King Fredrik of Leutefloss was overjoyed at his daughter's rescue. "Missing for two months and my wife's worthless family never thought it worth mentioning!" he said to Prince Hildin as they drank wine in Hildin's chambers the night of his arrival.

"Most trying, Fredrik," said Hildin absently.

"Trying," snorted Fredrik. "I'm sure my wife finds her current circumstances quite trying. I've set her aside. Confiscated her family's lands while I was at it." He gazed moodily into the fire. "I'm not destined to put a son in any woman's belly, I fear. Pagg knows I've tried, I've sacrified every flawless white male calf born in the kingdom in the last 15 years to Him, to no avail. I sent both my wives and all my various amours to pray to Amma. I even consulted the Traveler Queen. She took my money and told me nothing could be done, can you imagine it!"

"A treacherous female, I've always said it," remarked Hildin, rolling his eyes at Gill when Fredrik turned away.

King Fredrik was initially taken aback at the change in his daughter. She was so much more humble than she had been before--quiet, controlled, and grateful for any service or kindness showed to her. It was welcome, and he reflected that perhaps her captivity had finally forced her to grow up. While he had personal doubts about that Hildin fellow, politically it was the perfect match. He only hoped his daughter would find some happiness in it as well.

He thought it a charming proof of already-blossoming love that she preferred to be called Emmae now, the pet name the prince was said to have given her. But when he brought her to the dais for her wedding ceremony, he couldn't help but be troubled by the tears tracing down her pale cheeks and her hand trembling on his arm.

Nevertheless, Emmae voiced no objections and recited her lines dutifully. She and Hildin were pronounced husband and wife. Bells pealed out over the countryside. Inside the castle, the company sat down to the wedding breakfast, and outside the commoners did the same at long tables set in the squares and parks of the city.

But the bells of the wedding celebration turned to funereal tones by nightfall. Not long after the wedding, King Gethin died.

In the nearby King's Woods, Warin looked up from the fire where he sat with the Travelers for the last time. He would enter the city tomorrow. The deep notes of the tolling bells reached the caravan's encampment, a spare echo from the towers of the Keep. "I don't like the sound of that," he said to no one in particular.

"Have patience, your highness," said the Traveler Queen. "Your time is coming." She doubled over suddenly in pain.

"Mother!" cried Connin, putting his arms around her.

"It's all right," she gasped. "Connin, take the prince off yonder. I dare not go myself. You know where I mean, and why I cannot go."

Connin nodded, and gestured for Warin to follow him. Even in the dark, the Traveler Prince seemed to know the way, and Warin could just make him out on the path. They stopped in a small clearing. The moon slipped from behind a cloud and reflected off a small, shiny disk hanging on a nearby tree. "Greetings, old friend," Connin called out.

Warin started at a familiar voice. "Greetings, child--your eyes! Oh, I'm so glad," it said. "And welcome home, Warin."

"Teacher?" said Warin, faltering. "Is it you?" The Teacher stepped forward out of the shadows. "Oh!" said Warin, overwhelmed. "Oh, my old friend! How I've missed you!" He ran up and embraced the slighter figure, holding the Teacher close and ending with a kiss on the cheek.

"It's good to see you well, your majesty," said the Teacher, smiling.

"Your majesty...?"

The Teacher turned grave. "Your father is dead, Warin. Though you renounced the throne, the magic doesn't care. I recognize you as king." The Teacher's proud face softened as tears formed in Warin's eyes. "He was sick and in a great deal of pain. I'm sorry you weren't able to say goodbye. Just know that he thought of you until the end."

"I should never have left, Teacher," said Warin hoarsely. "You were right."

"Your majesty, I'm always right, but no one ever listens," said the Teacher, wiping a thumb affectionately across Warin's damp cheek. "And I have more news. Your brother has married the Princess of Leutefloss. He intends to crown himself king in the morning."

Warin went very still. "Where did you step through?"

"The library. I had a very cleverly hidden reflective surface there, and I came as soon as Gethin died and the magic shifted away from Hildin. As long as Hildin was Regent, I had to obey him."

"Then why are we standing here?" cried Warin.

"We can't return tonight," said the Teacher. "I was closely watched, and I'm sure my escape has been noticed. But we can check if you'd like." They approached the small metal disk tacked to the tree. "If my library is anywhere within sight of a reflection, show it to me," said the Teacher. The reflection in the disk wavered and resolved to show the interior of the Keep's library, brightly lit and swarming with soldiers. The Teacher quickly covered the disk, removed it from the tree entirely and tucked it in the folds of the black robes. "He won't let us back that way until he wants us back," said the Teacher quietly. "The Keep is on full alert against you, and you cannot let yourself be killed, your majesty. Not foolishly in a nighttime skirmish."

"What do you advise, then?" said Warin.

"Patience until the morning. Your brother is quite mad, you know. I suspect he'll try to rig some public spectacle, and that's where you will want to reveal yourself--in public, before the people, so that no mistake of your identity can be made or claimed. Despite his constant jeering, he knows you'll try to retake your woman."

"Have you seen her?" cried Warin. "Is she well?"

"I have seen her," said the Teacher, nodding reassuringly. "She is still enchanted, and I won't mince words: Your brother and your cousin are taking full advantage. But she is otherwises unharmed, and he's kept her from the eyes and influence of others. Your mother was in a temper the day that poor girl wandered by, Connin. I've never seen a spell quite that peevish from her, and you can tell her I said so."

"Tell her yourself," said Warin, taking the Teacher's arm. "Come, let's go back to the encampment."

"No," said the Teacher, shrinking from his grip. "I can't." At Warin's frown, the Teacher added, "We can't be in each other's presence. Believe me, there's nothing I want more. But I can't. Even here, I am too close. Go back to the camp and sleep, your majesty. We'll need you rested and strong tomorrow."

"I would ask why, but I already know your odd ways," sighed Warin. "I will do as you say--for once. You'll be all right here? Should we send someone with supplies, a bedroll?"

"All of it unnecessary, thank you," said the Teacher, and Warin nodded. He embraced his Teacher once again, and walked back to the encampment with the Traveler Prince, his hand on the pommel of his sword, and his mind a mix of memories of his father, yearning for Emmae, and violent rage at the brother who stood between them.