Elfhome

Far as she could determine, the elves had discovered how to entangle elements at the quantum level on a large scale. The distant voices appeared to be two marble slabs. A spell was embedded within the stone. As a special pen was moved over one, a special magic-sensitive paper on the paired slab recorded the pen strokes as they were written. Given earth technology, it wouldn’t seem amazing to the causal observer. To know that the distant voices could operate half a world apart without a satellite system or wires connecting them fascinated Tinker. She desperately wanted to take one apart so she could view the spell.

An idea bubbled up. She nudged Windwolf chest until he rolled them over.

“We have distant voices here?” She sat up. So far she hadn’t seen any at Poppymeadow’s but at Aum Renau they were kept in a small, locked and guarded room.

“We have four. They work in pairs. We have one to the other three Wind Clan settlements here in Westernlands and one to my father in the Easternlands.”

“Show me.”

#

It turned out that the distant voices were as tightly guarded at Poppymeadow’s as they had been at Aum Reanu. They were always attended by a member of Windwolf’s personal household, who rang a bell as a message was received. The bell summoned someone who could take the message directly to Windwolf without leaving the device unattended. Like Windwolf said, Sparrow couldn’t have received information without the entire household knowing.

Tinker would be more worried that other members of Windwolf’s household had been in league with Sparrow if she hadn’t spent the weeks at Aum Reanu. It been clear that Sparrow had no friends.

“How did you end up with her as your husepavua?” Tinker dug through the supplies for the room. Windwolf — being rich and systematic — had stocked the room with several reams of the special paper.

Windwolf laughed. “I inherited her, like so many things in my life. Sparrow was vital to the clan during the clan wars. After my grandfather was killed, my father took certain steps to secure his place as clan head. One was to marked Sparrow with the dau to make her domana in name, though not in blood. She thought he would make her his domi—and perhaps if the war continued — he would have. Politically it would have been a good match, although loveless.”

“The sekasha, however, decided that the war was decimating our people and that it had to end. They united and forced the clans to accept Ashfall as king. He was a wise choice. Ashfall was willing to do whatever it took to create a lasting peace, even sacrificing his children to the cause. He summoned the heads of the clan to court and proposed marriages to tie the clans together with blood. When my parents met for the first time, my father was smitten.”

A whooping ten kids later, Windwolf was born. Apparently Ashfall missed out when the Skin Clan was handing out infertility. She wondered what it would mean for her and Windwolf. Babies — gah! So not ready for that.

Tinker counted out a dozen pieces of special paper. “Your dad falls for your mom, dumps Sparrow, and she has an axe to grind forever after.”

“So it appears,” Windwolf followed Tinker back to the woodshed. “My father had no choice. Sparrow would not let go of the war and focus on peace. War would have torn Father’s heart and home apart. He all but exiled her to remote holdings. Anyways, I did not want another domana taking control of Pittsburgh and yet I did not want to abandon my holdings on the coast; using Sparrow seemed the perfect compromise. Since there were no other clans in the Westernlands, I thought she could do no harm…”

Pony had told Tinker once that Sparrow hoped Windwolf would take her as his domi. Twice burned. That would piss anyone off — but enough to betray your entire species?

“Other than redecorating Poppymeadow’s woodshed, what you attempting to do?” Windwolf fingered the splinters embedded into the wall, making it look like a cactus.

“I’m trying to safely open the chest from the whelping pens.” Tinker laid the distance voice paper on top of one of her newly created spell-locks. “It requires me to pick the lock.”

“I did not think that was possible.”

She held up a finger to indicate silence. Into the hush, she slowly pronounced, “Three point one four one five nine two.”

There was no outward sign from the spell-lock, but the spell glyphs appeared on the paper as she spoke the syllables of the key. Only when she hit “two” did the spell-lock gleam with power and the lumber it was etched on split into two pieces.

“Owned!” She shouted and danced around the wood shop.

Windwolf scooped her up and kissed her.

“I don’t understand.” Wraith Arrow murmured to Pony. “Yes, it copied the spell, but she made the lock, so she knows the key. How does that help with a lock that she does not know the key to?”