Then, louder, he said, “You’ve had a falling-out with your friend; that’s clear. Now, come over here where I can get a good look at you.”
Rook ignored him.
Arenthiel coughed, a dry and crackling sound. “I need more of that tea she brought me,” he complained. And then, after a pause, “She’s a kind girl, isn’t she, your Gwynnefar? But she has fierceness in her too, I would say.”
Ignoring him was not working very well.
He heard the old creature sigh. “She wore the glamorie twice, but only for a short time, and she doesn’t understand it.”
Rook looked up.
“I’ve never worn one, so I don’t truly understand it either,” Arenthiel went on. “But I do know that the Forsworn and their glamories pose a terrible threat to all the lands.” He raised a withered finger and pointed at Rook.
“Don’t point at me like that, Old Scrawny,” he interrupted. He hated when people did that. It never led to anything good.
“Ha!” Arenthiel cackled. “I like my puck name, you know. It’s so descriptive!” He jabbed with his pointing finger, suddenly fierce. “You have to help her.”
Fer, he meant. Rook shook his head. “She doesn’t want my help.”
“She needs her friends now, more than she ever has before,” Arenthiel said. “Don’t you think, Robin?” he added, using Rook’s false name, the name pucks gave to people they distrusted, which meant everyone, just about.
Rook didn’t have any answer to that. “I told you, it’s not your business,” he growled.
“She was always a friend to you, wasn’t she?” Arenthiel asked slyly.
Rook remained stubbornly silent for a long moment. Finally he nodded. “She was, yes.” Fer had become friends with him when he’d been thrice-sworn to the Mór and bound by her to keep Fer from finding her place in the land. Fer had insisted she was his friend even when he’d been sent by his brother-pucks to betray her. She had trusted him, even when she shouldn’t have. She had saved his life how many times now? He thought back, counting it up.
Five times.
And what had he done in return? He’d broken his promise to her, and he’d broken her thread of friendship twice, hardly even thinking about what he was doing.
“Stay true to her, Puck,” Arenthiel said solemnly.
Rook stared at him, startled. Stay true . That’s what the High One had said to him.
It was a stupid thing to say to a puck, really. All the people of all the lands thought pucks were betrayers. Oath breakers. Outcast for a reason. True to nothing and no one. But they were wrong. Nobody was more true than a puck.
His bond with his brothers was stronger than anything. Stronger than any pale oaths or promises. Pucks never bonded that way with anyone else but another puck.
“She needs you,” Arenthiel prodded.
If he really did stay true to Fer, it would be a bond like the one he shared with his brothers. Could he do it?
“Well?” Arenthiel asked.
He could, yes. “All right,” Rook growled before Arenthiel could point that wizened finger at him again. He would show Fer what it really meant to be friends with a puck. He would stay true.
The Forsworn, Arenthiel said, were very dangerous. “Far worse than the Mór was,” he added. “We’ll have to figure out some way to stop them.”
“We?” Rook asked. “You hate pucks. You tried to hunt down and kill my brothers. I’m not helping you.”
Arenthiel gave a dry cough that almost sounded like a laugh. “Oh, no. I would never suggest such a thing.”
“You just did suggest it,” Rook grumbled.
“A slip of the tongue,” Arenthiel said. “Never mind it. Now, where was I?” He tapped his chin and pursed his lips. “Ah! The Forsworn. The fact that they are forsworn must be affecting their lands, just as it did for the Mór after she killed her Lady. We must find out how, exactly, and we must find out what they intend to do.”
“There’s that we again,” Rook muttered. One of the stick-people came up to
Rook ignored him.
Arenthiel coughed, a dry and crackling sound. “I need more of that tea she brought me,” he complained. And then, after a pause, “She’s a kind girl, isn’t she, your Gwynnefar? But she has fierceness in her too, I would say.”
Ignoring him was not working very well.
He heard the old creature sigh. “She wore the glamorie twice, but only for a short time, and she doesn’t understand it.”
Rook looked up.
“I’ve never worn one, so I don’t truly understand it either,” Arenthiel went on. “But I do know that the Forsworn and their glamories pose a terrible threat to all the lands.” He raised a withered finger and pointed at Rook.
“Don’t point at me like that, Old Scrawny,” he interrupted. He hated when people did that. It never led to anything good.
“Ha!” Arenthiel cackled. “I like my puck name, you know. It’s so descriptive!” He jabbed with his pointing finger, suddenly fierce. “You have to help her.”
Fer, he meant. Rook shook his head. “She doesn’t want my help.”
“She needs her friends now, more than she ever has before,” Arenthiel said. “Don’t you think, Robin?” he added, using Rook’s false name, the name pucks gave to people they distrusted, which meant everyone, just about.
Rook didn’t have any answer to that. “I told you, it’s not your business,” he growled.
“She was always a friend to you, wasn’t she?” Arenthiel asked slyly.
Rook remained stubbornly silent for a long moment. Finally he nodded. “She was, yes.” Fer had become friends with him when he’d been thrice-sworn to the Mór and bound by her to keep Fer from finding her place in the land. Fer had insisted she was his friend even when he’d been sent by his brother-pucks to betray her. She had trusted him, even when she shouldn’t have. She had saved his life how many times now? He thought back, counting it up.
Five times.
And what had he done in return? He’d broken his promise to her, and he’d broken her thread of friendship twice, hardly even thinking about what he was doing.
“Stay true to her, Puck,” Arenthiel said solemnly.
Rook stared at him, startled. Stay true . That’s what the High One had said to him.
It was a stupid thing to say to a puck, really. All the people of all the lands thought pucks were betrayers. Oath breakers. Outcast for a reason. True to nothing and no one. But they were wrong. Nobody was more true than a puck.
His bond with his brothers was stronger than anything. Stronger than any pale oaths or promises. Pucks never bonded that way with anyone else but another puck.
“She needs you,” Arenthiel prodded.
If he really did stay true to Fer, it would be a bond like the one he shared with his brothers. Could he do it?
“Well?” Arenthiel asked.
He could, yes. “All right,” Rook growled before Arenthiel could point that wizened finger at him again. He would show Fer what it really meant to be friends with a puck. He would stay true.
The Forsworn, Arenthiel said, were very dangerous. “Far worse than the Mór was,” he added. “We’ll have to figure out some way to stop them.”
“We?” Rook asked. “You hate pucks. You tried to hunt down and kill my brothers. I’m not helping you.”
Arenthiel gave a dry cough that almost sounded like a laugh. “Oh, no. I would never suggest such a thing.”
“You just did suggest it,” Rook grumbled.
“A slip of the tongue,” Arenthiel said. “Never mind it. Now, where was I?” He tapped his chin and pursed his lips. “Ah! The Forsworn. The fact that they are forsworn must be affecting their lands, just as it did for the Mór after she killed her Lady. We must find out how, exactly, and we must find out what they intend to do.”
“There’s that we again,” Rook muttered. One of the stick-people came up to
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