"Gar…" Magnus stopped in the doorway to turn back. "It's good to hear that name in this house—reminds me of who I have become."

"So long as you don't forget who you were," Alea said, "or that the two together make up who you are. Good night." The door closed behind him, and Alea sat alone in his boyhood sanctuary, surrounded by the mementos of his childhood ideals, feeling closer to Magnus in that moment than she ever had. In the last half-hour, he had told her more about himself than in the whole of the four years she had known him.

"MAGNUS, NOW!"

Magnus sat bolt upright in his pallet by the fire, heart hammering, whole body thrumming with the need to fight or flee. Then he felt the call, too—alarm and terror, and knew it was his father's. He threw back the quilt and scrambled to his feet, catching up a robe as he ran for the staircase.

Alea hovered outside the door of Gwen's room, not sure she should intrude. Through the open door, Magnus could see his brothers and sister kneeling by the bed—sleeping on the second floor, they had come seconds sooner than he himself. He caught Alea's hand as he passed, saying merely, "I need you."

Alea blinked, then hurried with him.

Gwen lay limp, hands on her breast, breath rasping in her throat. Magnus looked for a place to kneel, then stepped up behind his siblings and saw the grief already hollowing his father's face, saw the trembling hands, and moved quickly around the bed to kneel beside him.

Alea hovered at the foot of the bed, unsure of her place. She heard cloth rustle and turned to see Quicksilver come up beside her, knotting the cord around her robe, and Allouette beyond her.

A pang of fear turned her head toward the bed again, fear of loss that she knew came from Magnus. Gwen hadn't moved, but Alea saw her hand twitch as though trying to rise, saw Cordelia look up staring at her mother's face, then Geoffrey with eyes brimming, then Gregory, dry-eyed but trembling.

Magnus's head swiveled from Rod to his mother in surprise. After a moment, he nodded, reaching out to touch Gwen's hand.

Suddenly, Alea felt Gwen's mind in hers, heard her voice, and knew that, though the body lacked strength to move, the mind could still quest. Take care of him, the thought said, and with a rush of emotion that almost overwhelmed her, Alea answered, Madam, I shall. Then she couldn't hold it back any longer; her own panic welled behind the thought: Don't leave us!

Gwen's children glanced at her in amazement.

I would I did not have to, the dying woman answered; then her touch was gone.

Magnus and his siblings stared at their mother.

Rod lifted his head, gaze fixed on her face, tears welling, hands clutching hers, and Alea knew he shared one last thought with his wife.

There was no visible sign, no sudden slackening of the body, no rattle in the throat, but Gwen dwindled as though she receded into distance, and was gone. There was one less person in the room, one less presence, one less soul.

Cordelia bowed her head over her hands, sobbing. Tears ran freely down Geoffrey's cheeks and finally welled from Gregory's eyes, though he knelt as stiffly as though carved in marble.

Alea felt Magnus's thoughts fasten to hers, felt the sudden clawing need, even as he turned to his father, arm out but not touching.

Rod knelt dry-eyed, though, face strangely empty; then his lips moved, and Alea could tell the thought: Till I see you again.

THERE WAS A great deal to do, and Magnus's siblings turned to it with the air of people carrying out plans already made. A hundred times Magnus had to bite back questions, then finally retired to a chair at the side of the house's central room, only able to watch. Alea realized it on the instant—she had been watching him like a hawk since he had come forth from Gwen's room—and sat by him, touching his hand. "Who is with your father now?'

Magnus looked up at her, startled, then nodded and went to the stairs, Alea right beside him.

Rod sat by Gwen's bed, gazing at her motionless face, his own almost as still. He looked up as Magnus entered, then reached out with a faint smile. "Thank you, son. I could use some company."

Magnus pressed his father's hand, then pulled up two chairs. He sat, and Alea sat beside him.

"It's good to have you here again," Rod said, "so good."

"Thank God I came in time, Papa!"

"I do." Rod nodded. "I do."

Then his gaze strayed to Gwen's face again.

Magnus and Alea sat in silence.

Rod sighed, shaking his head. "So many years wasted."

Magnus stared, scandalized.

"Twenty-eight years of my life, before I met her," Rod said. "Even if you don't count the first eighteen, that's ten years when I could have been with her but wasn't."

"None even knew of this planet then, Papa," Magnus reminded gently.

'True." Rod nodded. "That doesn't make those years any less empty, though." He shrugged. "I'd given up hope of ever falling in love with a woman who would fall in love with me—showed a horrible knack for falling in love with the wrong ones, in fact. Then I met your mother."

And the two sat quietly, listening in fascination as Rod told the story of his meeting with Gwen, of the slow realization of how much she had come to mean to him, of the sudden discovery that he was in love with her, and of their life together as a young couple.

Magnus listened intently, fascinated by all that he had never known of their early days, and Alea drank it all in, wanting every scrap she could have of this friend she had met too late.

THE COFFIN TOUCHED bottom, the pallbearers pulled up the silken ropes, and everyone waited for Rod to throw down the first handful of dirt, but he only stood, hands folded, musing as he gazed down at the oaken box. Finally, Magnus reached down for him, scooped up a handful of dirt, and threw it down.

Pebbles rattled on wood, and Rod looked up, startled, then nodded slowly and said to Magnus, "Thank you, son."

"My right," Magnus answered him, "and my honor. Come away, Papa."

Rod looked up at him with an amazingly peaceful smile. "Why not? After all, she'll always be with me no matter where I go."

A choked sob came from the mourners; Alea wondered if it were hers.

"Even so." Magnus turned his father away from the grave and began walking with him, back toward the house. "Bide with us, then—we who need to mourn, Papa."

"Of course." Rod nodded. "Not that it's really necessary, mind you—but it's fitting."

So they went down to the gate of the churchyard, where Magnus hovered watchfully as Rod mounted the tall black stallion that had carried him there. Magnus mounted his own horse, and the siblings and their spouses fell in behind him, then the rest of the entourage behind them.

Alea rode with them, as near Magnus as she could be, and wondered at the man and woman who rode in the black-draped coach with the gilded crown carved on the door.

SHE FOUND OUT who they were in the great room of the family cottage, where the mourners gathered for warmth and reassurance. Only a quarter of those who had come to the funeral stayed for the reception, of course, but that was still enough to fill the cottage's room. Alea threaded her way though to the kitchen, looked about for a tray, found one with glasses and a bottle, and took it to serve the guests, but Cordelia came through the door just as Alea approached it and smiled, stopping her with a gentle hand. "Leave that to the elves—they wish to honor their king's daughter, and their work is their tribute."

Alea sighed as she put the tray down. "I must have something to do!"

"Then stand by Magnus," Cordelia advised. "He will need you now as much as he ever did in battle."