silky black hair. His robe, a soft brown velvet version of what Ezqel had worn, hung on him like he was a

coat rack. He picked up Dane’s pack in one hand, sliding it out of Lindsay’s numb fingers before he could

protest, and slipped his other hand into Lindsay’s in its place. “Come in,” he urged, drawing Lindsay

toward the front door.

“Where are they taking him?” Lindsay looked back to the path where Ezqel and the woman, Izia, had

disappeared with Dane.

“To one of the outbuildings,” Taniel said quietly. He was a little older than Lindsay, by the look of

him, but that could have been meaningless. “Every place has its purpose. Come, you need to wash, and

you’re cold.” The door swung open as they approached and Lindsay crossed the threshold into Ezqel’s

home.

Lindsay, through the numb pain of loss, could tell they were in a kind of place he’d never been before.

It was not the architecture or the furniture, though that looked like it had been designed from the

illustrations of a children’s book. The air itself was different, as though there were another element mingled with it. There was light from above, from hanging lamps, but Lindsay was sure the air itself was glowing.

His footsteps, and Taniel’s, were silent on the stone floor of the foyer.

The door closed behind them and Taniel guided Lindsay past a staircase that spiraled up to nowhere—

there had been no second floor or tower that he recalled from outside—and into a huge, warm sitting room.

That place reminded him so much of Cyrus’s sitting room, down to the chair that should have been Dane’s

right by the fire, that Lindsay was afraid his next inhalation would never come.

Another staircase wound slowly up the wall of the circular room until it was lost in the shadows

overhead. Taniel drew Lindsay toward one of several small doors under the stairs. “A bath is waiting for

you. You could shower, instead, but the water would be cold.”

“You’ve already drawn a bath?” Lindsay looked around the rooms, confused. Ezqel must have known

they were coming, though, and prepared for their arrival. His arrival. “Where do I…where should I put my

clothes?” They were a mess of mud and snow and smears of blood.

“Of course. We have been waiting.” There was a small hall, narrow and dim and another closed door

beyond that. “This is the bathing room. I will take you to your room to sleep later. Leave your clothes here.

I do not think you will wish to wear them again.” Taniel opened the bathroom door for Lindsay.

Blue-tinted light came in through a stained glass window—a maritime scene with a mermaid on a

rocky outcrop among high waves—that was wavy with age. The bathroom was a century behind even the

most primitive facilities Lindsay had used, with a minimal toilet and shower and a freestanding tub that had

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a firebox built into it. There were towels over the firebox so that they would be warm, and a robe on a hook beside them.

Lindsay shrugged out of his backpack and coat, looking around for somewhere to put them. He left

them next to where Taniel had set Dane’s pack and turned to Taniel as he stripped out of his shirt. “Ezqel

said you had some questions for me?”

“I do, but you should bathe first, and rest, should you not?” Taniel gave Lindsay a sympathetic look.

“Ezqel does not understand things as others do anymore. Izia and I still do. If you have need of some

privacy…”

Lindsay shrugged. He hadn’t had the luxury of privacy in years, until he’d come to Cyrus’s house. At

least in this place and time, he had a choice. “Whatever is convenient for you.” Privacy would only give

him time to lose himself in grief, and that would come soon enough whether Taniel stayed or left.

“We can speak now, if you prefer.” Taniel’s expression was sad. “I will need to know about your

family history and your personal experiences. You can tell me when you wish to rest.” He took a book out

of a pocket in his robe and perched on the edge of the toilet lid. “Please tell me when you are ready to

begin.”

Lindsay ducked his head and finished undressing, then slipped into the bath. It was warm and the

blood on his hands swirled away quickly. Like that, Dane was gone. Even in the hot water, Lindsay was

cold. Without Dane, it felt like he could never get warm again.

“What did you need to know?” he asked, so that he wouldn’t cry remembering Dane washing his face

with a cool cloth and worrying over him.

The questions began. They kept him busy, kept him thinking about everything except what had

happened to Dane. After he’d cleaned up, Taniel helped him into the robe that should have been warm—it

was heavy and soft with fur at the throat and wrists, and hot from hanging by the firebox—but Lindsay was

still cold.

“Here. You can’t go barefoot.” Taniel pulled a pair of slippers—Lindsay thought they were slippers,

though they could have been shoes from another era—out from below the firebox and knelt to help Lindsay

into them.

Dane had always let him dress himself, and Vivian. It was easy, though, to fall back into passivity.

The slippers were fur-lined leather and they fit him perfectly, just like the robe. How was it, Lindsay

wondered, that they could know he was coming, know what would fit him, and yet not find him in time to

save Dane? He had to bite his lip not to sob at the thought.

“Come.” Taniel straightened and took Lindsay’s hand as though Lindsay were a child. “We must go

to the library.” So they went, hand in hand, through the faerie house.

They crossed the warm sitting room, where a black cat curled up in the chair that Dane would have

favored, and passed the fireplace that was almost as high as Lindsay, a great arching maw full of pale

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yellow fire. The cat opened its golden eyes to watch Lindsay, the tip of its tail twitching. It could have been a trick of the firelight, but Lindsay thought he saw something sad in its expression before it dropped its

head to groom one paw.

On the other side of the fireplace, a door with runes carved over the lintel stood partway open. Taniel

led him in and, defying possibility, the room was round as well. Could you fit more round things in a small space than square? Did magic have no corners? It was filled with books, and went up three stories to a

domed roof, beyond which was a cloudy sky shedding soft flakes of snow. What was the illusion, the snow

or the garden outside the front door?

Taniel led him to a chair at a table near where the wall swelled out like a belly, covered in a mosaic of

flames. It was warmer here and Lindsay realized that this must have been the back of the other fireplace—

sparks and books rarely fared well together. For a moment, he thought his vision was wavering from

exhaustion or hunger or grief, but then he understood that the mosaic was moving like the flames on the

other side.

“I will get the family books,” Taniel said. “From what you say of your magic, it will not be easy to

track your lineage.”

Lindsay sat where he was told, cold in spite of the radiant heat from the wall, and stroked the soft

black and brown fur at the cuffs of his robe. Some use left in it, Ezqel had said. Would the fae mage take Dane’s long, black hair or Dane’s sharp, ebony claws? Maybe Dane’s golden skin would be of use for

something.

“Why not?” he asked, to drag his mind away from the morbid images it was dredging up.