The days passed by. More snow fell, and piled higher. The roads became more and more difficult to pass. Any sane traveller would have stopped for the winter. But with the possibility of Volgs—who could fly and not worry about snow-blocked roads—chasing them, Felitïa insisted they press on, and it was never difficult to convince the others. They knew the importance of reaching Quorge quickly.

Felitïa had never expected to return to Quorge so soon. True, she’d left without any real plan of where she was going, what she was doing, and how long it would take, but somehow, she had expected longer than this. It had only been three months. A month to Tyl, another to Mesone, and another on the road back to Quorge. It would still be close to another month at least, but that still seemed too short. All she’d done is go in a circle. She might as well have just never left.

“Faster!” Corvinian cried. He was riding with Rudiger.

Borisin whinnied loudly and shook his head.

“What’s he saying?” Corvinian asked.

“He says, no way,” Rudiger said. “In this weather, he could slip and break a leg.”

“Aw, I’m bored. Can I practise sword-fighting with you tonight?”

Rudiger laughed. “How many times do I have to tell you you’re too young?”

“I’ll be nine soon! Will I be old enough then?”

Rudiger shook his head.

“I promise I’ll be careful.”

“No! Felitïa, you tell him!’

She wasn’t sure why Rudiger thought Corvinian was any more likely to listen to her, but she complied. “Listen to Rudiger, Corvinian. He knows what he’s talking about.”

Rudiger smiled smugly. “See? I know what I’m talking about.”

Borisin grunted in a way that seemed almost like laughter.

Corvinian’s birthday was just a couple days away. New Year’s. He’d be nine years old.

This isn’t over, Will-Breaker.

Plus a few hours, nine years to the day after Dyle had said those words. Nine years after he had also mentioned something about the time of birth drawing near.

Ideas and theories had been forming in Felitïa’s head for some time. She needed to talk to Corvinian, to figure out their validity, but that meant asking him about his parents, and it was hard to know if he was ready to talk about them yet. He’d had some time to adjust to their deaths, though probably not enough to get over the trauma—if he ever did.

She sighed. Her powers were back, but Corvinian was still a blank. He still had no mental presence at all, and that still scared the hell out of her.

She finally decided to broach the topic when they stopped at an inn in a small village at the border of Elooria and Belone on New Year’s Day. His birthday might not be the best choice, but they were in a comfortable location, warm, and seated around a table together, eating a good meal.

“Tell me about your parents, Corvinian.”

He slurped up some soup and took a moment before answering. “They were nice.” He lowered his head onto the table and tears started to form in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Felitïa said. “You don’t have to talk about them if you don’t want to.” She did her best not to shiver at not being able to sense his sadness.

“No, it’s okay,” he said with a sniffle. “I used to think Mama was mean, but she was just looking out for me. Didn’t want me getting hurt.” He proceeded to tell them about his home in Porthaven. His father was a tailor, and they had a dog who had died a couple years ago.

“Did your parents ever talk about the day you were born?” She hated probing him like this, but she needed to know. If she and the others were to protect him from harm, they all needed to know.

He was quiet for several moments.

“Did they?” Zandrue prompted.

“Do not push him,” Jorvan said. “She said he does not need to talk and I agree.”

Zandrue scowled at him.

“They weren’t my real parents,” Corvinian said, almost a whisper.

Felitïa nodded. She had expected as much.

“Except they were my real parents! They were the only ones that mattered, and I want them back!” He swung his arms across the table, knocking bowls and mugs over, pushed several of them onto the floor. Then he tried to push past Meleng, who tried to hold him back.

“It’s all right,” Meleng said. “Everything’s—”

The blue glow sprung up around Corvinian, extended beyond him and pushed Meleng out of his seat and several feet along the floor. “I want them back!” Corvinian screamed and ran from the room, energy still crackling around him. Other patrons scrambled out of his way.

“I’ll go after him.” Meleng got to his feet and hustled after the boy.

“So will I,” Jorvan said.

Zandrue started to her feet as well, but Jorvan blocked her. “No. Just Meleng and me. You did enough.” He glared at her a moment before following Meleng.

“What the fuck did I do?” Zandrue called after him. “Gods, that Isyar thinks I’m some sort of monster or something.”

Felitïa sighed.

The inn-keeper kicked them out after that for disturbing his customers and for “the unholy powers” they had unleashed. They spent that night camped out in the bitter cold. Felitïa couldn’t help feel that she deserved it. She had picked the wrong time.

She gained a bit more information from Corvinian over the following days, mostly via Meleng and Rudiger. The boy was developing an attachment to both of them and was more willing to talk to them than to her. His parents had taken him in as a baby from his birth mother who had not been able to care for him. Neither he nor his parents had had any contact with her after that. Although Felitïa couldn’t be sure—the person Dyle was looking for and the one giving birth might not have been the same person—she suspected the mother was Quilla.

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She found herself dwelling on the image of Quilla in her mind a lot. Quilla was next in the line and Felitïa wondered how long it would be before they encountered each other. It disturbed her more than a little how quickly she had accepted that she was meeting the people in order, like her life was prearranged. Jorvan said something about prophecy on one occasion, and Felitïa hated the idea.

But Quilla was still the only person in the line that Felitïa had been able to make out without having met. Was it simply because she had heard the name, or was there something else special about Quilla? Her attempts to distinguish the people farther down the line continued to be unsuccessful.

Ten days after the débâcle at the inn on Corvinian’s birthday, they reached Quorge, and Felitïa immediately wanted to turn around and leave again. She had to resist the urge several times.

In the outskirts, there were very few people on the streets, which were covered in large piles of snow. However, as they got farther into town and the buildings got closer together and the streets narrower, there was less snow and there were more people. They passed Captain Almais and a pair of watchmen. Almais watched them, but said nothing.

Zandrue rode up beside Felitïa and scrunched her nose. “I’d forgotten how bad this place smells. How about Rudiger and I take the horses to the inn while you go with the others to Agernon’s?”

Felitïa smiled at her. Zandrue was trying to offer her a way to avoid passing the shop. From the inn, they’d have to go much longer around to avoid it.

Zandrue turned Lucinda to face the others and announced the plan.

Felitïa and Meleng dismounted. Rudiger lifted Corvinian off Borisin and handed him down to Meleng, who had a bit more difficulty holding the boy and placing him gently on the ground.

“Aw, can’t I go with Rudiger?” Corvinian said. “I wanna help with the horses.”

Felitïa shook her head. “I need you to see Agernon. You know that.”

“Yeah, but it sounds dumb. I don’t care about all that magic stuff, and anyway, Zandrue says he’s really mean.”

Felitïa glared at Zandrue, who grimaced. “I...uh...might have grumbled to Rudiger about Agernon at some point. Sorry. Don’t worry, Corvinian. Agernon’s a little crabby at times, but you like seeing Meleng’s magic tricks, right?”

The boy nodded.

“Well, Agernon’s actually a good wizard, so you’ll like his tricks even more.”

Meleng sighed. “Just come with us, Corvinian. You can help with the horses later.”

“Fine,” Corvinian grumbled.

Jorvan had not dismounted and was staring off down the street.

“Jorvan, are you coming?” Felitïa asked.

“Yes, sorry,” he said, looking away from whatever he had been staring at.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes.” He dismounted his horse and handed the reins to Rudiger.

They moved slowly through the snow-covered streets. Many heads turned to stare at Jorvan as they passed. Few people here had seen an Isyar before. Although there had often been rumours of an Isyar residing at Lord Belone’s palace, if they were true, that Isyar never showed themself in public. Jorvan did his best to appear unaffected by the stares, but Felitïa could sense his discomfort.

They had encountered much the same in every town they had passed between Mesone and Quorge. Everyone was awed by the sight of an Isyar.

After a little while, they passed the well where Felitïa had spent so much time waiting to gather water. As usual, there was a lengthy line. Many of the people stared at Jorvan as they passed, but many were also looking at Felitïa. People were recognising her now.

They passed Darva’s usual corner. The beggar was looking frailer than ever and one of his hands was bandaged. “Asa!” he cried. “I haven’t seen you in ages. Where you been?”

“Travelling.” She reached for her purse. “What happened to your hand?”

He raised the bandaged one up. “Frostbite.”

She tossed a few pennies into his bowl. Only four months and the money from the shop was nearly gone.

Surprise swept over her. She’d been sensing similar feelings from many people, but this was more intense, there a moment and then gone. She looked about and realised it had come from Jorvan.

“Is that an Isyar?” Darva asked. “I ain’t never seen an Isyar before.”

“He is, and he can do super magic and fly and everything!” Corvinian said.

“Excuse me a moment, Darva,” Felitïa said. She went to Jorvan, who was standing off to the side, staring down the street again. “Are you sure everything’s all right?”

He looked at her. “I saw an Isyar. Before and now.”

“Another Isyar?”

He nodded.

“Where?”

He pointed, but Felitïa could see only the people—all human—in line at the well. “She is gone,” Jorvan said. “She was far.”

“Well, I suppose there’s bound to be other Isyar in Arnor. One might be passing through Quorge.”

Jorvan nodded. “Maybe.”

“I don’t suppose your Isyar friend can give me a new leg?” Darva called out to them.

Jorvan shook his head. “I cannot.”

“Typical wizard. That’s what they all say. I thought Isyar were supposed to perform miracles.”

“It’s not...well...it doesn’t really work like that,” Meleng said. “Magic is—”

“That’s what they all say.”

Meleng grimaced, tossed a couple coins into Darva’s bowl, then dragged Corvinian over to Felitïa and Jorvan.

“Agernon’s place is just round here,” Felitïa said and led them to Agernon’s door. She raised her hand to knock, but Corvinian rushed forward and beat her to it. There was no immediate answer, so Felitïa went to knock again, but once again, Corvinian beat her to it. He grinned at her.

“Just a bloody moment!” a voice came from inside.

“Is that him?” Corvinian asked.

Felitïa nodded.

“He sounds mean like Zandrue said.”

Felitïa smirked. Nevertheless, it was good to hear Agernon’s voice.

The door opened and Felitïa was hit by two momentary bursts of surprise, one from Agernon and the other again from Jorvan.

“Well, look who we have here. You’ve got quite the nerve coming back here.” Despite his tone, joy was pouring from Agernon.

Jorvan’s surprise, however, had turned to confusion.

“It’s good to see you, too, Agernon,” she said, and turned to Jorvan.

“I saw her again,” he said. “She looked at me. Then she left.”

“What the hell’s all this?” Agernon demanded. “Who are these people and what are you doing with an Isyar?”

“Please, I check,” Jorvan said to Felitïa. “Maybe she helps.” Felitïa nodded and he hurried off.

“Is everything—” Meleng started, looking in concern after Jorvan.

“What? You show up at my door and just ignore me?”

Felitïa turned back to Agernon. “I’m so sorry, Agernon. We don’t mean to be rude. Can we talk?”

Agernon harrumphed. “I suppose so.”

“Thank you. Is Drummor here? He should hear what we have to say too.”

Agernon shook his head. “He’s not here.” He stepped aside. “You better come in.”

Corvinian rushed in, but Meleng paused a moment, still looking in the direction Jorvan had rushed off in.

“He saw another Isyar,” Felitïa said to him. “A couple times.”

“He misses his home,” Meleng said. “He misses it a lot.”

“Well, hurry up then!” Agernon snapped. “Before I freeze to death!”

Felitïa ushered Meleng inside.