Speaker and her husband. For the rest of the evening she maintained an ominous silence.
Some time later, Vixa found herself alone in her old room. She was wandering around, reacquainting herself with her familiar possessions, when a knock came at the door.
“Enter,” she called.
The door opened to reveal her father. “Am I disturbing you?” he asked.
She smiled at him. “No, Father, please come in.”
Kemian Ambrodel was a handsome elf of some four hundred years. From him Vixa had inherited her fair coloring and her introspective nature. Verhanna was more likely responsible for Vixa’s temper and strong will.
Her father pulled up a chair and sat down. Without preamble, he stated, “I want you to make peace with your mother. She was nearly mad with grief when we thought you lost. She blamed herself for everything. When you came back, it was as though she lost a century off her age.” Kemian brushed a hand through his daughter’s fair hair. “She sees so much of herself in you, you know.”
Vixa took his hand. “I always wanted to be more like you.”
“After all you’ve been through, you can’t deny that you have your mother’s courage and passionate nature. She and I are very different, yet here we are, married all this time. No one thought it would work.”
“She married you after you bested her in a duel!” Vixa said indignantly. Kemian’s almond-shaped blue eyes twinkled, and she added, “Very well, Father. I’ll take what command she offers-but I need some time to rest and reflect.”
“That’s fine. Verhanna won’t object to that. It will be good to have you close to home for a while.”
Vixa slept in her own bed that night. Her dreams were filled with a kaleidoscope of images: Armantaro’s familiar face; the battle for Silvanost, fought side by side with Gundabyr; and most strongly of all, the endless sea. She dreamt she was racing through the waves in dolphin form. The sensation was so powerful that she awoke breathless. Coryphene’s words came back to her: “You are a sister of the sea now. The call will be irresistible.”
Rolling over to a more comfortable position, Vixa banished the ghostly echo from her mind. Sister of the sea? No longer. Not here in Qualinost.
Vixa spent the remainder of the summer in the city, home with her parents. Her sleep continued to be troubled by dreams of the sea. To divert herself, she composed a long letter to Samcadaris, which she sent by the simple expedient of tying it to Lionheart’s saddle and sending the griffon home.
Summer heat gave way to the gold-and-red chill of autumn. Vixa assumed command of the Wildrunners, the rangers of Kagonesti ancestry who’d served Kith-Kanan so well during the Kinslayer War. Her duties kept her in the northern woods for many weeks at a time. After her adventurous summer, she thought all she wanted was the peace and quiet of a remote outpost, yet she never felt at ease in the forest, not as she once had. Her nights were more disturbed now, the dreams of the sea frequently leaving her agitated and unable to sleep.
Winter was gray and silent, as woodland winters usually are. Vixa spent nearly a month sick with fever, hot bricks in her bed to ward off the chills. She talked wildly in her delirium, raving about Urione, Nissia Grotto, Naxos, and other things that confounded the healers. Her fever would lessen for a short time, but hope was dashed as the illness took hold of her once more. At times they despaired for her life, but she was young and strong, and by the time the snows melted, she was on her feet again, unusually thin, with dark hollows beneath her eyes.
The arrival of spring brought a courier from Qualinost. Among the other papers he carried was a strange letter addressed to Vixa. It had come, so the courier told her, when a griffon appeared over the city. The beast dropped a small scroll, upon which was written Vixa’s name. The letter had finally found its way to her, deep in the northern forest.
Vixa untied the silk cord that bound the scroll. Tiny, elegant Silvanesti script filled the page. The letter read:
A shudder ran through the Qualinesti princess. Perhaps Uriona’s prophecy had been right all along-at least in part. She had indeed been crowned in the Tower of the Stars, and now occupied the most ancient elven throne in the world.
Vixa put a hand to her head, attempting to massage the ache from her temples. The pain would not go away. It had been with her, off and on, for a week.
She called her lieutenant. “I’m turning over command to you,” she told him, writing out her orders on a scrap of parchment. “As of today, you lead the Wildrunners.”
The Kagonesti was stunned. “By why, lady? Is your health still poor?” he asked.
“No, but I can’t stay here. If I do, I’ll go mad.”
She packed a single cloth bag with a few necessities, as Kerridar stood by helplessly, at a loss to explain his commander’s sudden departure. “What shall I tell the Speaker? What shall I tell your mother?” he asked weakly.
“I’ve left letters for them. They’ll understand.” She didn’t intend to bandy words with Kerridar all day. “I’ll probably return some day to visit, but I’ll never command the Wildrunners again. You’re a good soldier, Kerridar. I’ve been proud to serve with you.”
She gripped his hand, ignoring his bewilderment. Vixa tied her bag to her saddle and mounted. The chestnut horse fretted in a circle. “Good-bye, Kerridar,” she called.
“Fare you well, Lady Vixa. Astra go with you!”
She rode for days, stopping only for the horse’s sake. The rest periods had to be brief, because whenever she stopped, the ache in her head grew unbearable. Once she was moving again, the pain would subside. She avoided roads and villages, not wanting to meet anyone. By the evening of her third day of travel, she arrived at the ocean shore. There was nothing before her now but sand and rolling waves.
She unsaddled the horse and took the bridle from its head. “You’re free, too,” she said, giving the animal’s rump a slap. The chestnut cantered away, snorting and shaking its head at the unaccustomed lack of restraint.
Her headache had gone away, as she knew it would. In its place were unintelligible whispers. She couldn’t understand the words, but she knew what they signified. The voices wanted her to come into the water. Vixa dropped her bag on the sand and, like a sleepwalker, headed for the surf. As she went, she shed her clothing.
Though summer was more than a month away, the water felt warm and indescribably good. She dove headfirst into the waves, swimming out beyond the line of breakers. A last glance back at the beach, and she sank beneath the surface. She kicked her feet until they were feet no more. Never had the transformation been so effortless and so welcome. Faster and faster she coursed through the depths. Now she could understand the voices. They said, “Come, Sister. Come home. Come home.”
Before she’d gone half a dozen leagues, she was surrounded by dolphins. The sea brothers greeted her by name as they cavorted around her.
“Why did you call me?” she asked in the water-tongue.
“Our brother, our chief, commanded it,” they replied.
