The Elf Queen of Shannara

Wren hesitated. “Gavilan, could you describe my mother for me? Could you tell me what she looked like?”


Her cousin shrugged. “Easily done. Alleyne was small like you. Her hair was colored the same. And her voice . . .” He trailed off. “Hard to describe. It was musical. She was quick-witted and she laughed a lot. But I suppose I remember her eyes best. They were just like yours. When she looked at you, you felt as if there wasn’t anyone or anything more important in all the world.”

Wren was thinking of the dream, the one in which her mother was bending close to her, looking very much as Gavilan had described her, saying Remember me. Remember me. It no longer seemed just a dream to her now. She felt that once, long ago, it must have really happened.

“Wren?”

She realized that she was staring off into space. She looked back at Gavilan, wondering all at once if she should ask him about the Elfstones and the demons. He seemed willing enough to talk with her, and she was drawn to him in a way that surprised her. But she didn’t really know him yet, and her Rover training made her cautious.

“These are difficult times for the Elves,” Gavilan offered suddenly, bending close. Wren felt his hands come up to take her shoulders. “There are secrets of the magic that—”

“Good day, Wren,” Eowen Cerise greeted, appearing at the head of the stairs behind her. Gavilan went still. “Did you enjoy your walk about the city?”

Wren turned, feeling Gavilan’s hands drop away. “I did. The Owl was an excellent guide.”

Eowen approached, her green eyes shifting to fix Gavilan. “How do you find your cousin, Gavilan?”

The Elf smiled. “Charming, strong-minded—her mother’s daughter.” He glanced at Wren. “I have to be on my way. Lots to do before dinner. I will talk with you then.”

He gave a short nod and walked away, loose, confident, a bit jaunty. Wren watched him go, thinking that he masked a lot with his well-met attitude, but that what lay beneath was rather sweet.

Eowen met her gaze as she turned back. “Gavilan makes us all feel like young girls again.” Her flaming red hair was tucked within a netting, and she was wearing a loose, flower-embroidered shift. Her smile was warm, but her eyes, as always, seemed cool and distant. “I think we are all in love with him.”

Wren flushed. “I don’t even know him.”

Eowen nodded. “Well, tell me about your walk. What have you learned of the city, Wren? What did Aurin Striate tell you about it?”

They began to walk the length of the hallway toward Wren’s bedchamber. Wren told Eowen what the Owl had said, hoping secretly that the seer would reveal something in return. But Eowen simply listened, nodded encouragingly, and said nothing. She seemed preoccupied with other things, although she paid close enough attention to what Wren was saying that she did not lose the threads of the conversation. Wren finished her narrative as they reached the door to her sleeping room and turned so that they were facing each other.

A smile flickered on Eowen’s solemn face. “You have learned a great deal for someone who has been in the city less than a day, Wren.”

Not nearly as much as 1 would like to learn, Wren thought. “Eowen, why is it that no one will tell me where the demons come from?” she asked, throwing caution to the winds.

The smile disappeared, replaced by a palpable sadness. “The Elves don’t like to think about the demons, much less talk about them,” she said. “The demons came out of the magic, Wren—out of misunderstanding and misuse. They are a fear and a shame and a promise.” She paused, saw the disappointment and frustration mirrored in Wren’s eyes, and reached out to take her hands. “The queen forbids me, Wren,” she whispered. “And perhaps she is right. But I promise you this. Some day soon, if you still wish it, I will tell you everything.”

Wren met her gaze, saw honesty reflected in her eyes, and nodded. “I will hold you to that, Eowen. But I would like to think my grandmother would choose to tell me first.”

“Yes, Wren. I would like to think so, too.” Eowen hesitated. “We have been together a long time, she and I. Through childhood, first love, husbands, and children. All are gone. Alleyne was the worst for both of us. I have never told your grandmother this—though I think she suspects—but I saw in my vision that Alleyne would try to return to Arborlon and that we could not stop her. A seer is blessed and cursed with what she sees. I know what will happen; I can do nothing to change it.”

Wren nodded, understanding. “Magic, Eowen. Like that of the Elfstones. I wish I could be shed of it. I don’t trust what it does to me. Is it any different for you?”