“A taint is imposed upon you,” Seraph said. “It takes little sins—buried resentments and angers—and builds upon those until they are pulled to the forefront. Bandor hit your sister—peace, Tier, it wasn’t his fault. I was just using that as an example of how much tainting can change a personality. If you fight the taint, it will eat away at you until you are little more than a beast and can no longer hide the madness. The Masters lived with it for years as far as I can tell.”

“And the Shadowed?”

“We don’t know how they are made. If we did, we might be able to stop it from happening again. All of the Shadowed have been wizards. I think they have to contact the Stalker in some fashion, perhaps there is a spell written in a solsenti book of magic somewhere. Or perhaps the Stalker is able to call a wizard who is suitable for his purposes. In any case the Shadowed willingly sacrifices the lives of people around him in order to gain power and immortality. I don’t know what the Stalker gains, or what it wants beyond death and destruction. Maybe that is enough. People who are tainted gradually grow mad over a period of a year or even just months, but the Shadowed doesn’t.”

Tier was quiet, and after a moment, Seraph resumed her task of relieving his pain. It didn’t take much magic, just finesse.

She touched a reddish splotch on his ribs that would be a bruise tomorrow and eased it with a caress of magic. Even battered as he was, she loved his body, sinewy and tough, bearing scars of war both old and new. When she’d finished with the spellworking she let her fingertips linger on his skin, trailing them over him slowly.

She had him home. Home and safe at last.

Her fingers trailed lower, and he caught her hand, murmuring, “If you want us to sleep tonight, I’d suggest you lie down beside me instead of petting.”

She straddled his hips, the fabric of her underclothes a thin veil between her skin and his.

“Mmm,” she said. “It doesn’t feel like you are interested in sleep just yet.”

He laughed, a belly laugh that didn’t quite make it out of his mouth.

“Don’t move,” she said, bending down until her lips just brushed his. “You might hurt yourself if you move.”

A long, satisfying while later, Tier said, “I’ve missed that.”

“Me, too,” she said. Reluctantly, she rolled out of the bed and dimmed the light. “It won’t go out all the way. None of the mermori rooms can be completely darkened—I think it has something to do with the nature of the illusion.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you a bit, and if it were dark, I don’t think I could stay awake.”

“Oh?” She took her own bedroll out and spread the blankets over Tier before climbing back in beside him. With a sigh, she curled against the warmth of his body and yawned. “Talk fast.”

“Tell me about Hennea,” he said.

She lifted her head, but the light was behind him, and she couldn’t see the expression on his face. “Hennea?”

He laughed. “If you could hear your voice. I’ve just noticed an odd thing or two, and since our son is so interested in her—I’d like to know more about her.”

She settled back against him. “Odd things like what?”

He laughed. “You tell me about her first,” he said. “Then I’ll tell you what made me ask.”

“She’s a Raven of the Clan of Rivilain Moon-Haired,” Seraph began tentatively. “That’s a common heritage among Travelers. Last I heard, there are three or four of Rivilain’s clans in the Empire and several outside. She came to us—” She stopped. “Do you want me to go through the whole history? I’ve told it to you already.”

“Tell me again, please,” he said.

She shrugged. “She came to us because she’d figured out that the Path had you and had taken you to Taela. She’d watched them kill her lover. She wanted revenge, and she wanted to stop the Path.”

“But she didn’t come directly to the farm on her own,” he said.

“Right. She’d gone up to the place where you had supposedly died first. She was on her way here when the forest king put her to sleep, then sent Jes to bring her here.”

“The forest king didn’t want her in his realm?” asked Tier neutrally.

“I don’t know what he wanted,” said Seraph. “You ask him, and see if you can get a straight answer. If the forest king had thought she meant harm, I don’t think he’d have bothered getting Jes to bring her here.”

Tier didn’t argue, so Seraph relaxed back against him again. “She helped me teach the boys what they could do while we were on our way to Taela. She saved Jes.”

“You didn’t tell me about that. How?”

“Do you know what a foundrael is?” she asked.

“No… wait. Isn’t that the Guardian thing you told me about? The one that was supposed to keep the Guardian under control, but it drove them insane instead.”

She nodded. “There were ten of them originally—nine now. Benroln—I told you how his clan was one of the ones who were preying upon solsenti. He felt he had reason enough for it; solsenti had killed his father and the rest of the clan’s Order Bearers. He thought he could force me to help him by taking Jes and holding him with a foundrael. While I dealt with Benroln, Hennea managed to destroy the foundrael.”

“Not an easy task?” Tier’s voice was neutral.

Seraph shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.”

“Just how powerful is Hennea?” he asked.

“I don’t know. There’s no measuring stick for magic”—she frowned and continued irritably—“though solsenti wizards seem to think there ought to be. Training means as much as power, really—though less for Ravens than for wizards who don’t bear the Order. She’s been well trained; you can see it in her demeanor. People say ‘self-contained as a Raven,’ and that centered peacefulness of hers is what they’re referring to.” She couldn’t keep the wistfulness out of her voice.

Tier heard it because he rubbed her nose playfully. “You do controlled well enough that most people don’t think you have a temper at all. Now, me, I enjoy a good screaming fight once in a while.”

She laughed. “You do not. I have a miserably hard time picking a good fight with you.” She waited a heartbeat or two. “So what do you think of Hennea?”

“How old is she?” he asked.

It was not what she expected him to say, though it seemed to bother Hennea that she was older than Jes.

“I don’t know,” she told him. “She looks about ten years younger than I am. Twenty-four or — five maybe? Their age difference is less than ours.”

He rolled until his shoulder was under her head. “I think she’s a good deal older than she appears.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s in her eyes. When my eyes aren’t reminding me of her apparent age, I feel that she is an old, old woman.”

Seraph thought about what he’d said for a moment.

“The control that Ravens strive for usually only belongs to the very old,” she told him. “I’ve seen it in other Ravens besides Hennea, though I’ve never managed to get it right.” People thought Seraph cold, she knew, but it was so hard to keep her emotions at bay—and if she didn’t, she would be very, very dangerous for everyone. Magic required a cool head, and her temper was too easily lit. “Hennea’s control is the reason, I think, that Jes can tolerate her touch when most people bother him.”

“Magic can make people live longer,” said Tier. “I once met a seventy-year-old wizard who looked no older than forty.”

“Wizardry, yes, but, as I told you, the Orders don’t work like that. Healers like Brewydd can perhaps extend their lives, but not past reasonable limits.”

“You said that wizardry runs in the Traveler clans,” said Tier. “Could Hennea be a wizard, too?”

Seraph sat up, crossed her legs, and stared at his face in the dim light. “You seem awfully certain that she’s old.” Owls could tell when someone lied, but that was as far as their truth-seeing went—or so she’d always supposed.