"What do we do now?" Shailiha asked.

"First," Faegan answered, "Tristan needs to drag the bodies out back and hide them behind the shop. We have been fortunate, but I believe we have yet to see whatever it is Krassus taunted us about. We must still make our way to the docks-the roughest part of all Farpoint.

"We're within walking distance. Tristan, we leave as soon as you have finished."

CHAPTER

Eight

"A re you quite certain you should be doing this, Father?" Celeste asked nervously.

Wigg stepped over another fallen log as he made his way carefully through the forest. "Yes, my dear," he answered patiently. "I am quite all right."

Truth be known, he loved the way she looked after him. He smiled as he realized just how long it had been since anyone had taken care of him: more than three centuries.

He stopped for a moment to get his bearings. An equal number of years had passed since he had visited this section of the Hartwick Woods, and he wanted to be sure of his way.

Walking up beside him, Celeste took her father's hand. "Just the same, let's rest for a moment," she suggested softly.

Looking around, Wigg saw a small clearing and headed for it. They sat in the shade of a hibernium tree. As was the old wizard's custom, he picked a blade of grass and began shredding it with his long, elegant fingers.

The day was still young, the sun just rising above the tops of the trees as they swayed gently back and forth in the wind. The dark green grass was soft and fresh, as were so many of the living things now bursting forth from the Season of New Life. The songs of the birds made a comforting, familiar background refrain.

Wigg turned to look at his daughter-the daughter he had only so recently found. He loved her more than his life, and would do anything to protect her. Although she seemed outwardly normal, Celeste was just beginning to come to grips with all that she had been forced to endure. He had spent hours discussing the matter with Faegan, who had sadly agreed that no matter how intelligent or how high the quality of her endowed blood, Celeste would need a great deal of care and guidance to set things right, if indeed they ever could be.

Both Wigg and Faegan had a great deal of collective knowledge regarding such psychosexual trauma, for they had witnessed firsthand the various abuses of the Coven during the Sorceresses' War of three centuries earlier. But this was different. This time the victim had been the lead wizard's only child, and his stake in her healing was acutely personal.

Lying down in the soft grass, Celeste closed her eyes. Shawna the Short had wisely seen to it that her gown and slippers were replaced with attire more suitable for walking through the forest: a brown leather jerkin over a close-fitting blouse of black silk with sleeves that gathered at the wrists. Trunk hose rose to just above her knees, and she wore soft, brown knee boots. Her dark red hair spread out upon the ground like a luxurious fan. Looking at her, Wigg could easily pick out the fine features she had inherited from her mother, Failee.

No matter what she wore or how distressed she became, her beauty always shone through, the old one thought. In that way, she was much like Shailiha. Yet, in so many ways, she was also very different. Suddenly forced to wipe away a tear, he continued to contemplate the various psychological stages of healing the young woman would be forced to endure.

She was in denial, he knew, and this very uncertain mental stage would presumably be followed by others. Eventually would come her anger, then her eventual acceptance of what had been done to her. And finally, if she was lucky, a form of personal resolution would befall her, truly allowing her to lead a relatively normal life out in the world.

His thoughts floated back to three days earlier, when Krassus had so suddenly appeared. The rogue wizard had said many things that stunned Wigg that day, but none so much as his reference to the partial adept living here in these woods, and his mention of having visited her. Wigg had no doubt that Krassus' motives for doing so could certainly not have been harmless.

The lead wizard had spent the last three days in bed thinking, and trying to regain his strength, before finally deciding to venture into Hartwick. The Minion litter and armed guard of winged warriors that had transported him and Celeste waited patiently just to the north. Wigg sighed. He had come because he knew in his heart he needed to see this person from his past-if indeed she still lived.

Celeste stirred, coming up on one elbow. "You still haven't told me why we're here," she said, smiling at him.

"We have come to see someone," he told her.

"Who?"

He pursed his lips. "Someone I knew a long time ago-someone Krassus referred to that day when he appeared to us in the game room. A woman I was… friendly with… just after the Sorceresses' War."

For several moments he explained to her the world of the partial adepts, just as Faegan had done for Tristan and Shailiha. He also went on to discuss how their kind had, for better or worse, been banished by the Directorate, both the women and the men. When he finished, Celeste's sapphire eyes were alight with curiosity.

"But why did you bring me with you, Father?" she asked. Sitting upright, she wrapped her hands around her raised knees and placed her chin upon them. "You know how much I love to be with you, but wouldn't you have preferred to see her alone? Especially after all these years?"

"If she still lives, I want her to meet you," he answered. "And truth be known, you and I have had precious little chance to be alone. Besides, if there is anyone in the world I would wish to share this encounter with, it is you."

Deciding to change the subject, Wigg selected another blade of grass to worry. "You care for Tristan very much, don't you?" he asked.

At her father's blunt, unexpected question, Celeste blushed. Then the rose of her cheeks faded, and her expression became more somber, perhaps even bordering on mild confusion.

"I care for all of you," she answered simply. "You know that."

Gently grasping her chin, Wigg turned her face to his. "But you care for the prince in a different way than you do for the rest of us, do you not?" he asked softly.

Celeste lowered her eyes. "I would like to," she said hesitantly.

She tilted her head slightly as if in pain, not knowing how much her next words would sear her father's heart. She was trembling, and tears came to her eyes. "Yes, I would like to care for him. But, you see, I really don't know how," she whispered, so softly he could barely hear her.

Grasping her shoulders, Wigg pulled her close. "I know," he answered.

For a long time they sat that way in the grass, simply holding each other: the father who had never known he had a daughter, and the daughter who had never learned how to love.

Finally, Celeste lifted her face. She looked across the glade, alert, head cocked. Narrowing her eyes, she asked, "Tell me, Father, do you hear that?"

"Of course." He smiled. "I first heard it when we sat down. I have wizard's ears, remember?"

"What is it?"

Across the clearing, a swarm of bees anxiously tended a massive comb nested in the crook of a tree branch. Each of the bees was at least the size of a man's fist. As they swirled and danced in the air, the familiar green-and-purple striping upon their backs was highlighted by the climbing sun.

"They're Eutracian honeybees," he said, smiling again. "They're protecting their hive. They are usually not dangerous, so long as they are left alone."

"What's honey?" she asked.

Realizing anew just how many things Celeste had not experienced that the rest of the world took for granted, he leaned in conspiratorially. "Watch," he whispered. His right hand came up.