As they moved away from the cliff’s edge, deeper into the grove, Jan scented water under the fragrance of the trees and peered ahead of him. Then he caught his breath, for it lay before him, through the treeboles: the sacred pool of the unicorns, the Mirror of the Moon.

And it was round, perfectly round, twenty paces across and shallow near the banks. But it deepened at the heart, falling away in a blue cavern that went down, down it seemed into the heart of the world. No plant, no fish blotted the whiteness of its bottom or banks. No ripple marred the eye-smooth surface of the pool.

Only the flat, flaked sand at the cavern’s edge fluttered in its depths like flurried snow. Jan gazed, unaware how near he had drawn. That flickering reminded him of something: birds flocking, a dance of unicorns seen from a high slope, strange stars. They seemed to form a pattern he ought to study, read. But as he started forward again, Tek moved

suddenly across his path.

“Hold, prince-son,” she said. “It’s not yet dusk. Let the warriors prepare.”

Dimly, Jan realized he had come to the grove’s edge, and Dagg was no longer at his side. Jan shook his head to clear it now, and glanced about him. Warriors were stepping onto the flat, sandy bank and approaching the Mere. Initiates hung back among the trees. Jan’s eyes returned to the water.

“Nothing grows there,” he heard himself saying.

“Too salt,” the healer’s daughter said. “But with the coming of the Firebringer , they say it will grow sweet again.”

Jan glanced at her.

“Come,” she told him, moving away among the trees. “I’ll show you the grove.”

It was late afternoon as they walked among the trees. Jan gazed more closely now at their papery leaves: rounds and hearts and slender crescents, with pale undersides that reflected the light. Tek moved before him through the slim, twisted trunks and Jan followed, leisurely. The sun ran in dapples over her odd, pied coat.

“They are called milkwood,” Tek was telling him, “because the sap is thick and white, sweet to the taste. The rosehips—the fruit of their flowers—drip it when ripe.”

Jan was only half listening. He felt very calm, suspended almost, neither hungry nor tired now. A thick carpet of pale, wispy leaves rustled about his pasterns as he walked. Their light, rich scent hung in the air.

“It is good against toothache, pain in the bones, and some poisons.”

Jan halted a moment. “They’re dropping their leaves.”

Tek nodded. “They do that in spring. To bloom.”

Jan drew nearer to one of the trees and saw green buds upon the limbs. A breeze lifted, then fell. The slender, knotted branches shivered, and a flock of bright leaves shimmered down. The scent of resin underlay the waft of honey in the air.

“What will they look like, the flowers?” Jan asked her, trying to see past the green in the buds.

“Deep rose,” the young mare answered, “or pale, with five petals, yellow at the heart.”

The light wind breathed again, and the whole wood sighed. More leaves flickered, silvery in the sunlight. Jan lifted his head suddenly from the low bough he studied.

“How do you know that,” he asked her, “their color and shape? You’ve only been here once before, and that was at first spring, too.”

The young mare smiled, to herself, looking off. “My mother told me.”

Jan glanced up. “How does she know?”

Tek’s expression never changed. “My mother is a magicker, and knows many things.”

“Like how to sing away my dreams,” murmured Jan.

“Yes.”

The healer’s daughter still looked away. He could not see her face now, but suddenly her stance seemed very sad.

“You do not see her much, do you?” Jan ventured, trying to remember the last time he himself had seen Jah-lila. It was only that once, when he was young. “She is hardly ever in the Vale.”

Since then, he had only heard of her, in whispers. Tek seemed to be looking down.

“My mother is in and out of the Vale more often than you think,” she said quietly. Then, almost sharply, “But you are right. She does not come to visit me.” Abruptly, she began to move away. Jan sprang to follow. Tek snorted. “Well, no matter. I do not miss her anymore.”

Jan stared at her, not understanding. How could she say that? If his dam had chosen to live apart from him, he would have missed her terribly. “Why is that?” he asked of Tek.

The healer’s daughter stopped then, with a sigh, as if realizing that she had said too much, and turned to face him. “Because I am not like her, little prince. When I was young, I used to tell myself, ‘When I am grown, I will go to my mother and live as she lives, apart from all others, alone. But no more. I know myself better now. I am only a singer, and a warrior. Nothing will ever make me a dreamer or a magicker.”

Then she moved on again, and Jan with her. They walked a little while through the trees.

“Why…why does she live apart?” Jan tried again. It was a question he had been wondering all his life, though he had never been able to get from anyone any answer longer than “It is her way.” But Tek’s reply was equally short; she did not want to talk.

“That is the prince’s doing.”

Jan halted, staring at her.

“Korr’s…what do you mean?”

Tek glanced at him. “Some old falling-out between the two of them. I know nothing of it. It was before I was born. But I do know that some of it—most of it, much of it—is because my mother dreams dreams, and the prince will have no truck with dreamers….”

She broke off all at once, with obvious relief, for they had come through the grove at last to the cliff’s edge. The trees ended as the land sloped steeply away, then leveled off in a long, descending array of shelfland below. Sparse, stunted brushwood stood in thickets, and rivulets snaked sluggishly over the brittle white rock. Hollows of darkness showed here and there beneath the jutting shelves.

“The wyvern steps?” asked Jan, keeping his voice low. He held himself to the shadow of the trees.

Tek nodded. Her voice, too, when she spoke, was low. “Their dens extend—probably under these cliffs as well.”

Jan’s glance fell to the limechalk he was standing upon. The toes of his hooves felt strange. “But they’re sleeping still,” he said. “The wyrms.”

The healer’s daughter shrugged. “We found no sign of them.”

Jan gazed out over the wyvern steps. The stretch of them, away to the southeast, was vast. As he watched, the tint of sky changed, grew yellow, casting a sallow light upon the land. Jan felt a twinge between his shoulder blades. The country before him seemed unearthly still. Nothing moved among the scrub or within the dark mouths of the caves.

“Did you bury her?” Tek beside him said. Her voice was very low. Jan turned to look at her, not following. His mentor’s eyes met his. “The mare,” she said. “The Renegade.”

Jan’s forehooves slipped. He scrambled back. A little shower of stones tumbled down the white cliffside.

“I heard your hoofbeats when you slipped away,” Tek was saying. “Is that where you went, back to bury her?”

A cold sensation of betrayal slid between Jan’s ribs. She had known! He clamped his teeth, staring ahead as bitterness welled in his throat. Now she would give him over to Korr. He refused to care. In his father’s eyes he was already hopelessly fallen.

“Aye,” Jan answered defiantly. “And if I did?”

“Good,” muttered the healer’s daughter, looking off now. “I’d have gone with you, but you made such a noise when first we came upon her, I feared notice if we both slipped off.”

It took a moment to regain his breath. Jan gazed at Tek. The young mare glanced at him.

“You are not the only one, prince-son, who breaks the Ring and follows his own heart now and again.”

Jan could not recover from staring at her. He felt his jaw might brush the ground if he gaped any more. The healer’s daughter turned to face him more squarely.