently held the soft skin of her
shoulder between his teeth.  “What?” she asked as Rovair lay motionless, all
the clues slowly falling together in his mind.  With a great