For the rest of the long afternoon, the two of them stayed in that room, waiting for Amy Clawyn to wake. Though neither spoke it aloud, both women silently hoped that the one who woke would be the true Amy—not some being greater than demons. As Amy's hair gradually regained its color, it seemed a promising sign. Elisa sat on the floor with her back against the wall, arms wrapped around her knees. She could not help recalling her conversation that night with Lucas the Great Poet, and the unnatural silence that had fallen over him when he learned of Amy's illness. "Femenlaulus." The name escaped her lips. "So long as you don't imagine it, it does not exist." The maid buried her face in her skirt. "Femenlaulus."

  "Elisa, are you well?"

  She hadn't realized the lady had awakened. "I'm fine, my lady." She hurried to rise; Lady Clawyn motioned her to stay. "How long have I slept, Elisa?"

  "Since noon, my lady."

  "Damn." She tapped her temple. "Cherry must be famished..."

  "You needn't worry. I've already prepared Lady Wynlers's supper."

  "You're always so capable." After that sleep, Daisy seemed to have recovered her former gentleness. "And have you eaten?"

  "Not yet, my lady. I usually dine after you—that is the proper order."

  "That was the old order. Long ago—before Monowe fell, when Carl was still an earl..." She covered her mouth; her emotions had not yet settled. "Go and prepare supper—enough for us both."

  Elisa decided to give her time alone—time to weep without restraint. As she reached to pull the door closed, the lady called her back.

  "My lady?" Elisa Fey slipped back through the doorway. "What else would you have of me?"

  "It's not a command." The lady sank back into her chair. "Do you think Carl... is still alive?"

  "Of course," the maid answered without hesitation.

  "I don't understand why that malicious creature would use my daughter to torment me... The thing is," she wiped the tears from her palm onto her skirt, "such a cruel prank brings it no benefit. Would it truly delight in seeing me driven to madness and grief over Carl? I cannot fathom the reason. And yet I cannot quiet my fears. Waves do not rise without wind."

  "...I don't quite understand, my lady. But—do you mean you believe it to be a messenger, simply fulfilling its duty by delivering news?"

  She nodded. "So you think what it said was true."

  "I simply cannot make sense of it otherwise. If not this, nothing explains it."

  "Perhaps," Elisa found herself arguing without knowing why, "perhaps it truly enjoys mischief, tormenting us. Nothing more."

  "Do you believe that, Elisa? Do you believe your own words?" One blink, and a tear slipped from her eye. "You've sensed it too, however dimly—the truth we refuse to face, refuse to accept."

  "My lady." The maid came to Daisy Clawyn's side, half-kneeling, taking her damp hands. "What we accept or refuse does not make it truth. Until certain word comes from the battlefield, we should believe nothing."

  "Battlefields don't send news while the fighting rages," the lady said. "Only when Cynthia falls, or is driven from its capital, will anyone be able to tell us Carl's fate. And that may be long in coming. I cannot endure such dread day after day, for who knows how long. Hope is the true killer—cold and merciless. Better to accept the worst and be done with it—to acknowledge that Carl Clawyn, my husband, is already..."

  "Perhaps there's a way," Elisa said.

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  "What? What way?"

  "A way to learn Lord Clawyn's fate." Elisa Fey rose to her feet. "I'll prepare your supper, my lady. Then, with your permission, I'll leave the estate for a time."

  "Where will you go?" A thread of concern wove through her voice. "To see if my method will work. Until then, please—keep your thoughts hopeful. Believe that Lord Clawyn still rides the battlefield."

  "What method, Elisa?" The lady seized her last chance as Elisa reached the door.

  "A base, filthy, contemptible method." She closed the door.

  "You're back," it said.

  "Hello," it said.

  "You're mocking me," Znetsixe said coolly to its companion. "Such sharpness upon your return. Not becoming of you."

  Ruvtevresbo perceived the indifference in the other's thought. "You used that tone first. I merely mirrored your manner." He shrugged; Znetsixe simultaneously perceived both states—that he shrugged and that he did not. "You grow more human by the day. You've even learned to shrug."

  "I fail to grasp the precedence of language and action," Ruvtevresbo said, regarding the other. "You first 'imitated' human speech patterns. That's the precondition."

  They seemed to relish such disputes, and Znetsixe took particular delight in them. "You know well it isn't 'imitation.' These are our own expressions—we simply don't usually manifest them this way."

  "Then there's nothing more to discuss." Ruvtevresbo displayed a victor's smile. "The same applies to shrugging."

  "Let's leave it there, old friend." Znetsixe continued in its humanoid manner of speech. "I don't quite understand why you chose a little girl."

  "Why ask the same question as that human woman... ah." Ruvtevresbo stopped, slightly surprised. "You truly are becoming more like a human female."

  "Is being female so objectionable?" Znetsixe swayed its hips, making the translucent, luminous skirts ripple through the gaps between time and space. "Females are beautiful."

  "In that case, you should 'become' an elven female. They're more beautiful still."

  "It makes little difference." Znetsixe's ears lengthened into an elf's delicate points. "In the end, all forms are me. And you still haven't answered my question, dear one."

  "There is no 'reason.' You should know this well. Before we discovered 'It,' reasons did not exist for us. Everything was random. It merely happened to be her, nothing more."

  "There must be some preference involved. Like your fondness for white hair." Znetsixe's skirts expanded outward, blooming into countless new folds. "Why white?"

  Ruvtevresbo seemed taken aback by the question. "It is our origin."

  "Is that all?" Znetsixe was unconvinced. "No other reason?"

  "For humanoids, white hair signifies age. And with age comes experience."

  "You know such concepts are meaningless to you." Znetsixe's elaborate dress dissolved instantly into drifting motes of light. "Symbols, experience, metaphors—even greatness—none of it matters to you. You transcend such notions, my brother."

  "Even so, one should attempt to blend," Ruvtevresbo argued quietly. "Otherwise, they cannot comprehend us."

  "We have no need to be 'comprehended' by them—especially not in this manner!" Znetsixe, rarely emotional, grew vehement. "Do not forget our ultimate purpose, nor how many times we have failed!"

  "Do not forget that we should be beyond emotions, my sister." Ruvtevresbo's tone remained serene. "I have not forgotten our pursuit—the final answer."

  "Then you should not meddle so." Znetsixe transformed into Amy Clawyn's shape, adopting a child's piping voice. "Now the entire world bears your stains, Mother. The more you interfere, the less pure our experiment becomes. You remember our failures, don't you?"

  "I do not interfere with the primary process," Ruvtevresbo spoke within the other's consciousness. "I merely delight in observation. That is my purpose."

  "Indeed. Yet you've given them much. My only concern is that your meddling may exceed the established boundaries."

  "I will exercise caution, Grandfather. Even should I overstep, you can make corrections in time."

  "That would already corrupt the experiment—the premise would be broken," Znetsixe said with distress. "Remember, my friend: we are neither omniscient nor omnipotent. Even regarding the universe itself, there are moments when we lack omnipotence."

  "Which moments?" He read the answer to his own question in the other's mind.

  "The moments you cannot know," it replied. "Remember, my brother: we complement each other; neither can be dispensed with. Only through harmony can this intricate system function. And behind it all stands 'It.' That is our goal—the final, the ultimate."

  "I concur," Ruvtevresbo smiled. "We are both essential—even though you preceded me."

  "I am pleased we've reached agreement." Znetsixe mirrored his smile perfectly. "Do you require rest?"

  "No. My interest remains keen."

  "Then go. Let us continue."

  Ruvtevresbo answered within its consciousness; its form vanished into the interstices of time and space.