The boy wiped his mouth on his sleeve and jerked his head at the door. “Best go now. Got work to do.”

“Yes. Not a single word to anyone about these things. You know that?”

He gave me a bready grin, pulled open the door, and disappeared through the hot kitchen.

My revived hopes were quickly swallowed by grim reality. Throughout the day-the second since Gerick’s disappearance-searchers returned empty-handed. I sent them out again, telling them to go farther, ask again, be more thorough, more careful, more ruthless. Even for a Dar’Nethi Finder, the trail was growing cold.

I wandered down to the library and curled up in the window seat where I had first laid eyes on my son. For half the day I stared at a book of which I could repeat no word. The bright winter sun glared through the window glass…

A rapid tapping startled me awake. Someone had built up the fire and thrown a shawl over me to ward off the evening chill. My book had slipped to the floor. The insistent tapping came again from the direction of the library door. “My lady? Someone’s asking to see you.” It was Nellia. “A young woman. Says she’s expected.”

“Bring her right away”-I jumped to my feet, fully awake in an instant-“and hot wine… and supper. Whatever there is. She’s come a long way.”

The small, wiry young woman who strode into the room a few moments later could almost pass for a youth with her breeches, russet shirt, leather vest, and the sword at her belt. Her black, straight hair hung only to her shoulders. “Here almost before you thought of me, right?” she said, displaying the quirky smile people saw so rarely.

All my grief and guilt and terror, so closely held for two long days, was unleashed by Kellea’s arrival. I embraced her thin shoulders fiercely and engulfed her in a storm of tears. The poor girl… shy, uncomfortable with people, especially awkward with anyone who knew of her talents… Knowing how such behavior would unnerve her, I swore like a sailor even as I wept.

“What is it? Has the boy been found dead or something?” Kellea said, shifting awkwardly as I gained command of myself and pulled away. “I know he’s your brother’s child, but-”

“He’s not Tomas’s son, Kellea…” I drew her close to the fire, speaking low as I told her everything, built up the case again, one point at a time, hoping she could tell me that my fears were overblown.

But when the story was told, she shook her head. “Oh, Seri… and you’ve no way to contact anyone across the damnable Bridge.”

“It could be a year until I hear from Dassine again.”

“You don’t think this Darzid means to arrest the boy, take him to Montevial… to execute him?”

That had been my first terror-that my child might suffer the same horror as Karon had. But I had persuaded myself that a trial was the least likely result.

“Without substantial proof Evard would never harm a child he believed to be Tomas’s son. And how would Darzid explain switching the two infants without condemning himself for condoning sorcery? Darzid must have done the switch; he brought the dead infant to me himself. He has preserved Gerick’s life all these years, knowing what he is. Why would he harm him now?”

Why? Why? Darzid’s motives had always been a mystery. His deeds had taken him well beyond the common reasoning of greed and ambition. In the days of our friendship he had confided in me his dreams of a “horrific and fantastical” nature and professed a growing conviction that somehow he did not belong in his own life. In my months of imprisonment between Karon’s death and Gerick’s birth, Darzid had badgered me to tell him of sorcerers, to explain Karon and his people, claiming that “something had changed in the world” in the hour Karon died… which of course it had. But I hadn’t understood the world back then, and had no concept that Karon’s death had opened the Gates to D’Arnath’s Bridge, renewing an enchanted link designed to restore the balance of the universe. How had Darzid perceived such a thing? The gleeful hunter and persecutor of sorcerers had demonstrated no sympathy, no kinship, and most importantly, no knowledge that might imply that he himself could be one of the Dar’Nethi Exiles. I refused to countenance any such possibility. So what was he?

“Sounds like we’ve no time to waste,” said Kellea. “Bring me something that belongs to the boy, and I’ll try to pick up his trail. Meanwhile, if you don’t mind, I’m going to dig into this little feast. Didn’t stop much on the way.”

I hurried upstairs, leaving the young woman slapping butter and cheese on the toast Nellia had brought in. Gerick’s room was perfectly arranged: bed, wardrobe, washing cupboard, a set of elaborate chess pieces meticulously aligned on an otherwise bare shelf. I searched the wardrobe and a small writing case, looking for some article that might hold enough of Gerick’s ownership to trigger a Finder’s magic. Clothing did not usually work well, Kellea had told me. For most people, too little of the self was invested in them. The dust on the chess pieces hinted they’d rarely been used. I settled for a pair of fencing gloves, thinking of Gerick’s intense desire to master the sword. Clearly his life had been lived elsewhere-in Lucy’s room, I guessed, where he felt safe. Inspired by the thought, I hurried to Lucy’s room and snatched up the reed flute he had made for his nurse.

Kellea tried the gloves first as they were Gerick’s own possession, but eventually she threw them aside and reached for the flute. Closing her eyes, she ran her fingers over the hollow reed, around the ends and over the holes. Then, she laid the flute on the table, and, motioning me to be patient, she sat on a stool beside the fire, propping her elbows on her knees and her chin on her clasped hands as she stared at nothing. Just as I concluded that time had come to a halt, she jumped to her feet. “They’re heading west.”