Maybe it was a wraith.
When she had walked as far as she could, gotten as wet and cold as she could, and endured the elements and the incessant chatter of her traveling companion for as long as she could, she called a halt. She found shelter under the branches of a closely grouped clump of giant cedar, then took up a position on a dry patch of ground to wait for things to improve. Haltwhistle joined her, curling up a few feet away. Poggwydd chose a dry spot that was some distance off, yet still close enough for him to be heard should he choose to keep talking through the night. Mercifully, he seemed to have run out of steam and was rummaging through his rucksack, searching for food.
Food held no interest for Mistaya. She sat hunched down within her cloak in the rain and the darkness, rethinking what she intended to do. In retrospect, her plans seemed foolish. What made her believe the River Master would welcome her? Grandfather or not, he was a difficult and unpredictable creature, a once-fairy who had no use for her father and little more for her mother. Nor, she had to admit, had he shown much interest in her, at least of late. At best he had exhibited some small pleasure in having her as his granddaughter—much the way one enjoyed having a pet. It hadn’t been so when she was younger, but things had changed. Why did she think he would give her any special consideration now, when she was no longer little and cute?
She chided herself for not visiting him more often and certainly sooner than this.
Even more distressing was her growing certainty that she could not avoid being discovered by her father before she was ready. There was no hiding from the Landsview, which could find anyone anywhere in Landover. Unless, of course, they were in the Deep Fell or in Abaddon, home of the demons, and neither was a reasonable alternative to the lake country. She might try using her magic to conceal her presence, but she didn’t think she could afford to rely on a spell she had never used. She had to expect that she would be found out and confronted about what she was doing.
She grimaced. A favorable outcome did not seem likely. Whether her grandfather rejected her or her father found her, she would be humiliated and revealed. A physical confrontation with her father was out of the question, so what was left to her? If flight and concealment were not available, then she would almost surely have to settle for a protracted exile to Libiris and a life of drudgery and boredom. Her father would win, she would lose, and it would be business as usual.
She reached into her shoulder duffel and pulled out a quarter loaf of bread, gnawing on it absently. It seemed dry and tasteless amid the cold and damp. But there would be nothing better until she got to her grandfather’s, so she might as well get used to it. She should have done a better job of thinking through her escape plan, she told herself. She should have found some reason for going to her grandfather that did not involve running away, and once she was there she could have found a way to make him let her stay. Now she was forced to hope she could persuade him in a matter of hours rather than days. Why was she so stupid?
“Why am I so stupid?” she repeated, whispering it to herself, inwardly seething.
“That is difficult to say,” came a reply from the darkness.
She jerked upright and looked around to see who had spoken. But there was no one else present but Poggwydd. She waited expectantly, and then she said, rather tentatively, “Is someone there?”
Poggwydd replied, “Of course I’m here! What does it look like? Did you think I would abandon you?”
“No, I didn’t think that, but I—”
“G’home Gnomes do not abandon those who depend on them in times of need, Princess. It is a characteristic of our people that even in the worst of circumstances, we stand firm and true. Forever faithful, that is our motto and our way of life, carried bravely forth …”
And off he went with a fresh spurt of verbal energy, chattering away once more. She could have kicked herself for giving him a reason for doing so, but there was no help for it now.
She took a moment to consider her options before pulling out her travel blanket, wrapping herself up tightly, and lying down with her head on the duffel. She gazed sideways out into the trees, listening to the sound of the rain and smelling the dampness. Things weren’t so bad, really. She shouldn’t imagine the worst just because the future seemed so uncertain. She had faced difficult situations before and overcome them. She would overcome this one, too. She would be all right.
The last thing she saw before she fell asleep—and this was just as her eyes had grown so heavy that her vision was reduced to little more than a vague blur—was that strange silver-and-black cat.
When she woke, it was morning. But the rain was still falling, the air was still damp and cold, and trailers of mist were drifting through the trees like snakes in search of shelter. The only good thing she could point to was a silent, sleeping Poggwydd.
She looked for Haltwhistle, but he was gone again. She whispered his name, the way she knew she had to if she was to keep
