“I’ve tried to ask Lrrianay, but I don’t understand his answer. Or maybe he doesn’t understand my question.” He looked a little downcast. “Mostly it’s been a little easier here—the air and my head are clearer.” He tried to smile. “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed any difference? But you and Ebon never have any trouble talking to each other, do you? ”
She thought of telling him about the haziness, about the disorienting sense of standing in a huge space listening to a noise like echoes, except that what made the echoes and what they reverberated against were unknown to her—and decided not to. “No. ”She looked at him and smiled. “Don’t worry.”
“I—” He hesitated. “Your pegasi has improved just since you’ve been here—two days. I didn’t understand all of your speech last night, but I could pick up that Lrrianay did. ”
“I’m not sure it has improved, ” said Sylvi honestly. “I was inspired, I think. Somehow. Something about last night.”
“The torchlight and shadows, ” said her father. “They were weaving a . . . ”
He stopped, but she could hear what he wasn’t saying as clearly as she heard Ebon’s words in her mind: “. . . a net to pull you away from us.”
“Dad, ” she said, “I’m human. I’m a human among pegasi. I’ve only got two legs and I can’t fly. None of that’s going to change. ” To her horror, her voice wavered. Almost three weeks. Here. Alone. One human among all the pegasi. . . .
“If there is any doubt in your mind—come back with me. We’ve already made history, coming here. You don’t have to make any more if you don’t want . . . if you can’t . . . if it’s too hard. Many times in the last weeks—since you had Ebon’s invitation—I’ve thought, what are we doing, sending a fifteen-year-old child where none of us has ever been? ”
“Fifteen isn’t a child, ” said Sylvi. “And I’m nearly sixteen. I’m just visiting my friend at home—and you and Mum like my friend and his parents. They’ll take good care of me. And I’m going to enjoy it. I won’t make any of the kind of history anybody will have to learn later. I promise.”
“You’ll do it beautifully, ” said her father. “If you find out what the dancing makes, you can tell me when you get back. But Sylviianel . . . be careful of your promises. I’m not going to hold you to this one, ” and for a moment he wasn’t her father, but the king.
She stared at him, then looked quickly past him, not wanting to know what was in his face. She looked anxiously at the sky, wrapping her arms around herself in her nightdress, telling herself she was shivering only because she was cold, and maybe just a little because her father was going away and leaving her . . . but the weather was warm, and Ebon was here.“It’s already later than when we left the palace, ” she said. “ That was barely dawn. ”
“ The prevailing wind is in our favour going back, I’m told, ” he replied. “Also they won’t have to spend any time or energy making any circuits so the earthbound can point and wave at one of their own flying with the pegasi. But we do need to go now—I was going to come and wake you in another minute. You’ll come and see me off ?” He took her by the shoulders and stared into her face as if memorising her.“It’s not going to be easy to fly away and leave you behind. ”
She smiled, but her face felt stiff. “You promised. We promised. ”
“Yes. We promised. King and king’s daughter.” He stooped and kissed her, and turned away.
So she was still wearing her nightdress as she followed him to the big meadow where twenty-two pegasi had landed in a candlelit spiral a day and a half ago, and where the banquet had been held last night. The meadow was clear this morning, of both banqueting tables and spirals. She lingered briefly at the edge of the trees; it didn’t seem respectful to be in her nightdress, barefoot, her hair standing on end and her face unwashed. She rubbed her face with her hands and smoothed her hair back; but then in an odd way—a way that seemed to align itself with the haziness, which this morning seemed to be standing close to her, almost like a