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Ni’esa, not about us.”
    The reeve leaned back and resumed his pipe. Toborne moved the chair he was sitting in earlier around to where it faced Tatrice, and he sat down. “So, you were imprinted by accident and you sought out Ni’esa to rectify the situation.” Toborne motioned to Bannon with the stem of his pipe. “I think that is all you need to know, sir.”
    Tatrice decided to sit in the chair Bannon had offered her before. She was sitting across from Toborne, and she felt no different than if he were Ianthill or Morgoran. He was the third member of the First Trine; surely he was no different than the other two, whom she adored. He seemed pleasant enough.
    “I may be able to help your situation, young lady,” he said. “I only now realized I do not know your name.”
    “Tatrice, and my husband over there enjoying that tabac too much is Bren.”
    Toborne puffed his pipe and let the smoke crawl from his lips. “Come now, was that a proper introduction of your spouse?”
    At first, Tatrice didn’t understand, but then a calm pervaded her body. “Forgive me. I am Tatrice, First of Shadesilver, and my husband is Bren, First of Amadace.”
    “That’s better. Shadesilver and Amadace, both young dragons and related, I believe.”
    “You know of the dragons?” Tatrice asked.
    “My lord,” Toborne corrected. “I am correctly addressed as my lord, dear. And don’t be so surprised about my knowledge of dragonkind. I am Toborne, after all.”
    “Forgive me, but I will not be addressing you as my lord, or any other title. You have yet to convince me of your good intentions.” She took Bren’s pipe from him and sniffed the bowl before handing it back to him. “Is it the tabac?” Tatrice caught an almost imperceptible flash of anger from Toborne, but he recovered before she could be sure.
    “Such mistrust and paranoia. The tabac is simply tabac with a hint of vanilla from the elves of Darovan. The southern Adracorians grow this tabac with great pride and tradition. There was no tampering with it from my end, I assure you.”
    “Why do I get the feeling you are harmless when I know you are not? I saw you at Brightonhold. I saw you steal the Silver Drake. I saw you send two black dragons after Ianthill, Dorenn, and Gondrial.”
    “You have a grand memory, my dear, but your facts are not entirely accurate. I sent the dragons to protect the Silver Drake. I stole nothing from my brothers.” He called out toward the wooden door. “Dear, we have guests in here, you may remember. Why don’t you join us?” There was no answer. “Sylvalora?”
    The wooden door opened, and out stepped a woman with blonde hair and twinkling blue eyes. She wore the blue dress Tatrice had seen Sylvalora wear, but this woman looked nothing like the elf maiden Tatrice remembered. “Tatrice, how wonderful it is to see you.”
    Tatrice scowled. “I don’t know you! Who are you supposed to be?”
    “It’s me, Sylvalora. I used to look like an elf maiden, I know. It’s supposed to be a gift from the gods. Every time I take the form of the Silver Drake, I return to a different visage. I will return to the elf maiden form again someday.”
    “You remind me of someone I know, familiar somehow, but I don’t believe for one moment you are Sylvalora.”
    The woman took Tatrice’s hand in her own and looked at her imprint. Tatrice tried to pull back, but the woman gently persisted. “In Cedar Falls, at the bathhouse, Lady Shey and I advised you to marry for love, to marry because you felt that it’s right, not because it is expected of you.”
    “I certainly failed to heed that advice!”
    “Did you?” She looked at Bren, who had a hurt expression. “He unquestionably loves you.”
    Tatrice met Bren’s gaze. For the first time, she let herself feel his love without immediately turning her thoughts to Dorenn. “No, this is a trick. The tabac makes everything seem happy and safe. You are not Sylvalora; she is an elf. You are