Tanis smiled and jogged loosely to keep up with the short-legged dwarf. "I think he was wondering which of us was the father-to-be."

Flint's pace slackened. "Now that's an interesting thought," the dwarf said, grinning wickedly. "I wouldn't mind dandling your and Laurana's kiddies on my knee. 'Uncle Flint,' I'd tell them to call me…" He stopped teasing Tanis when he caught the glower on the half-elf's face.

Soon they came to a crossroads. "Which way now?" Flint mused. He asked directions of an elven woman, strolling along the street with a basket of yarn. Wordlessly, she gestured with the basket at a tall, narrow house built of quartz, with a gray granite doorstep and matching window frames. The downstairs was dark, but a warm light glowed through the shutters of the second-level window.

Tanis hung back. "Flint, I don't think…"

"Sure you do," the dwarf said, and pounded on the door of the abode. He shoved Tanis in front of him and stepped back into the shadows.

They waited in the dark, the chill air making them shiver as they watched a lamp flare within the home and heard footsteps descending stairs and approaching the door. "Coming, coming, coming," an alto voice sang.

Soon the door swung open, and Eld Ailea poked her catlike face out, gazing up at Tanis.

"How far apart are the contractions?" she demanded.

"What?" Tanis asked.

Her voice picked up an impatient tone. "How long has she been in labor?"

Tanis gaped. "Who?"

"Your wife."

"I'm not married," he said. "That's part of the problem, you see. Laurana wants to…"

But Eld Ailea had spotted Flint. She looked from the dwarf to Tanis, and understanding dawned in her face. She swung the door open wider. "You are Tanthalas," she whispered.

"I am."

"Come in, lad. Come in, Flint."

Moments later, half-elf and dwarf were standing in one of the most crowded homes Flint had ever seen. Tiny paintings in frames of wood, stone, and silver cluttered every horizontal surface, hung from every inch of wall space. The midwife had even fastened the miniatures on the back of the door to the street. Nearly all the paintings, of course, were of babies-newborns, toddlers, and young children. Some, for variety, were of mothers with babies.

Eld Ailea pushed her guests into cushioned chairs before the fireplace, the half-elf doffing his scabbard with Flint's sword and leaning the weapon against the stone wall that encapsuled the fireplace. Then the elderly elf, waving aside their offers of help, made a new fire and bustled off to the kitchen to collect items for a late-night tea.

Flint picked up one painted miniature from a low, square table; it showed a newborn elf, ear tips drooping, almond-shaped eyes closed in sleep, tiny hands bunched, squirrel-like, under its chin. In the lower left was the scrawled initial "A."

Ailea returned with a plate of dark brown biscuits with currant-and-sugar glazing. Flint closed his eyes and breathed; he smelled cloves and ginger. These delicacies would make up for the lack of ale, he decided. He replaced the painting on the table and noticed a few of the wooden toys he'd given the midwife scattered nearby.

"Ah, you found Clairek," the midwife exclaimed. "The daughter of a friend, born just last month. And there"-she pointed at the other miniatures on the table-"are Terjow, Renate, and Marstev. All born in the last year."

"I thought you were retired," Hint commented.

She shrugged, and a lock of hair escaped from the silver bun at the back of her head. "Babies are always being born. And when someone needs me, I'll not say, 'Sorry, I'm retired.' "

Finally, after each guest had munched one of her feathery biscuits and drained a cup of black tea, Eld Ailea prepared to place the tea items on the small table, but it was too cluttered with portraits and toys. She spoke a few sharp words in another tongue and-Flint blinked-suddenly an open space just the right size was available among the miniatures. She placed teapot and biscuit plate in the spot, within easy reach of her guests, and sat on a low footstool. Both Flint and Tanis jumped up to give her their cushioned chairs, but she declined.

'This is better for an old lady's back," she said with a wink.

She gazed at Tanis as though she had been waiting for this moment for years, drinking in his features with her eyes, seemingly oblivious to the half-elf's squirm. She murmured, "His mother's eyes. That same lilt. Have they told you, son, that you have Elansa's eyes?"

Tanis looked away. "My eyes are hazel. They tell me I have the eyes of a human."

"As do I, Tanthalas," Eld Ailea commented softly. The firelight flickered across her triangular face, and her eyes crinkled in gentle humor. "I also have the shortness of my human forebear. In a forest of elves that grow tall like aspens, I am… a shrub. But the world needs shrubs, too, I guess."

She laughed gaily, but the half-elf looked unconvinced. She continued.

"I am part human, but I am also part elf, Tanthalas. I may be short, but I am slender-and that's an elven trait. My eyes are round and hazel, but my face is pointy and elven. Look at my ears, Tanthalas-elven, yet I wear my hair like a human, to the consternation, I might add, of some of my elven patients."

She laughed, and her warm eyes were liquid in the firelight. "Like humans, I am open to changes. Like elves, however, I have some habits that I will never modify-even if someone has the unmitigated gall to suggest a way that probably is better."

Tanis's gaze reflected wonder and, Flint thought, loneliness. But when the half-elf spoke, his voice was bitter. "But your human traits are not those of a rapist, I'll warrant."

Eld Ailea winced, and Tanis had the grace to look embarrassed. The midwife excused herself to refill the biscuit plate, and when she returned, her eyelids were red.

"I am sorry, Eld Ailea," Tanis said.

"I loved Elansa," she replied simply. "Even half a century later, it pains me to think about what happened to her."

She passed him the plate, which he handed to Flint without looking at. Then she resumed her seat and clasped her arms around her knees. Suddenly, Flint saw how she must have looked as a young elf in Caergoth-lithe and lively and wonderful. He hoped she could look back on a happy life.

"Tanthalas," she said, "I had hoped someday to meet you again-to compare the man with the baby. I must say you are much, much quieter as a man"-and she laughed silently to herself-"but you also are less trusting, which is, I suppose, to be expected in any adult. But I can see that your life at the palace has not been easy. I hoped to learn something of you by talking to your friend here. I'm glad he brought you to me now."

"Why didn't you contact me before?" Tanis asked. His eyes were dark.

Eld Ailea sighed, reached for a spiced biscuit, and set small white teeth into the treat. She chewed and wiped her mouth with a napkin before answering. "I decided long ago that I would not seek you out while you were but a child, that because the Speaker of the Sun was set on raising you as an elf, seeing me could only be a constant reminder of your 'other' half.

"But I realize now that my absence was a mistake. And I apologize."

Tanis, without taking his gaze from her worn face, groped for his tea mug and took a sip. Eld Ailea warmed the drink with a refill, and Tanis sipped again.

"I gave you your name, you know," Ailea said. "It means 'ever strong.' I did that because I knew you would need great strength to live in an elven world. You may find, as I did, that you will have to live away from Qualinesti for some time before you can appreciate both parts of yourself."

Tanis's voice dripped contempt. "Appreciate the part of me that's like an animal?"

She smiled. "I like to think that I have the best traits of both races. Remember, Tanthalas. You have a father who, yes, certainly, was a brutal, terrible human being. But through him, you are related to many other humans who, most likely, were much better than he."