To Light A Candle

“You have to ask Shalkan,” Kellen said. “It’s not my decision.”

“May I?” Cilarnen asked, speaking directly to Shalkan now. “I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s just— You’re so beautiful.”

“He’ll give you a honey-cake,” Kellen said cunningly, rummaging in his tunic.

“Bribery,” Shalkan scoffed, lowering his head and pawing at the snow—but apparently the combination of contrition, bribery, and flattery was sufficient. After crunching his way through the honey-cake held on Cilarnen’s outstretched hand, Shalkan allowed himself to be touched. From the look on Cilarnen’s face, he was willing to stand there forever, stroking the soft fur of Shalkan’s neck.

“We need to get back,” Kellen finally—reluctantly—said. He actually hated to tear Cilarnen away. The boy looked utterly smitten.

“Will I get to see you again?” Cilarnen said to Shalkan, sounding forlorn.

Kellen could tell that Shalkan was trying very hard not to laugh, but the unicorn’s voice, when he answered, was admirably steady.

“Oh, have Kellen bring you up to the Unicorn Camp whenever he likes. You can meet the rest of us there.” With that, Shalkan turned and trotted off.

Cilarnen turned to Kellen, his whole face a question.

“You didn’t think Shalkan was the only one, did you?” Kellen said. “Come on.”

He’d expected Cilarnen to ride back with him, but Cilarnen moved confidently toward Anganil.

“Cilarnen—”

“Yes, yes, yes. He’s thrown me once, and now he’ll see if he can do it again. I know.” He looked over his shoulder at Kellen, with determination in the line of his jaw. “But you said I could try.”

Yes, Idalia would kill him. And she’d skin him first. But how could he not give the boy a chance? He was learning.

He was learning faster than Kellen had, in some ways.

“Go ahead. Try not to get killed.”

He waited, holding Anganil’s headstall, until Cilarnen had mounted, and then handed him the reins.

The ride back went pretty much as Kellen had assumed it would—with one exception: Cilarnen was not thrown again. Once Anganil realized that this very entertaining spectacle was not to be allowed to repeat itself, he quieted down completely, and the two destriers trotted sedately side-by-side back to the horse-lines.

Cilarnen had only a little difficulty removing the unfamiliar tack, and soon they were on their way back to Kellen’s pavilion again. And there was no doubt whatsoever that although meeting Shalkan must have been the high point of Cilarnen’s life, riding the destrier had been the second highest. He was so full of wonder and ebullience that a little of it actually bubbled over and made Kellen’s spirits rise.

“I’ve never ridden a horse like that before!” Cilarnen said excitedly.

“You’ve never seen a horse like that before,” Kellen corrected him.

“Hyandur—” Cilarnen began.

“Rode a palfrey—a riding horse. Not a warhorse. Anything Elven-bred is beautiful,” Kellen conceded, “but the destriers are special. Very, very special.”

Kellen opened the flap of his tent and stepped inside, calling light into the lanterns to brighten the gloom. He noticed that Isinwen had already lit the brazier and stoked it high; it was actually warm in the tent.

And Isinwen had indeed been busy. There was a ewer and bowl waiting on the low table that had previously held the tea service, and piled on the clothes chest were Cilarnen’s new clothes.

Not only was there a full outfit, including boots, gloves, and cloak—with, Kellen did not doubt, more to come—it all matched (at least as far as Kellen could tell), and since it looked turquoise in the light of Kellen’s tent, it was probably blue.

Kellen picked up the gloves. Now here was something odd. There ought to be a pattern woven into the