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mother. There
wasn't much physical difference between mortal and fée in body
height or appendages, save the fée's defining swish of wings,
horns, scales and the occasional spiked spine. And the telling
blazon.
    Gossamyr gripped her throat. Was it noticeable? Is that why
curious blue eyes fixed to her?
    "You are alone, fair lady of the strange costume?" Not
so grating as the initial tones.
    "I am," she replied. Strange costume? Her arachnagoss
pour-point? It was certainly very average. Mayhap he did not notice
the sheen of glamour on her flesh. Better even, mayhap her blazon was
concealed?
    Two steps took her right up to the mule's side. She gazed up into
the mortal's hooded visage. Musk and earth and a curious scent of
sweetness intrigued.
    "Remarkable," the rumble-toned man said. "And most
bewildering."
    "Why so?"
    "My lady, do you not fear attack?"
    A short burst of laughter preceded Gossamyr's cocky grin. A spin
of the longstaff cut the air in a swift gulp and she stabbed the tip
to ground near her foot. "As you have remarked, I carry a big
stick."
    "Indeed. As well you could take a man's eye out with that
spinny thing."
    "It is an arret," she explained, then tucked it away on her braided amphi-leather belt.
"Achoo!"
    "Bless yo—my lady? Did—did you just...twinkle?"
    "What?" Twinclian? She hadn't moved. Well, the
sneeze had shaken her fiercely—
    "You just glimmered!"
    Impossible—ah! So her blazon was visible!
    A step back was necessary. A tug of her pourpoint did not lift the
soft fabric any higher than her collarbone. The blazon started under
her chin and flowed to the bottom of her collarbone, wrapping around
her neck to under her ears.
    The fée did not reveal themselves to mortals. Nothing but
ill could come from discovery. Another step placed her in the shade
of a fat-leaved mulberry.
    Yet another startling thought unsettled: this mortal could see
her. Mortals were not capable of seeing the fée. Not unless
they possessed the sight. Hmm... Unless—no, she knew the fée
visited the Otherside completely unseen.
    Mayhap a half blood was visible to mortals?
    So long as he did see her, she had better distract attention from
her blazon, the only telling sign of Faery.
    She summed up the man's attire, long dark cloak, striped hose and
an open white shirt with blue peacocks embroidered around the neck.
About his fingers danced colors of ruby, sapphire and gold. Various
silver symbols hung from a leather cord about his neck. Alchemical
symbols, she surmised. A sure sign of the sight. And that she must
beware, for surely he dabbled with magic. "You are... a wizard?"
    "Far from it."
    "A mage?"
    "Are they not two of the same?"
    "What are you?" That you can see me!
    "Why, I am a man." Still sitting upon his mule he bowed
to her and introduced himself. "Jean Cesar Ulrich Villon III."
Casting a wink at her, he said, "But you may call me Ulrich."
    Ulrich. Who saw her. And whose voice blasted inside her skull and
rippled through her body like tiny sparkles of sunlight heating her
flesh. Everything about him called to her attention.
    Was it the same for him? Did she sound so different? How soon
before her blazon faded? Surely the Disenchantment would wipe it
away?
    And until it did, and she could walk undetected by mortal eyes?
    "I shall call you gone." Gossamyr nodded over her
shoulder and made show of spinning the staff in a twirl of defiance.
    "The lady is not a conversationalist. And I must heed she is
well armed." The man heeled his mule and ambled past her. "Very
well. This forest remains the same. The trees are the same. All...is
well." His hood did not conceal the curious eyes drinking her in
from crown to toe. Bare toes, Gossamyr realized as she turned her
toes inward. "Fair fall you, my lady. Good...day." He
paused, blatantly staring at her, then, snapping his attention away,
nodded. He muttered to himself, his parting words low but audible,
"Could she be?"
    Gossamyr watched until the man disappeared beyond a rise on