The day dawned in a haze. Even atop the vaela, Jareen had dozed through the night in short stretches, but it had done little to give her rest. They had ridden into more smoke. Strange trees and and birdsongs surrounded them in what was more a jungle than a forest. Dense thickets grew thorns the length of her hand. How anything could move within such a tangle, she did not know. From time to time, their path still crossed swaths of burned land where fires had recently raged, where all but the thickest trunks were reduced to ash.

They were crossing one such burnt-out strip, where the stems of blackened trees stabbed at the hazy sky, when a shriek rose behind them. Jareen turned, trying to see where it came from. A second shriek sounded nearer. A shadow passed over them, and the quth twisted, raising spears above their heads. Vireel sang her vaela out of the column of quth and into the untrodden ash, twisting to track its flight.

In a whirling rush, the great dark shape settled atop the black pillar-like remains of a tree. Whether it was beast or bird or something else, Jareen did not know. Its shoulders—if such they were—flowed into a head with a protruding maw of bristling teeth, and its long narrow eyes flitted up and down the line of quth. Talons on its hind legs gripped the tree, digging into the charred wood, while its forearms hung low. Across its whole body shone a short silky coat of fur that looked black when still but caught the hazy light in shimmers of color when it moved.

Vireel sang her vaela toward its tree-perch, her back straight, her long gown hanging down her vaela's side in a green cataract. The beast stared at her, and she at it. It slavered, its mouth dripping, its body rippled and trembled, but as the standoff continued, the beast grew still, its skin taut, and its tail rigid. It released another great shriek and stretched its wings, leaping from the wasted tree and gliding away from the column into the west. The quth lowered their weapons. Vireel turned and rode back to Jareen's side.

"What was that beast?" Jareen asked.

"We call them lenduir. This is not its territory, and it is distressed. Many beasts were displaced by the burning."

Jareen didn't know the meaning of lenduir, if it had a meaning beyond a sound.

"Would it attack?" she asked.

"It would, if I were not here."

"Is it your pet?"

"Oh, no, but most of the beasts in the Mingling are sensitive. They are too mindless to grasp the Currents of course, but the interchange of the Wellsprings plays upon them."

"So you controlled it?"

"No. They are not so supple of will as a. . . a vaela. But I can unsettle it enough to deter."

"I heard that the beasts of the Mingling ravage both the companies of Findel and the Canaen and quth. Why do not the Canaen protect themselves in the same way?"

"These are beasts of the Mingling, and the Inevien are not of the Mingling. They are of Isecan's Current, just as our enemies are of Findel's."

"And you? Are you of the Mingling?"

"Far more than they. Come, we are near home." With a sung note from Vireel, the vaela and the column of quth moved on. They rode in silence for a mile or two, but when Vireel spoke next, it was clear her thoughts had dwelt upon the Mingling.

"I do not think the Mingling would be a horror if the Synod and Inevien did not bend their wills to it in malice. They have bent the Mingling, itself. But there is yet beauty here, struggling at all times to flourish, if only it was left to itself."

They neared the end of a burned hillside, but oddly the fires had not reached the hilltop. At the crest of the slope, tall trees loomed above a wall of thorns. A narrow arch of branches led into the dark interior of the thicket. Nothing about the place appeared to be struggling for beauty. The archway only suffered them to enter in single file, and they slowed to allow the quth ahead to merge together. At last, Vireel passed into the woods and Jareen followed behind her. Had the canopy of leafy and thorny branches grown any lower, they would have needed to duck atop their vaela. A twilight hung within, so dense was the canopy and the walls of the thickets to either hand.

"This is the border of my grove," Vireel said from ahead. "Little dares to enter here without my permission. You are safe."

Jareen was a long way from trusting Vireel or feeling secure, but she could not deny a relief at escaping the arguments of the Canaen enclaves. The dense forest continued for half a mile or more, and paths branched and joined within the dense woods. At each junction, some of the quth peeled away, leaving the column. When they saw light ahead, the last of the quth ahead slipped away. Jareen turned to look behind and saw Coir walking alone. He gave her a reassuring nod.

The path opened onto a spacious grove unlike anything she had seen in the Mingling. Fruit trees of various kinds spread in concentric circles, and arbors of vines and rows of vegetables grew in dark soil where patches of sunlight reached the ground. A stream flowed through the center of the glade, and beyond it sat a low house of carved wood, vines growing heavy on its walls. The entire glade appeared cultivated for both produce and beauty.

Here, Vireel sang a halt and slid down the side of her vaela, landing with barely a sound. The mighty three-horned vaela lowered its head to graze upon the grass, taking no more notice of them. Vireel moved to Jareen's side and offered her a hand. Jareen accepted and slid to the ground with far less ease than Vireel's example.

"I have never heard of anything fair in the Mingling," Coir said, taking in the grove. It was true that it was fair; even the air tasted clear and free of smoke, and it lacked the oppressive humidity or foul vapors they had experienced elsewhere. Vireel glanced at Coir but turned to Jareen, addressing her instead.

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"It is my doing. My home. My enclave."

"Do others live here?" Coir asked.

"Just my quthli in the woods around us." She still didn't look at Coir. "Come."

Vireel lead them toward the little house. There was no door, just an arching lintel. Apple trees grew at its corners, and fruits hung down over its mossy roof. There were no skillful carvings in the timber; it was plain, though solidly fashioned. As they entered, they found the inside plain as well. The sweep of the curves, the shapes of the glass-less windows, and the dining table in the foremost room suggested the Canaen style of building—from what little Jareen had seen. From her accented speech alone, it was obvious that Vireel was Canaen, so it came as no surprise.

"Why do you live alone in the Mingling?"

"It is by far the most interesting place to live," she answered.

"How did you abduct us from the enclave?" Coir asked. "Why did they not follow you?"

Vireel turned to him, squinting as if surprised he had followed them inside.

"Do humans require much shelter?" she asked Jareen.

"More than we," Jareen said. Vireel pursed her lips for a moment, and then shrugged, ignoring him again by addressing her answer to Jareen.

"They feared to pursue me. They suffered terrible losses in the fighting recently, but I do not send my quthli to war with the Nethec."

"You could defeat them?" Coir asked, apparently unbothered by Vireel's refusal to speak to him.

"No, that's absurd. But many of their strongest would not survive to enjoy their victory. They already hurt. No more questions, human. What you do to our language is not pleasant. There is a small winepress behind the grapevines. It has a roof. You may stay there and eat of the grove. My quthli will not harm you, but do not wander beyond them."

Coir raised a finger as if to speak and Vireel frowned. He redirected and spoke to Jareen, instead.

"The quthli eat meat, do they not?" he asked.

Jareen looked at Vireel and raised an eyebrow. Vireel sighed.

"Yes."

"And do they cook it?" Coir asked.

"Sometimes."

"And they won't hurt me?"

"I have already said it. Now go."

Coir bowed, glanced at Jareen, and walked backward out the door.

"I only kept it out of curiosity," Vireel said. "And because I knew you were attached to it." It took Jareen a moment to realize that "it" was Coir.

"He is a friend," she replied. "And I likely owe him my life."

"In the end, it is little concern," Vireel answered. "Many warriors owe a vaela their life, and humans are gone just as soon as the vaela. Sit. I will prepare refreshment."

Though simple, Vireel's home was comfortable. The windows were glassless, but Vireel closed shutters at night. The air was not chill, and Jareen slept well in her own room on a pallet made up in the manner of the Canaen. Vireel's food and wine were sweet and fresh, not suffering any of the spoiling she had tasted in the wine that Yelti had given her. That day and the next, Jareen rested, though she walked in the grove with Coir in the mornings. Coir related how the quth had burst into the weavers' house suddenly, though he lacked any memory of how they rendered him unconscious. Jareen couldn't help but wonder about the tincture Vireel had used to accomplish her purpose.

Jareen expected some new threat to emerge, but day after day passed. Vireel ate with Jareen at many of the midday meals, reclining together at the little table, though the sorceress did not ask many questions, and Jareen was not so gifted at that as Coir. Vireel had not allowed the man back into the house, despite Jareen's request. Vireel often left the grove upon vaela-back. She warned Jareen not to wander, but it was unnecessary. Jareen was not inclined to stray. Her belly was swelling more each day, and she had no anticipation of greater safety anywhere else. There was no lack of food, drink, or shelter in the grove, and Vireel had given no indication of what she really wanted with Jareen or her babe. Coir found little more patience in Vireel and took to seeking out the quth despite Jareen's warnings to stay away from them.

"They are murderous beasts," she said. It didn't appear to discomfit him.

"Can you ask her for paper?" he asked. "Ink and pens?"

Jareen asked the next midday, but Vireel shook her head.

"Of these I have none."

Coir wished to ask many other questions through Jareen, but she refused, with one exception:

"How did you know we were in Yellen?" Jareen asked her one evening as they sat before the door of the house. Hours had stretched on in silence.

"Hmm?" Vireel had been staring at the flowing stream.

"How did you know the enclave had found us, if you dwell here alone?"

"Ah," Vireel said. "The Inevien always search for spies among themselves, for they send their own spies among the other enclaves. But my spies are quthli. The enclaves bend the quthli to their will, but they do not truly understand them."

"Why do you tell me such a secret?"

"As I have said, you are the most curious thing that has crossed my path in hundreds of years. I would have us understand one another."

"Then let me understand what design you have upon my babe and I."

"I have, and I will again. I am curious. The Inevien do not care for my company, so I brought you here."

"You speak of them as if you weren't one."

Vireel smiled.

"I am from them, as I am from my mother. But I am not the same as my mother."

"What has driven you here?"

Vireel looked up at the sky.

"You have spent too much time with the human," she answered, and rising, walked away into the dusk.

Little by little as the days passed, Jareen allowed herself to relax. It was clear that Vireel was withholding, but Jareen did not seriously entertain the idea of fleeing into the Mingling again. Vireel might not be trustworthy, but what better circumstance could Jareen find? She told Coir all that she heard from Vireel, but he too could not penetrate the vienu's designs.

While present in the grove, Vireel attended to many domestic tasks—harvesting and drying fruit, pressing wines, and even stripping flax and breaking down the fibers for spinning into thread. From this stock, she knitted and wove, humming to herself. In these chores, Vireel allowed Jareen to participate, urging her not to strain herself. She taught patiently when Jareen's knowledge of the handicrafts lacked, which was often, for Jareen had grown up with servants in the High Tree, and her daily needs in Nosh were seen to by the Order. Between the two vienu developed, if not a friendship, a sense of calm presence. This above all grew a sense of safety in Jareen, for who would teach someone to spin flax only to do them evil?

Jareen's belly swelled until the weight of it curved her back inward as she took her walks with Coir. They talked companionably, but it was clear the man was growing restless. She knew such periods of waiting would weigh heavier on a human. She caught glimpses of him disappearing into the trails that led into the thickets surrounding the open grove. In all this time, she never saw quth within the glade, but Coir reported that the dense encircling jungle was one sprawling village. He was learning their ways, and he bemoaned the lack of papers and pens. Sometimes, his breath was rancid, telling her he had consumed meat, and she could not stand to walk too close to him. Such smells bothered her more now than ever. Still, together they passed among the fruit trees in the mornings, and she listened to his observations as her mind wandered and her time drew near.

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