slender fingers as if seeing them clearly for the first time, then ran them over her narrow face and pointed chin.
Habrith looked intently into Larajin's eyes. 'The goddess?' she prompted.
It was all the encouragement Larajin needed. She told Habrith about what had happened in the Temple of Sune: about her wounds magically healing and the reflection she'd seen in the pool. She told Habrith about the rat bites, and the sewer, and her encounter with the tressym. She also told Habrith about the Hulorn's strange appearance and the magical appearance of Sune's Kisses, whose fragrance the wild elves seemed particularly interested in. When she finished, Habrith was quivering with excitement.
'Do you know the elvish word for that plant?' Habrith asked.
Larajin shook her head mutely.
Habrith spoke two words in a fluid language, then translated. 'The name for it in the Common tongue is Hanali's Heart. It's also sacred to the elven goddess of beauty: Hanali Celanil. The gold flecks on the leaves are her symbol. The fragrance is said to emanate from priests of Hanali when they are working their magic.'
'I'm no priest,' Larajin protested, 'and I worship in Sune's Temple.'
'Sune and Hanali are rivals for mortals' love and affection, but they share one thing: the sacred pool of Evergold. While the goddesses might quarrel over whether humans or elves are more beautiful and often try to steal each other's worshipers-especially if they are half elven-they are on friendly terms with one another. It is possible for a mortal to worship them both-and to be blessed by both.'
Larajin's head was spinning. 'You're saying… that I'm blessed? By an elven goddess?'
Habrith nodded. 'And by a human goddess. That brings us back to another point: your human father.'
'Who… was he?'
'Who is he, you mean,' Habrith corrected. 'None other than your master: Thamalon Uskevren the Elder.'
Larajin sagged, and caught herself against the counter. 'My master?' she whispered. Habrith's words made sense. No wonder Thamalon the Elder had been so incensed at the thought of any romance between Tal and Larajin. Tal was her brother-or half-brother, at any rate, as was the younger Thamalon. Mistress Thazienne was Larajin's half sister. No wonder they resembled one another!
Larajin understood, now, why she had never been turned out of her servant's position, despite Mister Cale's unfavorable reports. Why the master had sent agents after her to fetch her back after she followed Dirugo.
Even so, Larajin was hard pressed to believe that the elder master was her father. Thamalon Uskevren was a solemn, respected man of noble birth and impeccable character who loved and respected his wife. What would have possessed him to sleep with a barbarian elf maiden?
'Your mother was a beautiful woman,' Habrith said. 'As beautiful as you have yet to become, once you find your way. She was well respected by her people, even though she accepted a human's seed inside her.'
'Is that why I was given up by the elves?' Larajin asked. 'Because I was half human?'
Habrith shook her head. 'You weren't given up,' she said. 'Thamalon took you. Now the wild elves want you back.'
'Back?' Larajin croaked. 'Back where? And why?'
'In the Tangled Trees,' Habrith answered. ' 'Why' is the question I'm trying to find an answer for.'
Larajin looked at Habrith with fresh eyes. The grandmotherly woman was more than she seemed. She knew things a mere baker should not.
Habrith nodded, and tapped the crescent moon that hung against her throat. 'I have friends. I ask questions and hear things. The answer shouldn't be long in coming.'
Larajin realized she was supposed to understand what Habrith was hinting at-the crescent moon represented something. But she had no idea what.
Habrith's hand dropped away from her throat. She rummaged behind the counter, pulling out a change of clothes, which she thrust at Larajin.
'Take your uniform off,' she said, 'and put these on. That should keep them guessing. Wait here, and open the door for no one. I'll have a word with these fellows who have been bothering you, then I'll come right back.'
Larajin held the clothes in her hands. 'But-'
Habrith pressed a finger to Larajin's lips. Then she smiled. 'We'll speak more when I get back,' she said. 'Be sure to lock the door behind me.'
After changing into the clothes Habrith had given her and waiting a few moments to ensure the baker wouldn't see her leave the store, Larajin made her way through the sewers to the Hunting Garden. She didn't see any malformed rats, this time. The only thing that slowed her down was an overactive imagination. Every splash behind her sounded like the footsteps of the green-cloaked elf. She whirled around more than once, a knife from Habrith's bakery in her fist, to confront what had proved to be only a shadow.
Inside the garden, she hurried to the spot where she'd last seen the tressym. It mewed in response to her call- but so faintly that Larajin barely heard its cry.
The winged cat lay at the base of the tree, barely looking up when Larajin stroked its fur. It looked even more bedraggled than it had two days ago, its fur wet and matted and its wing feathers shredded. A large lump over the broken portion of its wing was oozing pus.
'Oh, kitt,' Larajin said, tears welling in her eyes. 'I should have come back sooner. I'm so sorry.'
She touched a hand to the lump on the tressym's wing. It was hot under her fingertips, despite the fact that the creature was shivering. The tressym growled softly but made no other protest.
Larajin wanted to pick the wounded creature up and carry it back to the temple, but she was afraid that if she moved the tressym, it would die.
She did the only thing she could: she prayed. First to Sune, then to Hanali. She begged whichever of the goddesses was listening to save the tressym, to prevent this beautiful creature from dying.
Larajin caught a whiff of something sweet: Sune's Kisses. Or, as she knew it now, Hanali's Heart. The flower was nowhere to be seen. The Hunting Garden was shrouded with snow. Yet the scent grew steadily, as if dozens of the tiny mouth-shaped flowers were suddenly blooming.
The tressym began to purr. Larajin looked down in alarm, mindful of the old wives' tales that spoke of cats purring just before they died. She was surprised to see that the tressym's fur looked a little less matted, that the lump on its wing was a little smaller.
Most surprising of all, her hand that lay over the lump had a rosy red glow. It pulsed out from her fingers and into the tressym, beating with the steady rhythm of Larajin's own heart.
She swallowed down her wonder. If this was magic-if she really were channeling the power of the goddesses-she didn't want to lose it. She concentrated on the wounded tressym, putting every ounce of her will into her desire for it to be whole and well.
She heard voices headed in her direction. One, she recognized-the Hulorn. Every instinct told her to flee, but she continued to focus upon the tressym, doing her best to ignore the approaching danger. The only sign of her rising panic was a slight tremble in her hands.
Finally she heard something that broke her concentration.
'… this blasted ring,' the Hulorn said. 'It seems to bear a curse. It regenerates flesh but twists it to its own dark design.'
The other voice, also male, was unfamiliar. Now Larajin could hear feet crunching on the snow.
'Its magics seem to be linked to that of the wand,' the second man said with a wheeze. 'I cannot dispel the magic of one without affecting the other. You will have to make a choice: both, or neither.'
The tressym stirred under Larajin's hand. The lump was almost gone.
'By the gods! Who is that?'
Larajin looked up. Not more than a pace or two away stood the Hulorn, his half-serpentine face twisted with alarm and rage. Behind him was a tall, dark-skinned man who leaned on a knotted staff. Clad in smoke-gray robes that made him little more than a shadow in the snowy forest, he stared at Larajin with an expression that was equally surprised.
'Who is she?' he asked, his voice wheezing.
'What does it matter?' the Hulorn said. 'She's seen us together. She's seen this.' He held up his bird-taloned
