Midwinter

Mauritane sighed and waved a pageboy over, asking for the third time if anyone had seen his wife.

"No answer at her home, sir," whispered the page.

Surely she had not already moved their things out of the house on Boulevard Laurwelana. That would take weeks, and the marriage certificate was dated only ten days ago. Could she be hiding? If all that Purane-Es had said was true, then she would not be eager to see him. It occurred to Mauritane that perhaps she had, in fact, been receiving his letters over the past two years and had simply been ignoring them. How had she become such a stranger to him?

Lord Purane was trotted out, bearing the Guard Captain's cloak. "We of Her Majesty's Royal Guard welcome you back, Captain Mauritane," he said. Always the politician, Purane had agreed without protest to the Chamberlain's suggestion that Purane-Es had died in combat at Sylvan. Returning the captaincy to Mauritane appeared to be his grand gesture to the public as the mourning father and elder statesman. In reality, however, it was the price he paid to keep PuraneEs's name clean. Mauritane had had nothing to do with any of it; the machinations had all taken place during their brief drive to the city following PuraneEs's death, moving at the speed of politics and message sprites.

Mauritane rose as Purane walked on stage, tacitly accepting his part in the melodrama.

"We welcome you, Mauritane," Purane announced, placing the cloak around Mauritane's shoulders. "I trust you will find the Guard as able as you left it."

"I am honored," Mauritane responded. He locked eyes with the man, wondering what kind of father he had been to his sons that they would turn out as they had. Purane-Es's blood was still sticky between Mauritane's fingers. That Lord Purane knew it and was still able to pretend courtesy was a kind of hypocrisy that Mauritane could only pity and never understand.

"Get ready to greet your public," the Chamberlain said. He turned to the crowd and shouted, "I give you Mauritane, the hero of Sylvan and Captain of Her Majesty's Royal Guard!"

Mauritane stepped forward and cheers burst forth in the square. Shopkeepers and message boys threw their caps in the air. The ladies-in-waiting on the grandstands blew bubbles and whistled down at him.

The Chamberlain had Silverdun brought forward next. Silverdun managed to smile and wave. He even made eyes at a few of the ladies in the stands, despite his new face. None of the ladies seemed to mind.

Satterly and Raieve came next. They both received cheers as well, but nothing compared to what Mauritane got when the Chamberlain said his name one last time.

"Maur-i-tane!" the crowd cried in unison. "Maur-i-tane!"

For a moment, Mauritane looked over the crowd and was suddenly aware of who they were and what they represented. They were the blood of the Seelie Heart, and they mattered more than what Purane-Es had done, or what the Lady Anne had done, or even what Mauritane himself had done. This was a moment of pure joy for the Seelie people and he would share it with them.

He raised his eyes to the sky and the blue of it stung his heart. Over the Seelie Grove, a single puffy cloud made its slow way across the sky, golden and shining. The smell of salt from the Emerald Bay was in the afternoon air; it was a different smell entirely from the dank Channel Sea waters that pervaded the air at Crete Sulace. The Emerald Bay smelled like childhood and friendship, simplicity and love.

The Pontiac was still parked in front of the stage; some event-planning functionary had thought it good theater to have them drive out of the square in it, not realizing that the crowd would mob the car, touching its sides and injuring themselves in the process. A line of Guardsmen was dispatched, and they were able to leave without further incident.

Outside the square, the Chamberlain approached with a trio of huge guards. "Come," he said briskly, his effusive public demeanor gone. "Your Queen wishes to greet you."

Mauritane froze. "Me?" he said.

"All of you."

"But my wife…" Mauritane began.

The Chamberlain looked at him. "There will be time for that."

They were led through the Inner Court, where the nightingales on their perches trilled and the troubadours and skalds sang and danced. Already, someone had composed a ballad of Sylvan, and it was performed throughout the palace grounds

The ancient palace rose before them in the Inner Court, its stones worn to their essential shapes, its towers dark and shrouded in the past. The blue and gold flag of Titania flew outside the gates, fluttering in a gentle breeze.

They were admitted to the palace via a seldom-used side entrance, although it was one Mauritane knew well, since it was convenient to his old office. Walking through the corridors there, he experienced a feast of emotions, not all of them painful.