She took a quick breath. “But what am I to do now? I will not let Isoeld blame me for killing my father. Can you help me, Grandmother? Can you do something to help me expose her?”
Mistral Belloruus shook her head. I am of the dead now, and I can do nothing to aid the living. I lack substance, and I am confined to this place until I am al owed passage to the world of the dead and my final rest. I can do only one thing for you. I can give you the blue Elfstones. I have them with me, and they are meant for you. Take them and use them to help our people. You wil find a way. You must.
She fumbled in her clothing and produced the familiar leather pouch. It was more substantial than the shade who held it and instantly recognizable.
Come closer, she said.
Phryne started toward her, but had taken only a few steps when a sudden wind rose out of nowhere, gusting through the chamber with such force that the torches were nearly extinguished and Phryne was forced to drop to one knee and shield her face. The whispering rose to a new crescendo, filling the immense cavern with a wailing at once so terrible and so sad that it defied belief.
“Grandmother!” Phryne called.
But Mistral Belloruus had shrunk back against the stone marker where she had first appeared, her face twisted with emotions Phryne could not read. She still held the pouch and the Elfstones clutched in her hands, clearly visible through the ephemeral trappings of her diminished body. But no longer was she making any effort at handing them to Phryne.
A voice spoke, harsh and cutting, managing somehow to rise above the wailing of the voices and the wind.
-You are of the living, girl, and do not belong here-Phryne’s throat clenched and her blood turned to ice.
“REMEMBER WHAT I TOLD YOU,” Panterra was telling Xac Wen as they neared the Elfitch and the city of Arborlon. “If we’re stopped, just say that we’re visiting old friends and hope to do some hunting in the eastern wilderness while we’re here. You don’t have to say anything more.”
The boy scowled at him. “I know what to say, Pan. You don’t have to worry; I won’t make a mistake.”
He sounded so fierce about it that Panterra had to smile in spite of himself, but he managed to mask it with a sudden fit of coughing.
Prue, following a pace behind them, stepped forward and placed her hand on Xac’s shoulder. “He knows that. He just needs to reassure himself because he’s afraid for Phryne. Don’t be angry with him.”
Xac Wen glanced over at her and scuffed the toe of his boot as he walked. “I’m not angry at anyone. I just don’t want to be treated like a child. I’m big enough to do what’s needed. I rescued Phryne, after all. I got her out of that storeroom where they were keeping her.”
“Which was a very difficult and dangerous thing to do,” Pan said. “I don’t know if any of us could have done it. So I’ll tell you what. I’ll stop telling you what to do and just assume you already know.”
The boy nodded. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing with the Gray Man’s staff?
You could tell me about that, and I wouldn’t get a bit angry.”
Panterra rolled his eyes.
While they crossed the meadow to the base of the bluff on which Arborlon sat and climbed the broad ramp of the Elfitch, Pan repeated the story of the death of Sider Ament and the passing of the staff to himself one more time. Xac Wen listened intently, alternately nodding and grunting until Pan was done.
“Can you do stuff with that staff?” he asked. “Magic stuff? Some say the bearer can. Is that true?”
“It’s true,” Pan told him.
“Can you show me?”
“Leave him alone, Xac,” Prue interrupted. “He doesn’t need to show you anything.”
Elven Hunters doing guard duty looked them over as they ascended the various levels of their climb, but let them pass. One or two greeted Xac by name, and he responded with a word or a wave but never anything more. At the top, they left the Elfitch and went into the Carolan Gardens, working their way along the pathways that crisscrossed the flower beds, trellis vines, and hedgerows to reach the city proper.
As they passed out of the gardens and crossed a bordering lawn toward the city roadways, Xac Wen said to Prue, “What happened to your eyes? And don’t tell me that it has anything to do with being in disguise.”
“I lost some of my vision,” she said. “Just a part of it. That’s why my eyes look like this.”
“What part did you lose?”
“The part that sees colors. I can’t see anything but shades of gray anymore.”
“How did that happen?”
“Magic. I traded off being able to see colors for having the use of instincts that are valuable in protecting myself and those with me.”
“What sort of instincts?”
“Ones that let me sense danger when it is near so that I can be ready for it and maybe avoid it.”